My junior high physical science teacher called this week to see if I was still alive and he suggests we put together a nonprofit organization to investigate the shenanigans going on in Washington, DC.
"Jackie, if you put this thing together and limited contributions to a maximum of 10 dollars and no minimum, you would have millions of dollars to carry out the investigation. You could hire a bunch of underemployed lawyers and private investigators and just see what comes to light in that den of thieves."
The press are unwilling to report on the corruption in the District of Columbia because they work for organizations that get revenue by way of campaign ads. A free press is a laugh. It takes a lot of money to put a newspaper out everyday, and they can't be biting the hand that feeds or that can bleed them.
I am getting too old to take on such a responsibility, but I will see if I can get some of my younger Finkbinder nieces and nephews interested in getting in on the ground floor with this thing. I know, dear reader, you will say what about Judicial Watch, and the American Civil Liberties Union and Grover Norquist? And I say forget the ACLU, their only interest is expunging God and prayer from elementary and secondary schools. And Judicial Watch had become too phat and has lost the fire in the belly to do little more than bark at the politicians as they carry out their day to day criminal activities.
Name one major disclosure from this bunch of watch dog groups? Anything meaningful? Nope, nada, nothing, nil, nein, negative, not one tiny bit of insider corruption, and even if say Charlie Rangel is caught cheating on his taxes or the fellow in congress taking bribes and found with 90,000 dollars of cold hard cash in his freezer back home in Louisiana, a congressman whose name I forget, nothing becomes of it.
You may be thinking "Why not be a citizen watchdog group?"
As I said before those dogs only bark and only at the flagrant and offensive corruption. Ours is to be a "WatchHog's group because we intend to root out all forms of governmental corruption and squeal on "them hogs in Washington who are corrupt and stealing from the federal slop trough filled with taxpayer dollars."
A baby hog's squeal is instantly noted by the adult hogs and they take action. We are hoping we can be a cause for real change in Washington's District of Corruption.
Please send your tax deductible contribution of $10 dollars to:
The Urban Poverty Law Center's DC Squealers
PO Box 13
Cedar Grove, TN 38321
We hope to be in Washington with boots on the ground by March, 2012. With your help we can. I have already joined and my $10 is in the change jar by the dryer. I have hired my sister who is an underemployed lawyer with a Yale undergrad degree in Chinese peasantry customs to set up the organization under the 501-C3 IRS codes to avoid serious jail time.
We need to shine the light of truth on the dark wheeler and dealers who have taken up residency just out of sight on the underbelly of our federal government and who are threatening our liberties and our property with their unlawful actions.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center and
Founding Father(Master Hog) Urban Poverty Law Center's DC Squealers
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Reverses No Newt Criticisms
I believe I have been unfairly harsh in my treatment and criticism of Newt Gingrich.
I just got onto his website, "Newt2012.org" and read his new contract.
Briefly: repeal Obama Care, secure the borders, cut capital gains tax to zero, optional income tax of 15% with personal exemptions and mortgage deduction, trim the federal government, English as the official language, end the death tax, cut corporate tax rate to 12.5%, allow 100% expensing of business equipment in the 1st year, open up the energy development at home oil, gas and coal, try to hold federal judges accountable to the constitution, and most importantly sending the Obama Cartel on their merry way onto the ash heap of history.
I have not sent him money yet, but this should not keep you from doing so.
I forgive him for his income from his near lobbying efforts for Fred and Fannie, after all a fellow's got to eat!
I forgive him for his eye for the ladies, after all a fellow's got to manage his own prostate health.
I forgive him for his suspected insider Washington status, after all nobody breaks any glass throwing rocks at the federal government from outside the beltway. Newt knows his way around Washington. I like his no nonsense debating style. He is definitely a man, and Mitt and Bachmann are very feminine. Bachmann in a beautiful way. Newt must select her as VP and I believe he will. I believe Newt will derail the progressive train whereas Mitt would only slow it down a little.
I only hope Newt accomplishes half as much as our 4th greatest president if he is elected.
In Callista, I think he has found somebody to watch his back. Her hair style looks like blond cotton candy! Delicious.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, Urban Poverty Law Center, President
I just got onto his website, "Newt2012.org" and read his new contract.
Briefly: repeal Obama Care, secure the borders, cut capital gains tax to zero, optional income tax of 15% with personal exemptions and mortgage deduction, trim the federal government, English as the official language, end the death tax, cut corporate tax rate to 12.5%, allow 100% expensing of business equipment in the 1st year, open up the energy development at home oil, gas and coal, try to hold federal judges accountable to the constitution, and most importantly sending the Obama Cartel on their merry way onto the ash heap of history.
I have not sent him money yet, but this should not keep you from doing so.
I forgive him for his income from his near lobbying efforts for Fred and Fannie, after all a fellow's got to eat!
I forgive him for his eye for the ladies, after all a fellow's got to manage his own prostate health.
I forgive him for his suspected insider Washington status, after all nobody breaks any glass throwing rocks at the federal government from outside the beltway. Newt knows his way around Washington. I like his no nonsense debating style. He is definitely a man, and Mitt and Bachmann are very feminine. Bachmann in a beautiful way. Newt must select her as VP and I believe he will. I believe Newt will derail the progressive train whereas Mitt would only slow it down a little.
I only hope Newt accomplishes half as much as our 4th greatest president if he is elected.
In Callista, I think he has found somebody to watch his back. Her hair style looks like blond cotton candy! Delicious.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, Urban Poverty Law Center, President
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Has A Christmas Miracle, Really
Merry Christmas everybody!
I know you do not have a lot of time over the busy holiday with visits from your favorite aunts who want to buy you the most hideous tie on the market or that fruit cake the family has been passing around from person to person over the last three decades, so I will make it brief.
My Sister, June Bug, came to mommas to cook the Christmas breakfast and she had bought a dozen eggs over and asked me to grab the items she had not brought in which were still out in her car and I did. Once I got in the house I dropped one bag, the one with the eggs in it and broke 6 of the dozen.
Needless to say I was in the dog house, nothing open today, Christmas, and June Bug's recipe for sausage casserole calls for a dozen eggs. I suggested she look out in the chicken coop as I had not checked for eggs for the last couple of days. Rain and lazy, I guess, but she said she knew those old hens were only laying about an egg amongst them a day and a half dozen would be dreaming. And though I knew what she said was true, I said miracles do happen still.
She went out and came back with seven brown eggs from one nest.
A Christmas miracle if ever I did see one!
Our Lord works in wondrous and mysterious ways.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
I know you do not have a lot of time over the busy holiday with visits from your favorite aunts who want to buy you the most hideous tie on the market or that fruit cake the family has been passing around from person to person over the last three decades, so I will make it brief.
My Sister, June Bug, came to mommas to cook the Christmas breakfast and she had bought a dozen eggs over and asked me to grab the items she had not brought in which were still out in her car and I did. Once I got in the house I dropped one bag, the one with the eggs in it and broke 6 of the dozen.
Needless to say I was in the dog house, nothing open today, Christmas, and June Bug's recipe for sausage casserole calls for a dozen eggs. I suggested she look out in the chicken coop as I had not checked for eggs for the last couple of days. Rain and lazy, I guess, but she said she knew those old hens were only laying about an egg amongst them a day and a half dozen would be dreaming. And though I knew what she said was true, I said miracles do happen still.
She went out and came back with seven brown eggs from one nest.
A Christmas miracle if ever I did see one!
Our Lord works in wondrous and mysterious ways.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center: Kim Jung's Il's Dead, Senate House Stale
The word out of North Korea is the tiny tempest in a teapot dictator and bad guy Kim Jung Il has begun breaking down into his base elements. His third son Kim Jong Jones, 27, is reported to be the heir to the leadership vacuum left by Il's untimely death.
Il's personal physician, Mia Bahd Luck, MD, reported the charismatic world leader scummed to congestive heart failure as he was lead to the his position of honor in front of an eight man firing squad.
President Obama is sending Bill and Hillary Clinton to represent the US at the state funeral planned for just after Christmas.
The last US troops pulled out of Iraq and already loud explosions are heard around Baghdad in celebration of Iraq's liberation from freedom. Perhaps that part of the world needs a certain amount of sectarian violence to stay interested in life.
Personally, I prefer lying on the couch with the remote to pulling shrapnel out of my hinney. I think I will get some milk and cookies before I go back to the couch.
All of our western violence is embedded in the financial aspects of our lives and as yet not become physical.
The stalemate between the house and the senate over a miserly 2% social security funding shortage, is a direct attack against our seniors since this shorts the SS trust fund of some say upwards of $500 billions a year. This loggerhead continues to titillate the Obama press choir. Clubbing republicans over the head with money taken from granny and given to the young and fit workers lucky enough to hold onto a job in this economic quagmire of Obama's making makes the Obama Media Mouthpieces joyous even during Christmas, which is generally their least favorite time of year. They hate Christians. Government is the only god to which they pay homage. They will go to hell. Back to the social security robbery.
Does this mean if we raise taxes by 4% on these same tax and pension payers we would collect an extra trillion dollars which could be wasted along with the other 4 trillion each year? If we can tax everybody 4% and raise a trillion dollars, why am I paying 35% along with the other top percenters to only raise 1.8 trillion? WTF?
My God, what on earth would an 8% national sales tax raise? It would probably suck all the cash out of the underground economy and place it into real criminal's hands, congress.
Just say no to the national sales tax!
The economy is getting better according to the reports coming out of the White House whose impartiality can certainly NOT be questions 10 months before the toughest re-election quest ever undertaken in modern times.
If you are good, re-election is a snap. When you suck, it is a little harder. But still it can be done if Mitt Romney is YOUR opponent. The people will keep Obama and change the Senate. Game over. America's suffering is only half over for now.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
Il's personal physician, Mia Bahd Luck, MD, reported the charismatic world leader scummed to congestive heart failure as he was lead to the his position of honor in front of an eight man firing squad.
President Obama is sending Bill and Hillary Clinton to represent the US at the state funeral planned for just after Christmas.
The last US troops pulled out of Iraq and already loud explosions are heard around Baghdad in celebration of Iraq's liberation from freedom. Perhaps that part of the world needs a certain amount of sectarian violence to stay interested in life.
Personally, I prefer lying on the couch with the remote to pulling shrapnel out of my hinney. I think I will get some milk and cookies before I go back to the couch.
All of our western violence is embedded in the financial aspects of our lives and as yet not become physical.
The stalemate between the house and the senate over a miserly 2% social security funding shortage, is a direct attack against our seniors since this shorts the SS trust fund of some say upwards of $500 billions a year. This loggerhead continues to titillate the Obama press choir. Clubbing republicans over the head with money taken from granny and given to the young and fit workers lucky enough to hold onto a job in this economic quagmire of Obama's making makes the Obama Media Mouthpieces joyous even during Christmas, which is generally their least favorite time of year. They hate Christians. Government is the only god to which they pay homage. They will go to hell. Back to the social security robbery.
Does this mean if we raise taxes by 4% on these same tax and pension payers we would collect an extra trillion dollars which could be wasted along with the other 4 trillion each year? If we can tax everybody 4% and raise a trillion dollars, why am I paying 35% along with the other top percenters to only raise 1.8 trillion? WTF?
My God, what on earth would an 8% national sales tax raise? It would probably suck all the cash out of the underground economy and place it into real criminal's hands, congress.
Just say no to the national sales tax!
The economy is getting better according to the reports coming out of the White House whose impartiality can certainly NOT be questions 10 months before the toughest re-election quest ever undertaken in modern times.
If you are good, re-election is a snap. When you suck, it is a little harder. But still it can be done if Mitt Romney is YOUR opponent. The people will keep Obama and change the Senate. Game over. America's suffering is only half over for now.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Was Barack Obama An Accidental President? Urban Poverty Law Center
President Barack H. Obama probably owes his life and therefore his presidency to the difficulty of obtaining an abortion in pre Roe v Wade America. Even though a few states including Hawaii liberalized the abortion laws in 1970, it was not until the above case was ruled upon in 1973 that a woman's right to choose life or death for her unborn child was guaranteed.
I posit if abortion on demand had been the law of the land when 17 yr old Ann Dunham hooked up, after Russian Language Studies class(Screams CIA), with 21 yr old Barack Hussein Obama Sr in 1960, B H Obama, Jr could have ended up in a landfill in Hawaii.
Where his essence, tragically cut short, could have been consumed by any of a thousand Laughing Sea Gulls. And he was gobbled down by a special seagull who was mourning the loss of one of her three goslings who got to close to the edge of the nest and this is where the facts get muddled because he was either pushed or fell to his death. She was a good mother.
From the landfill it is a short flight over a mountain range to her nest near Waimea Bay. As the gull flew high over the ocean, the fetal remains of our 44th president made its way to the gull's cloaca which serves as the septic tank for all birds and is conveniently located under the tail. The fetus Obama, remarkable even aborted, in a display of Herculean bravado, was able to pry open the sea gull's c-hole.
Obama audibly gasped when he looked down at the water below and asked the gull who noticed tiny Obama peaking out of her cloaca, "Say Bird, how high above the water do you suppose we are?"
The gull looked with one eye, then cocked her head to view the ocean with the other eye and replied, "I suppose about a mile."
To which Obama, the fetus, hastily challenges the gull with, "Y y yo you wouldn't sh sh sh sha shit me, would you?"
And the sea gull took the remarkable fetus Obama back to her nest and raised him with her two goslings and when he was three yrs old she gave him back to Ann Dunham. I believe this is why this man had such a hard time producing a believable birth certificate.
Hey, the founders of Rome, Romulus and Mitt Romney, were raised by a she-wolf. It could happen. It is just as believable as the real story reported below:
Instead this blob of cells, produced by the union of these two young lovers, who may or may not have been under the influence of alcohol, took the required actions for two minutes or less if Ann was a moaner, to facilitate the introduction of one special sperm into one remarkable ova; I repeat, this parasitic blob of cells was allowed to finish its mission in utero and Ann Dunham pushed out the now famous 44th president of the United States in a hospital somewhere in Hawaii, it is rumored.
Since Roe v Wade, millions and millions of little Baracks and Barackettes have been cheated of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in our nation. Yes, some of these snuffed out lifelettes would have chosen a path of crime, but somebody's got to step up to the plate and run for congress. Narcissistic, self-serving, sociopaths aren't born everyday, thanks to abortion, you know.
I wonder what great works of art or letters or inventions have been lost by our culture of war against the conceived, and as yet unborn? Perhaps the one who was to break the code for the attack on the World Trade Towers and prevent this horrendous event was aborted in 1974 in Chicago.
Maybe, just maybe, one abortee in San Francisco in 1982 was going to find a cure for Aids. What about that one aborted in 1975 who was to blow the whistle on Bernie Madhoff before he could swindle millions from his investors.
In a more serious note I am grateful the punk who would have crashed into me in 1999 on his moped, killing both me and my dog instantly, while hyped up on cocaine and Jack Daniels was instead aborted in August of 1980. Well, that is not quite true. I was killed instantly, but the dog's back was broken and the sheriff, Tom Snackadoodle, shot "Microsoft" in the head with his service revolver soon after he arrived at the scene. The kid who struck us didn't have a scratch on him.
And no Microsoft was not named after the software company, he was the runt of the litter and his fur was very soft. We do not put on airs here in the South. Any yankee will tell you we ain't near that clever. Uh-huah, uh-hunh!
The only reason a Southern Writer ever gets published is so the yankee critics can laugh at what a moron he/she is! It is an affirmative action program run by the yankee publishing houses. They know some people like shitty literature.
"Byron, I do believe old John Grisham dangled a few participles in his last tome. Care to join me at the bath house this afternoon?"
"Jonathan, you know I can not resist you! And yes I do believe Mr. Grisham almost had a believable plot this time. Ha, ha, ha, ahha!"
I guess what I have to say is I have no beef with abortion after all. It must be God's will.
Isn't everything?
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
"Jack, was the dog sharing his blow with you and packing heat?" Mother Maybolt, 1928-2008
Post Script: My private investigator has informed me Obama's mother Gull is still alive and is living in a hut near the metropolitan landfill in Honolulu. She has her own secret service detail at a cost to taxpayers of several millions of dollars each year. JDM
I posit if abortion on demand had been the law of the land when 17 yr old Ann Dunham hooked up, after Russian Language Studies class(Screams CIA), with 21 yr old Barack Hussein Obama Sr in 1960, B H Obama, Jr could have ended up in a landfill in Hawaii.
Where his essence, tragically cut short, could have been consumed by any of a thousand Laughing Sea Gulls. And he was gobbled down by a special seagull who was mourning the loss of one of her three goslings who got to close to the edge of the nest and this is where the facts get muddled because he was either pushed or fell to his death. She was a good mother.
From the landfill it is a short flight over a mountain range to her nest near Waimea Bay. As the gull flew high over the ocean, the fetal remains of our 44th president made its way to the gull's cloaca which serves as the septic tank for all birds and is conveniently located under the tail. The fetus Obama, remarkable even aborted, in a display of Herculean bravado, was able to pry open the sea gull's c-hole.
Obama audibly gasped when he looked down at the water below and asked the gull who noticed tiny Obama peaking out of her cloaca, "Say Bird, how high above the water do you suppose we are?"
The gull looked with one eye, then cocked her head to view the ocean with the other eye and replied, "I suppose about a mile."
To which Obama, the fetus, hastily challenges the gull with, "Y y yo you wouldn't sh sh sh sha shit me, would you?"
And the sea gull took the remarkable fetus Obama back to her nest and raised him with her two goslings and when he was three yrs old she gave him back to Ann Dunham. I believe this is why this man had such a hard time producing a believable birth certificate.
Hey, the founders of Rome, Romulus and Mitt Romney, were raised by a she-wolf. It could happen. It is just as believable as the real story reported below:
Instead this blob of cells, produced by the union of these two young lovers, who may or may not have been under the influence of alcohol, took the required actions for two minutes or less if Ann was a moaner, to facilitate the introduction of one special sperm into one remarkable ova; I repeat, this parasitic blob of cells was allowed to finish its mission in utero and Ann Dunham pushed out the now famous 44th president of the United States in a hospital somewhere in Hawaii, it is rumored.
Since Roe v Wade, millions and millions of little Baracks and Barackettes have been cheated of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in our nation. Yes, some of these snuffed out lifelettes would have chosen a path of crime, but somebody's got to step up to the plate and run for congress. Narcissistic, self-serving, sociopaths aren't born everyday, thanks to abortion, you know.
I wonder what great works of art or letters or inventions have been lost by our culture of war against the conceived, and as yet unborn? Perhaps the one who was to break the code for the attack on the World Trade Towers and prevent this horrendous event was aborted in 1974 in Chicago.
Maybe, just maybe, one abortee in San Francisco in 1982 was going to find a cure for Aids. What about that one aborted in 1975 who was to blow the whistle on Bernie Madhoff before he could swindle millions from his investors.
In a more serious note I am grateful the punk who would have crashed into me in 1999 on his moped, killing both me and my dog instantly, while hyped up on cocaine and Jack Daniels was instead aborted in August of 1980. Well, that is not quite true. I was killed instantly, but the dog's back was broken and the sheriff, Tom Snackadoodle, shot "Microsoft" in the head with his service revolver soon after he arrived at the scene. The kid who struck us didn't have a scratch on him.
And no Microsoft was not named after the software company, he was the runt of the litter and his fur was very soft. We do not put on airs here in the South. Any yankee will tell you we ain't near that clever. Uh-huah, uh-hunh!
The only reason a Southern Writer ever gets published is so the yankee critics can laugh at what a moron he/she is! It is an affirmative action program run by the yankee publishing houses. They know some people like shitty literature.
"Byron, I do believe old John Grisham dangled a few participles in his last tome. Care to join me at the bath house this afternoon?"
"Jonathan, you know I can not resist you! And yes I do believe Mr. Grisham almost had a believable plot this time. Ha, ha, ha, ahha!"
I guess what I have to say is I have no beef with abortion after all. It must be God's will.
Isn't everything?
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
"Jack, was the dog sharing his blow with you and packing heat?" Mother Maybolt, 1928-2008
Post Script: My private investigator has informed me Obama's mother Gull is still alive and is living in a hut near the metropolitan landfill in Honolulu. She has her own secret service detail at a cost to taxpayers of several millions of dollars each year. JDM
Precident Obama: If You Can't Lead Us Forward, Stop Taking US Back
For goodness sakes, Mr. Precident, if you can't take the United States forward, please stop your policies which are taking this country backwards.
EPA ruling against cross state pollution threatens to close one fifth of our coal fired generating electrical plants. Backwards!
The EPA has declared carbon dioxide a pollutant and wants to control its emission through taxation and regulation. Backwards!
The ban on the incandescent light bulb scheduled to be in effect 1.1.12 in favor of a mercury containing fluorescent bulb. Backwards!
Ruling against the construction of a pipeline from Canada to Texas for oil known as your Keystone Copout now when we need to lower our dependence on Middle Eastern Oil sources while US unemployment running at 20% if you were honest with the numbers. Backwards!
Deficit spending 40% each year and opening the spigots at the Federal Reserve Bank.
Backwards!
Handing out grants to green energy companies who happen to be your biggest donors and bundlers in the form of government backed loan guarantees in the billions of dollars. Backwards!
Overseeing the BATF's Fast and Spurious Gun Walking exercise to strip Americans of their Second Amendment Rights. Criminal and Backwards!
Presiding over the sacking of the US Treasury of billions and billions of dollars, passed out to your friends at Goldman Sacks. Backward!
Your justice department looking the other way in voter fraud perpetrated by Acorn and its affiliates and by the voter intimidation by the New Black Panther Party. Backwards!
Turning your back on Israel during the Arab Spring and the threat posed by Iran and its nuclear ambitions. Backwards!
Placing 20% of the nations GDP under government control through your poorly written and poorly planned health care act. Backwards!
Pulling out of Iraq with no chance of a stable self-governing body in place. Backwards
Bailing out GM and Chrysler with tax payer monies with no concessions from organized labor and your wholesale theft from the bondholders of these companies. Backwards!
Allowing Jon Corzine to sack and steal 3 billion dollars in MF Global and all we get is a congressional hearing. Backwards!
The Tea Party will see to it you gets the tools necessary to turn this country around. November, 2012. Forward, march!
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
EPA ruling against cross state pollution threatens to close one fifth of our coal fired generating electrical plants. Backwards!
The EPA has declared carbon dioxide a pollutant and wants to control its emission through taxation and regulation. Backwards!
The ban on the incandescent light bulb scheduled to be in effect 1.1.12 in favor of a mercury containing fluorescent bulb. Backwards!
Ruling against the construction of a pipeline from Canada to Texas for oil known as your Keystone Copout now when we need to lower our dependence on Middle Eastern Oil sources while US unemployment running at 20% if you were honest with the numbers. Backwards!
Deficit spending 40% each year and opening the spigots at the Federal Reserve Bank.
Backwards!
Handing out grants to green energy companies who happen to be your biggest donors and bundlers in the form of government backed loan guarantees in the billions of dollars. Backwards!
Overseeing the BATF's Fast and Spurious Gun Walking exercise to strip Americans of their Second Amendment Rights. Criminal and Backwards!
Presiding over the sacking of the US Treasury of billions and billions of dollars, passed out to your friends at Goldman Sacks. Backward!
Your justice department looking the other way in voter fraud perpetrated by Acorn and its affiliates and by the voter intimidation by the New Black Panther Party. Backwards!
Turning your back on Israel during the Arab Spring and the threat posed by Iran and its nuclear ambitions. Backwards!
Placing 20% of the nations GDP under government control through your poorly written and poorly planned health care act. Backwards!
Pulling out of Iraq with no chance of a stable self-governing body in place. Backwards
Bailing out GM and Chrysler with tax payer monies with no concessions from organized labor and your wholesale theft from the bondholders of these companies. Backwards!
Allowing Jon Corzine to sack and steal 3 billion dollars in MF Global and all we get is a congressional hearing. Backwards!
The Tea Party will see to it you gets the tools necessary to turn this country around. November, 2012. Forward, march!
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
ISS George SSoroSS SStill Waging WWII Againsst The Alliess? Urban Poverty Law Center Wantss To Know!
One hass to wonder what motivatess one man to try to change the world. Ass I ssee it the overwhelming driving forcess in nature are innate. SSurvival, sself-presservation, ssexual reproduction, all programmed into our being by the Great One.
Taken to extremess thesse lead to the sseven deadly ssinss, lusst, gluttony, greed, ssloth, wrath, envy, pride.
Lusst iss a daily event for most of uss and iss programmed into our pssyche sso the propagation of mankind will continue unbroken. A little lusst is a good thing. Mr. SSoross hass a few children and sso he hass done hiss duty to propagate.
Gluttony, eating too much or too fasst. Food is good, gluttony iss a hard one to pin on Mr. SSoross.
Greed, now we may be getting ssomewhere. Iss Mr. SSoross greedy? Doess he want it all at the exclussion of otherss? Yep, sseemss ssoo, or iss hiss greed an ends to a lusst for power?
Envy, who can Mr. SSoross envy? Iss it every wesstern democracy that pulled together during WWII to defeat Hitler? Iss he sstill fighting WWII? He hass already ssuccessfully mounted an economic attack againsst Great Britain and exacted a pound of flesh from them. He wass insstrumental in picking off the USSSSR'ss ssatelite countriess and helped them fall.
With thesse victories it sseemss he wass only clearing his throat in preparation for the big one! He hass hiss ssitess on the desstruction of the United SStatess and Issrael. Wesstern Europe in already losst.
Why Issrael? Without the allied victory in WWII there would have been no Issrael. It appearss SSoross iss trying to do everything in hiss power to undo the conssequencess of WWII.
Could Mr. SSoross be the embodiment of the evil mastermind behind the rise of the Fourth Reich in which the Naziss will ally with the Iranianss and whom ever to fight againsst the wesstern alliance.
The economic volleyss have been launched. It iss SS SSoross and hiss billionss againsst the United SStates, Great Britain, Issrael, and Russssia. He doess hiss work through liberal groupss like the Tidess Foundation and ssimilar non-governmental organizationss in Issrael and it iss time ssomeone takess him to tassk for the misschief hiss wrath and pride are reaping on our free and democratic way of life.
Thiss is ass great a threat to our nation and treassure ass any bombss and bulletss war could ever be. Thiss evil geniuss could bring down our nation without firing a sshot by waging an economic war. Wake up!
Bring back the chargess of ssedition and tax thesse unpatriotic puke entitiess into oblivion. If there are no lawss against economic esspionage, make ssome and usse them now!
Congressss must call thosse ressponssible for thesse sseditiouss actss in for hearingss and sshine the light of truth and freedom on thesse rat bastardss who work behind the ssceness in the cover of darknessss.
The tea party musst ferret out thosse memberss of congressss who have infiltrated thiss fine repressentative body who are ssympathetic to Mr. SSoross' caussess and make ssure Herr SSoross and hiss planss for the United SStatess are an epic fail!
We know the Enemy. We know hiss tacticss. We must mobilize now.
Did I mention Ssloth? SSoross is not ssloth.
I challenge Mr. SSoross to explain how his vission of the world iss better than SStalin'ss, Hitler'ss, Roossevelt'ss, or more importantly Jefferson's, Lincoln's, or God's? I will look for hiss essssay in a leading ssocialist publication.
Jacksson Delano Maybolt, Pressident, Urban Poverty Law Center
"I hate it when you lisp when writing!" Mother Maybolt, 1923-2008
Taken to extremess thesse lead to the sseven deadly ssinss, lusst, gluttony, greed, ssloth, wrath, envy, pride.
Lusst iss a daily event for most of uss and iss programmed into our pssyche sso the propagation of mankind will continue unbroken. A little lusst is a good thing. Mr. SSoross hass a few children and sso he hass done hiss duty to propagate.
Gluttony, eating too much or too fasst. Food is good, gluttony iss a hard one to pin on Mr. SSoross.
Greed, now we may be getting ssomewhere. Iss Mr. SSoross greedy? Doess he want it all at the exclussion of otherss? Yep, sseemss ssoo, or iss hiss greed an ends to a lusst for power?
Envy, who can Mr. SSoross envy? Iss it every wesstern democracy that pulled together during WWII to defeat Hitler? Iss he sstill fighting WWII? He hass already ssuccessfully mounted an economic attack againsst Great Britain and exacted a pound of flesh from them. He wass insstrumental in picking off the USSSSR'ss ssatelite countriess and helped them fall.
With thesse victories it sseemss he wass only clearing his throat in preparation for the big one! He hass hiss ssitess on the desstruction of the United SStatess and Issrael. Wesstern Europe in already losst.
Why Issrael? Without the allied victory in WWII there would have been no Issrael. It appearss SSoross iss trying to do everything in hiss power to undo the conssequencess of WWII.
Could Mr. SSoross be the embodiment of the evil mastermind behind the rise of the Fourth Reich in which the Naziss will ally with the Iranianss and whom ever to fight againsst the wesstern alliance.
The economic volleyss have been launched. It iss SS SSoross and hiss billionss againsst the United SStates, Great Britain, Issrael, and Russssia. He doess hiss work through liberal groupss like the Tidess Foundation and ssimilar non-governmental organizationss in Issrael and it iss time ssomeone takess him to tassk for the misschief hiss wrath and pride are reaping on our free and democratic way of life.
Thiss is ass great a threat to our nation and treassure ass any bombss and bulletss war could ever be. Thiss evil geniuss could bring down our nation without firing a sshot by waging an economic war. Wake up!
Bring back the chargess of ssedition and tax thesse unpatriotic puke entitiess into oblivion. If there are no lawss against economic esspionage, make ssome and usse them now!
Congressss must call thosse ressponssible for thesse sseditiouss actss in for hearingss and sshine the light of truth and freedom on thesse rat bastardss who work behind the ssceness in the cover of darknessss.
The tea party musst ferret out thosse memberss of congressss who have infiltrated thiss fine repressentative body who are ssympathetic to Mr. SSoross' caussess and make ssure Herr SSoross and hiss planss for the United SStatess are an epic fail!
We know the Enemy. We know hiss tacticss. We must mobilize now.
Did I mention Ssloth? SSoross is not ssloth.
I challenge Mr. SSoross to explain how his vission of the world iss better than SStalin'ss, Hitler'ss, Roossevelt'ss, or more importantly Jefferson's, Lincoln's, or God's? I will look for hiss essssay in a leading ssocialist publication.
Jacksson Delano Maybolt, Pressident, Urban Poverty Law Center
"I hate it when you lisp when writing!" Mother Maybolt, 1923-2008
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Remembers, Can Death Be Far Off?
Christmas is a special time, not only for western businesses, but for those of us who came of age during the 1950's and 1960's. We were the first kids to have television as a diversion. We suffered through the nuclear annihilation drills at school where we dutifully ducked and covered our little noggins underneath our school desks, believing this to be the safest location in the event of a nuclear attack. I ask God for forgiveness for looking at all those white panties exposed by my shemale classmates at a time when I should have been praying for my soul's salvation. I enjoyed the bomb drills way to much in a sick way.
At this time in my life I believed if I hid under the covers of my bed at night monsters would be unable to find me, keeping me safe. I only had to have my nose sticking out for fresh air, the only body part exempted from the monster rule. It obviously worked. I am here, 50 plus years later, without even so much as a scratch from a monster. Many of whom I suspect passed my bed by in their nightly rounds looking for the careless children with more tender parts exposed.
My motto at the time was you could never be too safe when dealing with nuclear explosions or monsters. I would be nearly 40 yrs old before I would realize the greatest monster ever conceived of was lurking just beneath those fresh white cotton panties I was so fond of peeking at during the nuclear bomb drills in grade school. Nobody warned me.
Though my parents struggled financially as most young parents did in these times of my childhood, my grandparents were well off. Grandfather Finkbinder was a country doctor and his wife, Granny, was his companion and boss. They were products of the depression and stayed out of debt and doted on their only child's children and therefore Christmas was fantastic.
I have already relayed in these tomes how my older brother was the favored, but at Christmas, judging by the gifts, they even felt a little something for me, in the spirit of Jesus's birthday and all, but only just for that one day.
Sometimes I would suspect foul play when my brother and I would get identical gifts. In these cases, my gift would always be broken or not function as advertised. In 1961 we got a couple of compressed air powered rocket ship kits and my rocket had a crack in the fuselage and I could not power it even off the launch pad no matter how many times I pumped that piece of shit up. My brother wowed the neighborhood with his powerful emissions into the lower stratosphere and was looked on as one might view a young Wernher Von Braun complete with all the fanfare and benefits.
My luck was so bad, if I pulled a tee-shirt out of my drawer and just put it on without checking the label, I had it on backwards 105% of the time. I say 105% since even if I checked the label and made the necessary rotation, it would still be wrong a good number of times. To this day, I still cannot pick up a tee-shirt and put it on without looking for the label. A rudimentary knowledge of statistics would predict I would have a 50/50 chance of getting it right. No, the Jack Maybolt tee-shirt rule was more powerful than statistics!
Two identical Daisy 22 caliber pump pellet guns under the tree in 1963. Mine had to be sent back to the folks at Daisy for an adjustment or a replacement as the barrel was bent. My brother's pellet gun would nail flies on the fence near the chicken coop at 100 ft, open sights, right out of the box. Even after my gun came back from the factory that next March, which they wrapped and gave to me for my birthday, I had to aim low and right to even hit a garbage can lid from 20 feet. Now I was not ungrateful, but I would have been more grateful if some of my gifts at least worked well enough so that I might break them myself, but they always seemed to come to me pre-broken.
Granny was a large dumpling of a woman who. through the years. had packed on a few extra pounds which would have come in handy if food had stopped being available for about a fortnight, but since this shortage never materialized in her lifetime, she was packing for no good reason. She traded for a new Cadillac Sedan De Ville every year and this was her only indulgence save her grandchildren, especially the older one.
Our summers were routinely hot as hell. We played outside continuously and were acclimated to the heat and humidity. I was a thin child, who subsisted on Mayonnaise sandwiches with the crust cut off and dipped in CoCola, the real deal when it was made with cane sugar. My father would try to give me something new to eat from time to vary my diet, which were all rejected by me. His father, also a product of the depression, took over my feeding and care for a fortnight during my summertime visit to the other grandparents, who lived in Nashville.
Nashville was only a pleasant little 6 hr drive pre interstate along a dangerous two lane highway, famously known as route 66. Every 12 miles or so you had to slow down and pass through a small country town. Our Volkswagen Beetle was crowded with parents in front, and three children ages, 6, 5 and 4 piled in the backseat. I was the 5 yr old and both the 6 yr old and I would get severe spankings if the 4 yr old ever screamed.
"Quit touching me!"
And here is where I had all the advantages, my father liked me best and my ass whoopings were 50% of what Wernher Von Braun could expect. Of course, he was twice my size from first I could recall, but now we have become even in old age.
When we get to Nashville, I am left with my grandfather, Himmler. I can still recall the dread I felt wash over me as I watched my parents and siblings drive away that day. He is a strict disciplinarian who is not accustom to baby boomers and their finicky ways. He attended college during the depression and though he wanted to be a physician, he took a pharmacy degree to get out two years earlier to start to earn money to help with his younger brothers and sister. He assures my parents before they leave he will teach me to eat. I had my doubts.
First dinner was mashed potatoes, gravy, turkey, dressing and green beans. I was able to take a few bites of the yellow and white items on the plate, but I could not touch the green beans. Herr Himmler sternly informed me I was not going to leave that table until I cleaned my plate. I recall crying as I stuffed the remaining yellow and white foods down into my already full belly.
I cried and I recall with bemusement at how the beans seemed to dance on my plate depending on how large a tear was in my eyes. His order for me to take a bite of the green beans and chew it up was followed by me. The taste and texture of the beans to me could not have been more disturbing if those beans had been sprayed with sick cat shit and left in the sun to dry for a week. As soon as the flavor hit the back of my tongue, I vomited my entire meal. It seems even Himmler had a breaking point.
He died 9 yrs later when the aorta in his abdomen burst while he was working in his pharmacy. He was 67 years old. I did not cry at his funeral. He had little use for children, and children had even less use for him. I was so lucky that my father was the antithesis of his father. A little bit of human kindness and love and empathy on Himmler's part would have brought out the tears at his service. Oh well, he was probably only thinking of us in the long run, funerals with tears are so messy and border on the down right depressing!
Mark Twain quipped, and he quipped a lot in his short 85 years, "The reason people rejoice at the news of a birth, and cry at funerals is they are not the focus of the celebration in either case." Or something like that?
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
At this time in my life I believed if I hid under the covers of my bed at night monsters would be unable to find me, keeping me safe. I only had to have my nose sticking out for fresh air, the only body part exempted from the monster rule. It obviously worked. I am here, 50 plus years later, without even so much as a scratch from a monster. Many of whom I suspect passed my bed by in their nightly rounds looking for the careless children with more tender parts exposed.
My motto at the time was you could never be too safe when dealing with nuclear explosions or monsters. I would be nearly 40 yrs old before I would realize the greatest monster ever conceived of was lurking just beneath those fresh white cotton panties I was so fond of peeking at during the nuclear bomb drills in grade school. Nobody warned me.
Though my parents struggled financially as most young parents did in these times of my childhood, my grandparents were well off. Grandfather Finkbinder was a country doctor and his wife, Granny, was his companion and boss. They were products of the depression and stayed out of debt and doted on their only child's children and therefore Christmas was fantastic.
I have already relayed in these tomes how my older brother was the favored, but at Christmas, judging by the gifts, they even felt a little something for me, in the spirit of Jesus's birthday and all, but only just for that one day.
Sometimes I would suspect foul play when my brother and I would get identical gifts. In these cases, my gift would always be broken or not function as advertised. In 1961 we got a couple of compressed air powered rocket ship kits and my rocket had a crack in the fuselage and I could not power it even off the launch pad no matter how many times I pumped that piece of shit up. My brother wowed the neighborhood with his powerful emissions into the lower stratosphere and was looked on as one might view a young Wernher Von Braun complete with all the fanfare and benefits.
My luck was so bad, if I pulled a tee-shirt out of my drawer and just put it on without checking the label, I had it on backwards 105% of the time. I say 105% since even if I checked the label and made the necessary rotation, it would still be wrong a good number of times. To this day, I still cannot pick up a tee-shirt and put it on without looking for the label. A rudimentary knowledge of statistics would predict I would have a 50/50 chance of getting it right. No, the Jack Maybolt tee-shirt rule was more powerful than statistics!
Two identical Daisy 22 caliber pump pellet guns under the tree in 1963. Mine had to be sent back to the folks at Daisy for an adjustment or a replacement as the barrel was bent. My brother's pellet gun would nail flies on the fence near the chicken coop at 100 ft, open sights, right out of the box. Even after my gun came back from the factory that next March, which they wrapped and gave to me for my birthday, I had to aim low and right to even hit a garbage can lid from 20 feet. Now I was not ungrateful, but I would have been more grateful if some of my gifts at least worked well enough so that I might break them myself, but they always seemed to come to me pre-broken.
Granny was a large dumpling of a woman who. through the years. had packed on a few extra pounds which would have come in handy if food had stopped being available for about a fortnight, but since this shortage never materialized in her lifetime, she was packing for no good reason. She traded for a new Cadillac Sedan De Ville every year and this was her only indulgence save her grandchildren, especially the older one.
Our summers were routinely hot as hell. We played outside continuously and were acclimated to the heat and humidity. I was a thin child, who subsisted on Mayonnaise sandwiches with the crust cut off and dipped in CoCola, the real deal when it was made with cane sugar. My father would try to give me something new to eat from time to vary my diet, which were all rejected by me. His father, also a product of the depression, took over my feeding and care for a fortnight during my summertime visit to the other grandparents, who lived in Nashville.
Nashville was only a pleasant little 6 hr drive pre interstate along a dangerous two lane highway, famously known as route 66. Every 12 miles or so you had to slow down and pass through a small country town. Our Volkswagen Beetle was crowded with parents in front, and three children ages, 6, 5 and 4 piled in the backseat. I was the 5 yr old and both the 6 yr old and I would get severe spankings if the 4 yr old ever screamed.
"Quit touching me!"
And here is where I had all the advantages, my father liked me best and my ass whoopings were 50% of what Wernher Von Braun could expect. Of course, he was twice my size from first I could recall, but now we have become even in old age.
When we get to Nashville, I am left with my grandfather, Himmler. I can still recall the dread I felt wash over me as I watched my parents and siblings drive away that day. He is a strict disciplinarian who is not accustom to baby boomers and their finicky ways. He attended college during the depression and though he wanted to be a physician, he took a pharmacy degree to get out two years earlier to start to earn money to help with his younger brothers and sister. He assures my parents before they leave he will teach me to eat. I had my doubts.
First dinner was mashed potatoes, gravy, turkey, dressing and green beans. I was able to take a few bites of the yellow and white items on the plate, but I could not touch the green beans. Herr Himmler sternly informed me I was not going to leave that table until I cleaned my plate. I recall crying as I stuffed the remaining yellow and white foods down into my already full belly.
I cried and I recall with bemusement at how the beans seemed to dance on my plate depending on how large a tear was in my eyes. His order for me to take a bite of the green beans and chew it up was followed by me. The taste and texture of the beans to me could not have been more disturbing if those beans had been sprayed with sick cat shit and left in the sun to dry for a week. As soon as the flavor hit the back of my tongue, I vomited my entire meal. It seems even Himmler had a breaking point.
He died 9 yrs later when the aorta in his abdomen burst while he was working in his pharmacy. He was 67 years old. I did not cry at his funeral. He had little use for children, and children had even less use for him. I was so lucky that my father was the antithesis of his father. A little bit of human kindness and love and empathy on Himmler's part would have brought out the tears at his service. Oh well, he was probably only thinking of us in the long run, funerals with tears are so messy and border on the down right depressing!
Mark Twain quipped, and he quipped a lot in his short 85 years, "The reason people rejoice at the news of a birth, and cry at funerals is they are not the focus of the celebration in either case." Or something like that?
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Protests US Loss Of Bill Of Rights
The senate is poised to pass and Precidence Barack (Whose Sane?) Obama is planning to sign a bill that would allow the US military to pick up US citizens in America suspected of being terrorist(by whose definition?) and hold them indefinitely without trial or limits. Who is the judge? Where is my trial in front of a jury of my peers(doubtfully peers, Jack Maybolt is peerless)?
I do not mind if they do this on foreign soil, where generally the US military has these powers, but on the homeland? This is over reaching. We are no longer safe in our homes, in our jobs, or at our children's band concerts.
"Are you Jack Maybolt?"
"Why, yes I am."
"Come with me. You are under arrest by the power wrested from the constitution by the Washington Kleptocracy."
"What am I charged with, soldier?"
"I am not at liberty to share that with you, sir."
"But my nephew is playing the tambourine and his big solo is coming up after the intermission."
"Sorry, sir. No exceptions. You should have considered this before you wrote the words of sedition against Washington DC."
"But what about freedom of speech and of the press?"
"Do you have any press papers?"
"No, unless my AARP membership card has it as a benefit?"
"Sir, writing is not protected speech. The ninth district court of appeals so ruled last week."
"Up is down, right is wrong, in is out, air is water, black is white, dogs are cats, people are pigs, pigs are politicians, the enemy is us."
"Sir, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law if you ever get a trial."
America the doors are closing. Is it time to put up a wall on the northern and southern borders to keep us in? People who have limited freedoms like to migrate to areas of more freedom. Only way to keep us home is to imprison us. Step one is in the bill before the senate today.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
I do not mind if they do this on foreign soil, where generally the US military has these powers, but on the homeland? This is over reaching. We are no longer safe in our homes, in our jobs, or at our children's band concerts.
"Are you Jack Maybolt?"
"Why, yes I am."
"Come with me. You are under arrest by the power wrested from the constitution by the Washington Kleptocracy."
"What am I charged with, soldier?"
"I am not at liberty to share that with you, sir."
"But my nephew is playing the tambourine and his big solo is coming up after the intermission."
"Sorry, sir. No exceptions. You should have considered this before you wrote the words of sedition against Washington DC."
"But what about freedom of speech and of the press?"
"Do you have any press papers?"
"No, unless my AARP membership card has it as a benefit?"
"Sir, writing is not protected speech. The ninth district court of appeals so ruled last week."
"Up is down, right is wrong, in is out, air is water, black is white, dogs are cats, people are pigs, pigs are politicians, the enemy is us."
"Sir, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law if you ever get a trial."
America the doors are closing. Is it time to put up a wall on the northern and southern borders to keep us in? People who have limited freedoms like to migrate to areas of more freedom. Only way to keep us home is to imprison us. Step one is in the bill before the senate today.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Reviews Ford Mustang Shelby GT 500
Shelby GT 500 Mustang. Built around a 5.4 litre 550 horse power supercharged power plant. These engines are assembled by a couple of fellows who sign the engine ID plate. Mine is signed by the team of illegible and illegible, probably the best Ford Motor Company employees ever! I salute these dedicated workers who built this dream machine that is more than a car, it is art!
The race red beauty arrived by truck from the Michigan plant yesterday at about 4 pm. It has the narrow twin white racing stripes that bisect the car into a right and a left side or more appropriately driver's and passenger's sides. The functional front apron and the rear air spoil add to the artistic aesthetics and keep the air flowing around the car at high speeds and help stabilize it's ample rear by forcing down ward pressure on tires that scream to break free of the sticky bonds of friction whenever the supercharger powers up!
The black leather Ricaro seats with twin white leather seat inserts wrap around both driver and front passenger like your mother's womb securing your backside and flanks thereby preventing any slippage as this machine takes you from zero to awesome in 4.4 seconds. The over sized brembo brakes can get you back from awesome to zero in about 104 feet.
The first thing you notice when you turn the key is the chipping for the start is a deep guttural tone of a race car that revs instantly to about 2000 rpms and quickly fades to a rich idle of about 850 to 900 rpms. The start cries out for attention and every man and boy within earshot answers the cry with that look..... "Someday, after I get a job and the kids are out of college and if the wife strokes out just a little, not so much as to be useless during sex or the house chores, but just enough not to know the difference between a Dodge Caravan and that, I am going to get me one!"
The gearbox is topped off by a white cue ball shifter with a short throw H and a half pattern. Shifting up you notice the genius of the Ford engineers. First and second require slight pressure towards the drivers knee, third is natural and from neutral towards the radio stack, fourth is effortless and back towards the cup holders, and fifth requires a slight amount of pressure towards the passengers left knee, then the sixth gear, an overdrive gear requires a consciously slight amount of pressure towards the passengers hip. The transmission begs to fall from fifth to fourth when pulled back. So when that pesky Camaro challenges the Shelby GT 500 at highway speeds it is simple to slip it into fourth and choose third straight forward and step on the accelerator, then its "hold my beer and watch this" time!
From 55 to 110mph is only a few seconds away. I only guess the speed because you do not have a chance to even glance down at the gauges as things are happening too quickly. All your attention must be focused on the road ahead which too quickly becomes the road behind in the Ford Shelby GT 500. The Tennessee Highway Patrolman was kind enough to confirm my suspicions. The car is a ticket magnet. I tried to explain I had mistimed my shift from third to fourth by 3.5 seconds while texting my friend about this wonderful car and I was up to 110 before I even realized it. Sorry Trooper.
He let me go with a warning ticket, after I posted $500 bail. The hearing before the Judge is scheduled for January 20, 2012.
Even with traction control the Ford Shelby GT 500 is a three speed racer. To me, a nearly 60 yr old male with half or less stores of testosterone and arteries clogged by years of greasy cheeseburger driven hyped up cholesterol levels with a spattering of untreated essential hypertension the first two gears are to get the car moving down the road. Any hint of supercharging in these gears especially first in my hands tends to prompt the rear end of the car to scream, "Move over Grandma, I am passing you." It is as though the back wheels do not know the front of the car is even there or is a consideration.
I learned this the first time I punched it going about 30 mph in second on dry pavement and when the supercharger hit 10 psi the rear end tried to pass on my right. Only my lightning reflexes egged along by my reflexive explosive diarrheal cramping pulled my foot off the accelerator timely enough to avert leaving the road at 60 to destinations unknown! And yes traction control was in the engaged mode. I will leave reviews of the car off traction mode to a younger man in possession of taut sphincters and steady nerves.
Economy: The sticker boasts 16 mpg city and 23 mpg highway. Driving like the old man, that I am, I have eked out only 20.7 mpg burning 92 octane pure gasoline, not any alcohol for this baby. Maybe after break-in it will loosen up and achieve the 23 mpg boasted on the sticker. There was no gas guzzler tax. Apparently Ford got to some EPA official with a bribe, perhaps a GT 500?
This car has the SVT performance package, what ever that is and the HID headlights which are vital to driving at night to allow you to at least catch a glimpse of that deer before it commits suicide by running out from the trees directly into your path. In my view, no amount of counseling will prevent this end result in a deer who is intent on hurting his or herself. Monies spent on wildlife counselors is wasted.
Criticism: Hey Ford, you need a heads up display of the instrument gauges!
Praise: Hey Ford, nice job combining performance and art! The 2012 Shelby GT 500 is both!
Jackson Delano Maybolt, Urban Poverty Law Center
The race red beauty arrived by truck from the Michigan plant yesterday at about 4 pm. It has the narrow twin white racing stripes that bisect the car into a right and a left side or more appropriately driver's and passenger's sides. The functional front apron and the rear air spoil add to the artistic aesthetics and keep the air flowing around the car at high speeds and help stabilize it's ample rear by forcing down ward pressure on tires that scream to break free of the sticky bonds of friction whenever the supercharger powers up!
The black leather Ricaro seats with twin white leather seat inserts wrap around both driver and front passenger like your mother's womb securing your backside and flanks thereby preventing any slippage as this machine takes you from zero to awesome in 4.4 seconds. The over sized brembo brakes can get you back from awesome to zero in about 104 feet.
The first thing you notice when you turn the key is the chipping for the start is a deep guttural tone of a race car that revs instantly to about 2000 rpms and quickly fades to a rich idle of about 850 to 900 rpms. The start cries out for attention and every man and boy within earshot answers the cry with that look..... "Someday, after I get a job and the kids are out of college and if the wife strokes out just a little, not so much as to be useless during sex or the house chores, but just enough not to know the difference between a Dodge Caravan and that, I am going to get me one!"
The gearbox is topped off by a white cue ball shifter with a short throw H and a half pattern. Shifting up you notice the genius of the Ford engineers. First and second require slight pressure towards the drivers knee, third is natural and from neutral towards the radio stack, fourth is effortless and back towards the cup holders, and fifth requires a slight amount of pressure towards the passengers left knee, then the sixth gear, an overdrive gear requires a consciously slight amount of pressure towards the passengers hip. The transmission begs to fall from fifth to fourth when pulled back. So when that pesky Camaro challenges the Shelby GT 500 at highway speeds it is simple to slip it into fourth and choose third straight forward and step on the accelerator, then its "hold my beer and watch this" time!
From 55 to 110mph is only a few seconds away. I only guess the speed because you do not have a chance to even glance down at the gauges as things are happening too quickly. All your attention must be focused on the road ahead which too quickly becomes the road behind in the Ford Shelby GT 500. The Tennessee Highway Patrolman was kind enough to confirm my suspicions. The car is a ticket magnet. I tried to explain I had mistimed my shift from third to fourth by 3.5 seconds while texting my friend about this wonderful car and I was up to 110 before I even realized it. Sorry Trooper.
He let me go with a warning ticket, after I posted $500 bail. The hearing before the Judge is scheduled for January 20, 2012.
Even with traction control the Ford Shelby GT 500 is a three speed racer. To me, a nearly 60 yr old male with half or less stores of testosterone and arteries clogged by years of greasy cheeseburger driven hyped up cholesterol levels with a spattering of untreated essential hypertension the first two gears are to get the car moving down the road. Any hint of supercharging in these gears especially first in my hands tends to prompt the rear end of the car to scream, "Move over Grandma, I am passing you." It is as though the back wheels do not know the front of the car is even there or is a consideration.
I learned this the first time I punched it going about 30 mph in second on dry pavement and when the supercharger hit 10 psi the rear end tried to pass on my right. Only my lightning reflexes egged along by my reflexive explosive diarrheal cramping pulled my foot off the accelerator timely enough to avert leaving the road at 60 to destinations unknown! And yes traction control was in the engaged mode. I will leave reviews of the car off traction mode to a younger man in possession of taut sphincters and steady nerves.
Economy: The sticker boasts 16 mpg city and 23 mpg highway. Driving like the old man, that I am, I have eked out only 20.7 mpg burning 92 octane pure gasoline, not any alcohol for this baby. Maybe after break-in it will loosen up and achieve the 23 mpg boasted on the sticker. There was no gas guzzler tax. Apparently Ford got to some EPA official with a bribe, perhaps a GT 500?
This car has the SVT performance package, what ever that is and the HID headlights which are vital to driving at night to allow you to at least catch a glimpse of that deer before it commits suicide by running out from the trees directly into your path. In my view, no amount of counseling will prevent this end result in a deer who is intent on hurting his or herself. Monies spent on wildlife counselors is wasted.
Criticism: Hey Ford, you need a heads up display of the instrument gauges!
Praise: Hey Ford, nice job combining performance and art! The 2012 Shelby GT 500 is both!
Jackson Delano Maybolt, Urban Poverty Law Center
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center to Test Drive Ford Shelby Mustang, Iran Gets Its Drone
Last week we learn the Iranians have picked up a super spy drone called the RT-170. It is said to be of CIA origins and was hiking on the border between Afghanistan and Iran when it landed perfectly preserved in an Iranian field where a group of senior Republican Guards were practicing secret drone capturing maneuvers. Imagine their surprise when the stealth delta winged pilotless craft containing a billion and a quarter's worth of super secret cameras, computer systems, and the stealth technology only known to three persons at Lockheed industries came out of the sky, just a little shy of Moline. Muckmood fell off is tractor, couldn't believe what he'd seen.
Reports at the scene say the drone greeted its Republican Guard captors in Farsi and protested when it was sodomized with a fork lift when it was being loaded onto the flat bed trailer. It has been droning on and on since its capture, so much so the Iranians are considering placing a burka on it in an attempt to quiet it. Needless to say nerves are beginning to fray in Iran.
The Chinese have sent an envoy with promises to cooperate in anyway they can with the Iranians. By next week these will be available in a miniaturized version at Walmart complete with camera chips and radio controllers just in time for Christmas!
I will get two so I can dog fight them.
In other domestic news, Newt Gingrich sings for his votes in Iowa. Different Verse, same as the first. He trots out his conservative bonafides and only the news media believes him. Conservatives everywhere can hear the talk, but are just not so into watching him do the Newtron Bomb. His walk over these many years since 1994 has been progressive to coin a term. The one thing he has going for him is he is not Obama, but 330 million Americans share that with Newt, so it is not so special as it might seem at first glance.
Newt is so progressive, he could put on a white pantsuit and apron, don a black wig, some red lipstick and sell auto insurance 3 billions times a year and only Flo could tell it wasn't her in those cheesy commercials.
Newt has lost his shine. The filthy Freddy Mack Money and any money pulled out of Fanny has to be sullied and soiled by definition. Medicare money is filthy since it was scheduled to go to big medicine and pharma, and those nasty doctors who look at naked bodies all day long, day in and day out. Yuck!
There is only one doctor with whom I would trade places. And that would be Shania Twain's Gynecologist. I have used that quip since the early 1990's when Ms. Twain first hit the country music scene. It still works on a very few of us.
Got to cut this short this am as a representative from the Ford Motor Company is bringing a 2012 Shelby GT 500 mustang out to let the Urban Poverty Law Center use it for a month to present a report on it. It is part of their out reach program. I will drive the crap out of it and report to you in the near future, if I survive.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
Reports at the scene say the drone greeted its Republican Guard captors in Farsi and protested when it was sodomized with a fork lift when it was being loaded onto the flat bed trailer. It has been droning on and on since its capture, so much so the Iranians are considering placing a burka on it in an attempt to quiet it. Needless to say nerves are beginning to fray in Iran.
The Chinese have sent an envoy with promises to cooperate in anyway they can with the Iranians. By next week these will be available in a miniaturized version at Walmart complete with camera chips and radio controllers just in time for Christmas!
I will get two so I can dog fight them.
In other domestic news, Newt Gingrich sings for his votes in Iowa. Different Verse, same as the first. He trots out his conservative bonafides and only the news media believes him. Conservatives everywhere can hear the talk, but are just not so into watching him do the Newtron Bomb. His walk over these many years since 1994 has been progressive to coin a term. The one thing he has going for him is he is not Obama, but 330 million Americans share that with Newt, so it is not so special as it might seem at first glance.
Newt is so progressive, he could put on a white pantsuit and apron, don a black wig, some red lipstick and sell auto insurance 3 billions times a year and only Flo could tell it wasn't her in those cheesy commercials.
Newt has lost his shine. The filthy Freddy Mack Money and any money pulled out of Fanny has to be sullied and soiled by definition. Medicare money is filthy since it was scheduled to go to big medicine and pharma, and those nasty doctors who look at naked bodies all day long, day in and day out. Yuck!
There is only one doctor with whom I would trade places. And that would be Shania Twain's Gynecologist. I have used that quip since the early 1990's when Ms. Twain first hit the country music scene. It still works on a very few of us.
Got to cut this short this am as a representative from the Ford Motor Company is bringing a 2012 Shelby GT 500 mustang out to let the Urban Poverty Law Center use it for a month to present a report on it. It is part of their out reach program. I will drive the crap out of it and report to you in the near future, if I survive.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Paul Is Dead, Urban Poverty Law Center Loses Friend
Paul sprang into my life about 15 months ago. I noticed him loitering around the barn one afternoon and I invited him to live with me. He was a fine looking yellow and white stripe tomcat. Looked to be only about 7 months old, and since I live a couple of miles from the nearest neighbor he was obviously a stray. He walked into the house like he was walking onto a yacht. He exuded confidence and was met by the hissing and fits from my two pussy cats, both old maids, and he never missed a stride.
The maltipoo pup and he were immediately fast friends and spent the next year playing nonstop. He grew to be a large tom. He could out run all my labs and my walker hound. When we took him in to get his rabies shot early on in his life with us, the vet said he had feline leukemia and would either live, live and be sick or get sick and die. We took him home and hoped for the best.
Paul got sick about a month ago and stopped eating and drinking about a week ago. He died in our bathroom 48 hours ago. I buried him in the lean to against the barn between the hay balers yesterday, the only dry place I could find with our recent rains and snows. He entertained us with his playful and curious nature. He was smart. He was a great athlete before he got sick. His eyes were orange-yellow and when he looked at you you could tell there was more going on up in that little kitty-cat mind than is typical.
I gave Paul one last pat on his little head before I placed him in his garbage sack coffin wrapped in one of my old tee-shirts to ward off the cold and said my good-byes. I asked God if it would not be too much trouble to please send Paul back in a healthy body since we feel we did not get to spend enough time with this most fascinating and beautiful of his creations. I will be on the look out for Paul II.
A new dog walked up about two weeks ago and he is a pup of about 8 months I suspect, and he has a nervousness about him that comes with having been mistreated in his former home. He is so grateful for any attention, but is quick to flee if you make any quick movements or pick up a shovel to bury Paul with, for example. He will settle down in about three months and be one of the pack. He has been named Reginald.
A young black Tom with a very pointed snout, like the Egyptian Cat God walked on to the farm and was invited inside about three weeks before Paul's demise. Reginald and Tut are on schedule to get shots and neutered soon, but they haven't a clue.
Life goes on.
Barack, Mitt, Newt, Mahmoud, Bibi, Bill, Jon, Hillary, George, Harry, Nasty, are all good and fine, but I prefer the company of Reginald, Tut, Lavern, Grace, Big Dog, Iris, Lil, Roxy, and the five chickens who, still, after three years remain unnamed.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
The maltipoo pup and he were immediately fast friends and spent the next year playing nonstop. He grew to be a large tom. He could out run all my labs and my walker hound. When we took him in to get his rabies shot early on in his life with us, the vet said he had feline leukemia and would either live, live and be sick or get sick and die. We took him home and hoped for the best.
Paul got sick about a month ago and stopped eating and drinking about a week ago. He died in our bathroom 48 hours ago. I buried him in the lean to against the barn between the hay balers yesterday, the only dry place I could find with our recent rains and snows. He entertained us with his playful and curious nature. He was smart. He was a great athlete before he got sick. His eyes were orange-yellow and when he looked at you you could tell there was more going on up in that little kitty-cat mind than is typical.
I gave Paul one last pat on his little head before I placed him in his garbage sack coffin wrapped in one of my old tee-shirts to ward off the cold and said my good-byes. I asked God if it would not be too much trouble to please send Paul back in a healthy body since we feel we did not get to spend enough time with this most fascinating and beautiful of his creations. I will be on the look out for Paul II.
A new dog walked up about two weeks ago and he is a pup of about 8 months I suspect, and he has a nervousness about him that comes with having been mistreated in his former home. He is so grateful for any attention, but is quick to flee if you make any quick movements or pick up a shovel to bury Paul with, for example. He will settle down in about three months and be one of the pack. He has been named Reginald.
A young black Tom with a very pointed snout, like the Egyptian Cat God walked on to the farm and was invited inside about three weeks before Paul's demise. Reginald and Tut are on schedule to get shots and neutered soon, but they haven't a clue.
Life goes on.
Barack, Mitt, Newt, Mahmoud, Bibi, Bill, Jon, Hillary, George, Harry, Nasty, are all good and fine, but I prefer the company of Reginald, Tut, Lavern, Grace, Big Dog, Iris, Lil, Roxy, and the five chickens who, still, after three years remain unnamed.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Founds "Not One More Dollar Foundation"
Financial Markets Terrorist, George Soros, who has been talking up the doomed Euro and down the US dollar is poised to make a trillion dollars should his plays pan out. Euro down and out, dollar up and about. With that kind of money his children will see to it he gets a damn fine nursing home in which to live out his golden years. He is 85 and the WWII vets are dying at an alarming, yet not unexpected rate. I count him in among this group because it is rumored he aided the Nazis in their confiscation of Jewish property from his neighbors in his Hungarian village when he was just an impressionable lad of 14.
It was the Soros sponsored Tides Foundation that wrote the stimulus bill that Nasty Pelosi and Harry "Bent" Reed rushed through congress and Obama signed into law. Soros used his insider information to make no lose bets on his favored companies and I am sure there was a little feathering of the Pelosi/Reed nests as well. The open corruption of our congressional leaders is disheartening to the regular people who do not play by the fast and loose set of ruling class rules.
There needs to be hearings, trials, fines, punishments, and gitmo-time for these seriously damaged public servants. We are a nation of laws and not men, a nation which now finds itself in the unenviable position of being lead by an unscrupulous band of outlaws from both sides of the isle. America's ship of state is floundering in a financial sea of hopelessness and despair. Captained by the best bunch of corporate puppets big money and big media can foist on a gullible electorate.
It is high time we forget about occupying wall street, it is lost. We must occupy main street and send honest patriots from main street to Washington where our best hope for righting these wrongs will come from Occupying Washington. We must do everything in our power to label these lifetime politicians as allies or enemies of the state. There is no room for corruption in our America.
The rise or fall of the American dollar will be inextricably linked to our success at rooting out corruption in our government. I think we can all agree if a reptile of George Soros' class can buy favors from our congress, we need a new congress. If they insist on insider trading and putting personal gain above national interest they must be defeated at the ballot box.
Tea Partiers will determine the direction this nation takes in the next election. Only the morally fit and honest patriots need apply. We and our children deserve better. Most of us feel we are taxed enough already to support an honest and moral government, but paying even one dollar of tribute to this corrupt collection of crony capitalism pushing hucksters is too much. Perhaps the best way to limit corruption in Washington today is to de-fund it. Tax paying patriots may have to show some backbone and stop contributing to the crime in Washington.
I suggest we declare 2013 tax freedom year. If we all voluntarily decide to underpay our income taxes by one dollar, the IRS would have to hire millions to track down each offender and the extra 25 cents in interest and penalties would not offset the expense to collect the tax. If this works, in 2014 we can underpay by two dollar and in about a thousand years you would be talking about some real money!
If you would like to be a founding member of my "Not One Dollar More Foundation Against American Corruption In Congress" (NODMFAACIC), send $10 dollars along with a self addressed stamped envelope to:
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President NODMFAACIC
PO Box 13
Cedar Grove, TN 38321
The money will be used to buy several tracts of land which have recently come on the market here and any profits will be used to buy advertising for NODMFAACIC backed candidates in the up coming election. Rest assured your contribution is tax deductible and I will send you an autographed thank you receipt. If this solicitation is met with wild success I will build a large home to house the NODMFAACIC offices,
hire several pretty and young female assistants to tend to the official NODMFAACIC
business and keep the place clean and somebody has to do the laundry and the cooking.
Remember, freedom ain't free! Will you be able to look your grandchildren in the eye and say what you did with that $10 dollars you did not spend to join NODMFAACIC? This may be the most important thing you ever do?
You can send cash if you hide it in a thick piece of paper, minimum 24lb paper.
My readers may be shocked to learn this thread is viewed all over the world. You foreigners can also join as American citizenship is not required to be US President or a member of NODMFAACIC. Europeans will be charged 10 Euros, sorry, can't be sure about an exchange rate, I do not trust Germany or France to do the right thing... We, here at the NODMFAACIC, do not discriminate against money. Feel free to send what you wish. Of course gold and silver are preferable.
Oh, almost forgot, the self-addressed stamped envelope is for me to send you a limited edition signed NODMFAACIC US dollar from me, Jackson Delano Maybolt, suitable for framing. Hurry only the first 1 million contributors can take advantage of this offer.
Similar offerings have been known to trade on Ebay for hundreds of dollars. Would you pay 10 dollars to fix this country? I know I would.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
It was the Soros sponsored Tides Foundation that wrote the stimulus bill that Nasty Pelosi and Harry "Bent" Reed rushed through congress and Obama signed into law. Soros used his insider information to make no lose bets on his favored companies and I am sure there was a little feathering of the Pelosi/Reed nests as well. The open corruption of our congressional leaders is disheartening to the regular people who do not play by the fast and loose set of ruling class rules.
There needs to be hearings, trials, fines, punishments, and gitmo-time for these seriously damaged public servants. We are a nation of laws and not men, a nation which now finds itself in the unenviable position of being lead by an unscrupulous band of outlaws from both sides of the isle. America's ship of state is floundering in a financial sea of hopelessness and despair. Captained by the best bunch of corporate puppets big money and big media can foist on a gullible electorate.
It is high time we forget about occupying wall street, it is lost. We must occupy main street and send honest patriots from main street to Washington where our best hope for righting these wrongs will come from Occupying Washington. We must do everything in our power to label these lifetime politicians as allies or enemies of the state. There is no room for corruption in our America.
The rise or fall of the American dollar will be inextricably linked to our success at rooting out corruption in our government. I think we can all agree if a reptile of George Soros' class can buy favors from our congress, we need a new congress. If they insist on insider trading and putting personal gain above national interest they must be defeated at the ballot box.
Tea Partiers will determine the direction this nation takes in the next election. Only the morally fit and honest patriots need apply. We and our children deserve better. Most of us feel we are taxed enough already to support an honest and moral government, but paying even one dollar of tribute to this corrupt collection of crony capitalism pushing hucksters is too much. Perhaps the best way to limit corruption in Washington today is to de-fund it. Tax paying patriots may have to show some backbone and stop contributing to the crime in Washington.
I suggest we declare 2013 tax freedom year. If we all voluntarily decide to underpay our income taxes by one dollar, the IRS would have to hire millions to track down each offender and the extra 25 cents in interest and penalties would not offset the expense to collect the tax. If this works, in 2014 we can underpay by two dollar and in about a thousand years you would be talking about some real money!
If you would like to be a founding member of my "Not One Dollar More Foundation Against American Corruption In Congress" (NODMFAACIC), send $10 dollars along with a self addressed stamped envelope to:
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President NODMFAACIC
PO Box 13
Cedar Grove, TN 38321
The money will be used to buy several tracts of land which have recently come on the market here and any profits will be used to buy advertising for NODMFAACIC backed candidates in the up coming election. Rest assured your contribution is tax deductible and I will send you an autographed thank you receipt. If this solicitation is met with wild success I will build a large home to house the NODMFAACIC offices,
hire several pretty and young female assistants to tend to the official NODMFAACIC
business and keep the place clean and somebody has to do the laundry and the cooking.
Remember, freedom ain't free! Will you be able to look your grandchildren in the eye and say what you did with that $10 dollars you did not spend to join NODMFAACIC? This may be the most important thing you ever do?
You can send cash if you hide it in a thick piece of paper, minimum 24lb paper.
My readers may be shocked to learn this thread is viewed all over the world. You foreigners can also join as American citizenship is not required to be US President or a member of NODMFAACIC. Europeans will be charged 10 Euros, sorry, can't be sure about an exchange rate, I do not trust Germany or France to do the right thing... We, here at the NODMFAACIC, do not discriminate against money. Feel free to send what you wish. Of course gold and silver are preferable.
Oh, almost forgot, the self-addressed stamped envelope is for me to send you a limited edition signed NODMFAACIC US dollar from me, Jackson Delano Maybolt, suitable for framing. Hurry only the first 1 million contributors can take advantage of this offer.
Similar offerings have been known to trade on Ebay for hundreds of dollars. Would you pay 10 dollars to fix this country? I know I would.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center's Cameo: Letters To and From A Son Of A Bitch
Back many years ago, when Richard Nixon was President, my life was interrupted by a marriage of convenience. Convenient for my wife's family, who through no fault of their own, had unintentionally interbred through a series of unrecognized first cousin marriages. The great grandfather was a lover of women, and ran the local bank and sperm deposits with the female customers was his real passion.
Anyway when this rich and powerful family finally had the genetic testing/counseling to find the cause of the more than average number of simpletons being sired from my wife's family, the family paid to have all the eligible males tested and I was the only potential suitor not genetically related to these folks in our county, and I was chosen to marry her. My wife had dodged the bullet and seemed normal for a woman, and after a short courtship, I was lead down the isle to the slaughter.
It took six years to conceive, and after my son, Jackson Delano Maybolt, Jr was born and tested, and found to be healthy, strong and normal, my wife's family arranged for the divorce. I was devastated. I loved little Jackie, and my father sent the following letter as advice:
1867
1.
Dear Kids:
This page was to have begin Chapter 1 of Book TWO of "REDACTED", the novel I am writing under contract for REDACTED, but after hearing from you last night I decided it was more important to write to you instead of on the novel, and hence this missive:
First, for openers, just let me say that I love both of you and J2 more than words could ever express. Next, that my heart goes out to all three of you in this time of unhappiness; and finally, that I am the last person in the world to try to tell anybody how to make a marriage work, as the saying is;
I don't know why marriages have to work, why they just can't be idle, or loaf some of the time. Do they always have to be working? I don't know who first conjoined the words marriage and work, probably some girl editor at COSMOPOLITAN; but when you think about it the world around us seems geared to make us think that certain things have to be certain ways or hell, they are not working.
So I don't know how to make a marriage work. One way to induce it to work might be to raise its wages. Given enough money usually almost anything will work--or is that really right thinking? I don't know.
Anyhow, what I've discovered, if I have discovered anything about marriages, is that there are as many kinds of marriages as there are different kinds of people and none works quite the same way as others. Each marriage is unique, and according to your expectations and what others sometime leads you to expect, a marriage is good or it is bad.
Now to me, just me, a bad marriage is no marriage. I don't think anybody ought to be connected with a bad marriage. It is a nothing, negative, unworthy situation. So if I were asked to look over a failing marriage and try to see what's wrong with it I'd probably have the feeling at the outset that the thing probably wasn't worth fooling with and trying to fix. But in this case, since I am involved as close to both of you let me offer this.
Look at the friendship. Forget about the love for a minute. Forget about the sex. Just focus on the friendship and see where it stands, because the foundation of any lasting relationship is based on friendship, or to break it down, basically it boils down to whether or not you like the other person.
Now, unfortunately, this little basic piece of commonsense is something nearly all God-fearing parents fail to tell their children and impress upon them growing up. That plain fact is left out of the curriculum of child-rearing in favor of the old hocus-pocus about the old black magic called love, love being confused with God, gonads, St. Valentine, forever, moonlight, music and chewing gum.
Then comes marriage, which is once again confused. It is supposed to be happiness, not just good old down home contentment. Nobody in a marriage is supposed to get on anybody else's nerves. We marry somebody we love in order to be happy, just like everybody else that's so happy.
We can hear those others screaming and breaking the dishes they are so happy. We see her not talking to him, him drinking too much, and both treasuring up little grudges until they have a sack full and then they can have a fight and after the fight they pick up the same old grudges and put them in the same old sacks and pretty soon when they have some new ones collected, another fight.
Pretty soon the supply of grudges gets so plentiful that a war is declared, and they have a divorce, which takes a lot of time and energy and treasure and which makes lawyers and gossips blissful.
Now if you have friendship, as opposed to just love, sex, and marriage, you can sometimes throw the bags away along with the grudges, shake hands, admit that nobody but yourself is perfect, and keep the arrangement going. But you have to have friendship to cut this caper, in MY opinion.
What hurts people many times, is making an unrealistic arrangement when you are too young to handle it. That's probably the basic problem with any arrangement--too much youth. Because while you are young you are going to want to move around and have fun and experiment, or you, just aren't normal. If you are young and don't have these yearnings, then in my book you are just a plain weirdo.
But friendship is something that can be formed, and that can happen and that can endure between people of any age. That is the wonder of friendship.
Losing a friend is a horrible experience. I have lost enough of them to know, some through death. God, it hurts; I can't tell you how much it hurts to lose your best friend. Mine was killed when he was 21 in an air force plane crash on the night he was flying his last training mission before graduation the next day. I've really never recovered from that. They guy was my true friend. Not replaceable. Like the Chump.
Right now my best friend is Lulu. How did I get so lucky? Well, I was not looking for someone to marry. In fact I had decided marriage was not for me. I had suffered more in marriage that I could tell about if I had a thousand years in which to try.
I had really had it with marriage, twenty-three years of insufferable shit. I shudder when I think about it. I wake up sweating sometimes under the impression that I am still in that awful prison, married to somebody I didn't like, somebody who didn't like me.
We were out to get each other from the first and we both succeeded in tearing large chunks out of our lives, much of it in front of other people who variously helped us or applauded us or suffered with us because they were tied in too and could not get away. Please, God, deliver me from any more such arrangements.
From the first my in-laws moved heaven and earth to keep my wife and me together. They figured plenty of children would do the trick and make us friends. So they insisted on children, children, children--and again, one more--and sure enough I stayed in there to raise the children. It was like fighting a 23 year war, and if you add to that the years it took to finally get a settlement, it would be 29 years.
Now this is the confession of a wasted life, a life spent trying to snatch brief moments of contentment and surcrease from an endless and on-going battle to the death. In a word, two enemies were in the church when I got married--the bride and the groom.
The instant we discovered it we should have gotten as far from each other as distance, earth, wind, and water would allow, and located friends to be with; we didn't; we stuck in there, and oh boy, what a mess it was!
So, aside from looking at your arrangement, which is all a marriage is when you get out of your tuxedo and lay aside the bouquet and the veil--just an arrangement, that's all; I say, aside from looking at your arrangement, open the hood and check the oil and see if any friendship is left in the crankcase. If it has all run out and you've been driving it hard, then I don't have to tell you that you have blown it and it would be easier and cheaper to get another one than to try to fix this one. But if the friendship is just low, well, add some, the best quality; and if it is dirty, well, drain the son-of-a-bitch and put in new friendship oil, of the best quality.
Back to Lulu and our arrangement. She's had two failed marriages before this one. First time she and the guy were not friends. Second time she felt trapped because the guy was too old and Lulu had a lot of living she felt like she was not going to get to do if she stayed in that situation. Both times she altered the situation, both times, I think, wisely. It was tough, but in spite of everything she managed to bite the bullet and survive.
She got her running around done. She was the bell of the ski circuit and the Hollywood circuit, the whole bit. She went the whole route. Then we became friends, and we still are friends and are working in a partnership to try to bring about mutual benefit in such a way as to weather us as comfortably as possible over the years (or hours, who knows?) between now and the moment of our deaths.
Our arrangement has largely to do with preparation for the immutable sentence of life, which is illness and death, and we are clinging to each other in this mutual support arrangement which is at bottom really very pragmatic. Most arrangements at this age(middle age and beyond) have this element or they are not much.
We have other things, affection, love, and interdependence, which you probably already have seen. And we don't have any children, which grieves Lulu and makes her dote on J2(we are planning to come out and rent an apartment and spend some time skiing Utah and baby sitting next winter). We really want to be a part of J2's growing up if there is any way to manage it.
He is really the center of our universe, so to speak, and the poor little guy in not even aware of our existence yet.
But this is where we are coming from, from what for us is a stable arrangement.
Will it last? Hell, I don't know. But right now things look really good. I have half this novel ready for the publisher and expect and hope by fall to have the other half done and to have another contract somewhere, for something next, and to keep on happily plugging away at this machine, to get back in the chips again and go on some more trips before I cash it all in...
Kids, what can I say? I woke up this morning hurting for all of you. I woke up hurting and had to write to say I love you.
ALWAYS, The Old Man
12/4/2011
Dear Dad,
Wife and I checked the crankcase in 1982, per your advice. Not a drop of friendship oil and the engine had seized. She left for some other guy who had a bright future.
Thank you for the advice. As I look back on those days, painful then, joyous now.
See you in heaven?
I love you, too.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
Anyway when this rich and powerful family finally had the genetic testing/counseling to find the cause of the more than average number of simpletons being sired from my wife's family, the family paid to have all the eligible males tested and I was the only potential suitor not genetically related to these folks in our county, and I was chosen to marry her. My wife had dodged the bullet and seemed normal for a woman, and after a short courtship, I was lead down the isle to the slaughter.
It took six years to conceive, and after my son, Jackson Delano Maybolt, Jr was born and tested, and found to be healthy, strong and normal, my wife's family arranged for the divorce. I was devastated. I loved little Jackie, and my father sent the following letter as advice:
1867
1.
Dear Kids:
This page was to have begin Chapter 1 of Book TWO of "REDACTED", the novel I am writing under contract for REDACTED, but after hearing from you last night I decided it was more important to write to you instead of on the novel, and hence this missive:
First, for openers, just let me say that I love both of you and J2 more than words could ever express. Next, that my heart goes out to all three of you in this time of unhappiness; and finally, that I am the last person in the world to try to tell anybody how to make a marriage work, as the saying is;
I don't know why marriages have to work, why they just can't be idle, or loaf some of the time. Do they always have to be working? I don't know who first conjoined the words marriage and work, probably some girl editor at COSMOPOLITAN; but when you think about it the world around us seems geared to make us think that certain things have to be certain ways or hell, they are not working.
So I don't know how to make a marriage work. One way to induce it to work might be to raise its wages. Given enough money usually almost anything will work--or is that really right thinking? I don't know.
Anyhow, what I've discovered, if I have discovered anything about marriages, is that there are as many kinds of marriages as there are different kinds of people and none works quite the same way as others. Each marriage is unique, and according to your expectations and what others sometime leads you to expect, a marriage is good or it is bad.
Now to me, just me, a bad marriage is no marriage. I don't think anybody ought to be connected with a bad marriage. It is a nothing, negative, unworthy situation. So if I were asked to look over a failing marriage and try to see what's wrong with it I'd probably have the feeling at the outset that the thing probably wasn't worth fooling with and trying to fix. But in this case, since I am involved as close to both of you let me offer this.
Look at the friendship. Forget about the love for a minute. Forget about the sex. Just focus on the friendship and see where it stands, because the foundation of any lasting relationship is based on friendship, or to break it down, basically it boils down to whether or not you like the other person.
Now, unfortunately, this little basic piece of commonsense is something nearly all God-fearing parents fail to tell their children and impress upon them growing up. That plain fact is left out of the curriculum of child-rearing in favor of the old hocus-pocus about the old black magic called love, love being confused with God, gonads, St. Valentine, forever, moonlight, music and chewing gum.
Then comes marriage, which is once again confused. It is supposed to be happiness, not just good old down home contentment. Nobody in a marriage is supposed to get on anybody else's nerves. We marry somebody we love in order to be happy, just like everybody else that's so happy.
We can hear those others screaming and breaking the dishes they are so happy. We see her not talking to him, him drinking too much, and both treasuring up little grudges until they have a sack full and then they can have a fight and after the fight they pick up the same old grudges and put them in the same old sacks and pretty soon when they have some new ones collected, another fight.
Pretty soon the supply of grudges gets so plentiful that a war is declared, and they have a divorce, which takes a lot of time and energy and treasure and which makes lawyers and gossips blissful.
Now if you have friendship, as opposed to just love, sex, and marriage, you can sometimes throw the bags away along with the grudges, shake hands, admit that nobody but yourself is perfect, and keep the arrangement going. But you have to have friendship to cut this caper, in MY opinion.
What hurts people many times, is making an unrealistic arrangement when you are too young to handle it. That's probably the basic problem with any arrangement--too much youth. Because while you are young you are going to want to move around and have fun and experiment, or you, just aren't normal. If you are young and don't have these yearnings, then in my book you are just a plain weirdo.
But friendship is something that can be formed, and that can happen and that can endure between people of any age. That is the wonder of friendship.
Losing a friend is a horrible experience. I have lost enough of them to know, some through death. God, it hurts; I can't tell you how much it hurts to lose your best friend. Mine was killed when he was 21 in an air force plane crash on the night he was flying his last training mission before graduation the next day. I've really never recovered from that. They guy was my true friend. Not replaceable. Like the Chump.
Right now my best friend is Lulu. How did I get so lucky? Well, I was not looking for someone to marry. In fact I had decided marriage was not for me. I had suffered more in marriage that I could tell about if I had a thousand years in which to try.
I had really had it with marriage, twenty-three years of insufferable shit. I shudder when I think about it. I wake up sweating sometimes under the impression that I am still in that awful prison, married to somebody I didn't like, somebody who didn't like me.
We were out to get each other from the first and we both succeeded in tearing large chunks out of our lives, much of it in front of other people who variously helped us or applauded us or suffered with us because they were tied in too and could not get away. Please, God, deliver me from any more such arrangements.
From the first my in-laws moved heaven and earth to keep my wife and me together. They figured plenty of children would do the trick and make us friends. So they insisted on children, children, children--and again, one more--and sure enough I stayed in there to raise the children. It was like fighting a 23 year war, and if you add to that the years it took to finally get a settlement, it would be 29 years.
Now this is the confession of a wasted life, a life spent trying to snatch brief moments of contentment and surcrease from an endless and on-going battle to the death. In a word, two enemies were in the church when I got married--the bride and the groom.
The instant we discovered it we should have gotten as far from each other as distance, earth, wind, and water would allow, and located friends to be with; we didn't; we stuck in there, and oh boy, what a mess it was!
So, aside from looking at your arrangement, which is all a marriage is when you get out of your tuxedo and lay aside the bouquet and the veil--just an arrangement, that's all; I say, aside from looking at your arrangement, open the hood and check the oil and see if any friendship is left in the crankcase. If it has all run out and you've been driving it hard, then I don't have to tell you that you have blown it and it would be easier and cheaper to get another one than to try to fix this one. But if the friendship is just low, well, add some, the best quality; and if it is dirty, well, drain the son-of-a-bitch and put in new friendship oil, of the best quality.
Back to Lulu and our arrangement. She's had two failed marriages before this one. First time she and the guy were not friends. Second time she felt trapped because the guy was too old and Lulu had a lot of living she felt like she was not going to get to do if she stayed in that situation. Both times she altered the situation, both times, I think, wisely. It was tough, but in spite of everything she managed to bite the bullet and survive.
She got her running around done. She was the bell of the ski circuit and the Hollywood circuit, the whole bit. She went the whole route. Then we became friends, and we still are friends and are working in a partnership to try to bring about mutual benefit in such a way as to weather us as comfortably as possible over the years (or hours, who knows?) between now and the moment of our deaths.
Our arrangement has largely to do with preparation for the immutable sentence of life, which is illness and death, and we are clinging to each other in this mutual support arrangement which is at bottom really very pragmatic. Most arrangements at this age(middle age and beyond) have this element or they are not much.
We have other things, affection, love, and interdependence, which you probably already have seen. And we don't have any children, which grieves Lulu and makes her dote on J2(we are planning to come out and rent an apartment and spend some time skiing Utah and baby sitting next winter). We really want to be a part of J2's growing up if there is any way to manage it.
He is really the center of our universe, so to speak, and the poor little guy in not even aware of our existence yet.
But this is where we are coming from, from what for us is a stable arrangement.
Will it last? Hell, I don't know. But right now things look really good. I have half this novel ready for the publisher and expect and hope by fall to have the other half done and to have another contract somewhere, for something next, and to keep on happily plugging away at this machine, to get back in the chips again and go on some more trips before I cash it all in...
Kids, what can I say? I woke up this morning hurting for all of you. I woke up hurting and had to write to say I love you.
ALWAYS, The Old Man
12/4/2011
Dear Dad,
Wife and I checked the crankcase in 1982, per your advice. Not a drop of friendship oil and the engine had seized. She left for some other guy who had a bright future.
Thank you for the advice. As I look back on those days, painful then, joyous now.
See you in heaven?
I love you, too.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Weekend Rants, Do Not Read If Not Healthy Enough For Sex
President Obama is starting a 17 day vacation in Hawaii where as Jay Carney puts it, he will read books on economics and put a team of third grade Singaporeans together to advise him on how to strip 2.75% from a bloated and wasteful federal budget. The other 16.9 days will be spent frolicking on the beach, body surfing, and playing 7,344 holes of golf. According to Carney, his White House spokesman, Obama is seeking the Guinness Record for most holes of golf played by a sitting Black United States President.
When the folks at Guinness assured him he had it after the first hole, Obama chided, "I don't want some nobody like Herman Cain even thinking about taking on my record."
Newt Gingrich raised media brows this past week when he blurted out in an interview, "I will be the republican nominee!"
Seems he did not believe what the mullahs who control our media think........."not unless we allow it!"
Media panties were heard snapping in tight bunches all over America, so much so former President Bill Clinton mistook its meaning and popped a viagra tablet mid interview with that putridly liberal post-menopausal gaggle of Clinton groupies at the View.
If you placed all four of these liberal hags in a large blender and whirred to liquefaction, after you poured off the "Cacklings" (these are the parts of a woman prone to gossiping and cruelty), you could not find one ounce of kindness nor a molecule of estrogen in amongst the tiny fraction of left over goo!
If you do not believe me, try it.
I have a cousin who works in Make-up for the production there and she said they go through "feminine hygiene products" by the case and they can't seem to expunge the unmistakable smell of WOP.
When I asked which of the four View she-demons were Italian, she look at me in bewilderment.
Then I explained back in the pre-political correctness era that was the term for an Italian American.
"Uncle Jack, will your generation ever let go of all that primitive discrimination? WOP to the non-discriminating Gen-Xer will always mean "worn out pussy!"
I did not have the heart to tell her discrimination lets us tell the difference between say lightning bug and lightning, to steal from my literary hero, Mr. MARK TWAIN!
Jackson Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
When the folks at Guinness assured him he had it after the first hole, Obama chided, "I don't want some nobody like Herman Cain even thinking about taking on my record."
Newt Gingrich raised media brows this past week when he blurted out in an interview, "I will be the republican nominee!"
Seems he did not believe what the mullahs who control our media think........."not unless we allow it!"
Media panties were heard snapping in tight bunches all over America, so much so former President Bill Clinton mistook its meaning and popped a viagra tablet mid interview with that putridly liberal post-menopausal gaggle of Clinton groupies at the View.
If you placed all four of these liberal hags in a large blender and whirred to liquefaction, after you poured off the "Cacklings" (these are the parts of a woman prone to gossiping and cruelty), you could not find one ounce of kindness nor a molecule of estrogen in amongst the tiny fraction of left over goo!
If you do not believe me, try it.
I have a cousin who works in Make-up for the production there and she said they go through "feminine hygiene products" by the case and they can't seem to expunge the unmistakable smell of WOP.
When I asked which of the four View she-demons were Italian, she look at me in bewilderment.
Then I explained back in the pre-political correctness era that was the term for an Italian American.
"Uncle Jack, will your generation ever let go of all that primitive discrimination? WOP to the non-discriminating Gen-Xer will always mean "worn out pussy!"
I did not have the heart to tell her discrimination lets us tell the difference between say lightning bug and lightning, to steal from my literary hero, Mr. MARK TWAIN!
Jackson Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Three Blind Mullahs, See How Tehran: Occupy UK Embassy
Things are heating up in Iran. The Mullahs have instructed their charges, the irritable Iranian students, to trash the UK Embassy in Tehran. They charged in and broke a few things, burning a car or two, but interestingly missing was the hostage taking we saw all those years ago when these rebel's grand dads seized the American Embassy hostages and made President Jimmy Carter twist and turn for 444 days until President-elect Ronald Reagan's greetings to the mad Mullahs caused such a panic in Tehran, the plane containing the American hostages could not leave the tarmac too soon on inaugural day, 1981.
Perhaps Margaret Thatcher can share with David Cameron Reagan's words which were so effectively used to free the American hostages, as I believe President Reagan would have shared them with her. Then PM Cameron can put these words in his play book to pull out and dust off and use at the appropriate time.
Probably the best policy is to wait, but pull all your diplomats out of Iran before the war. It seems to be coming soon to an Imman near them. Loud explosions have rocked weapons depots in Iran and the shooting hasn't even officially started.
I believe things will light up in Iran on the next new moon. Darkness is our friend.
Iran has pissed us off before, backing the marine barracks bomber in Lebanon, developing IED's in Iraq, and helping the insurgents in Iraq. Now they want to light off a nuc over our mainland, causing all our electronic gizmos to fry and become useless.
Cars, computers, Barney Franks programmable sex toys all destroyed by a powerful electromagnetic pulse (EMP) generated by the poof of a moderate sizes nuclear warhead at precisely 92,383ft above sea level for maximum effect. Wiping out our electrical grids. No power for months, maybe years. Hello stone age. Hello cold shower. Hold on to those horses, they may make a come back!
An explosion here against the ionosphere and the heliosphere would cause the EMP generated to compress and expand the heliosphere, the earth's magnetic field which protects us from harmful particle/rays which spew outward from our old global warmer, the sun. The heliosphere is our protective layer against space trash.
A day without the heliosphere would cook us all and those who managed to survive would sound and look a lot like Congressman Barney Frank, D. Mass.
At the time of the explosion in the outer atmosphere, the EMP would compress and spread out along the heliosphere and the theory is the EMP wave would garner energy from this outward compression of the magnetic field and when it sprang back into shape the EMP would launch earthward and be many fold more powerful and cause a small rent in the heliosphere and allow all sorts of nasties from outer space the freedom to rain down on us and spoil our virgin lands and enter our personal protoplasmic spaces.
X-rays, gamma rays, microwaves, basically cosmic excrement would come flooding into our pristine living space! Ouch that is gonna hurt. Thirty seconds of microwaves will boil the aqueous humor in your eyes. Seven seconds of these destructive waves will cause thick cataracts. Thirteen milliseconds of gamma rays will cook your bone marrow. If you are not shitting blood in 24 hrs you will be 36 hrs after the gammas hit. You will puke and shit yourself to death and your last thought will be:
I hope the IRS got that last quarterly payment. I wonder if my congressman will survive this? Will I get dunned at work for missing today?
Hey, I do not like to be the bearer of bad news, but as usual I am. Now, as a disclaimer: I made all that shit up. None of it is true. Or is it? You be the judge. I am still in the Huntingdon Animal Clinic where I transcribed the above just as it was told me by "Buster" the American Bull Dog, who is in for neutering.
He is the liar, here! See, you can't blame me as I am "just not right" as they are fond of saying around these parts.
Jackson Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
Perhaps Margaret Thatcher can share with David Cameron Reagan's words which were so effectively used to free the American hostages, as I believe President Reagan would have shared them with her. Then PM Cameron can put these words in his play book to pull out and dust off and use at the appropriate time.
Probably the best policy is to wait, but pull all your diplomats out of Iran before the war. It seems to be coming soon to an Imman near them. Loud explosions have rocked weapons depots in Iran and the shooting hasn't even officially started.
I believe things will light up in Iran on the next new moon. Darkness is our friend.
Iran has pissed us off before, backing the marine barracks bomber in Lebanon, developing IED's in Iraq, and helping the insurgents in Iraq. Now they want to light off a nuc over our mainland, causing all our electronic gizmos to fry and become useless.
Cars, computers, Barney Franks programmable sex toys all destroyed by a powerful electromagnetic pulse (EMP) generated by the poof of a moderate sizes nuclear warhead at precisely 92,383ft above sea level for maximum effect. Wiping out our electrical grids. No power for months, maybe years. Hello stone age. Hello cold shower. Hold on to those horses, they may make a come back!
An explosion here against the ionosphere and the heliosphere would cause the EMP generated to compress and expand the heliosphere, the earth's magnetic field which protects us from harmful particle/rays which spew outward from our old global warmer, the sun. The heliosphere is our protective layer against space trash.
A day without the heliosphere would cook us all and those who managed to survive would sound and look a lot like Congressman Barney Frank, D. Mass.
At the time of the explosion in the outer atmosphere, the EMP would compress and spread out along the heliosphere and the theory is the EMP wave would garner energy from this outward compression of the magnetic field and when it sprang back into shape the EMP would launch earthward and be many fold more powerful and cause a small rent in the heliosphere and allow all sorts of nasties from outer space the freedom to rain down on us and spoil our virgin lands and enter our personal protoplasmic spaces.
X-rays, gamma rays, microwaves, basically cosmic excrement would come flooding into our pristine living space! Ouch that is gonna hurt. Thirty seconds of microwaves will boil the aqueous humor in your eyes. Seven seconds of these destructive waves will cause thick cataracts. Thirteen milliseconds of gamma rays will cook your bone marrow. If you are not shitting blood in 24 hrs you will be 36 hrs after the gammas hit. You will puke and shit yourself to death and your last thought will be:
I hope the IRS got that last quarterly payment. I wonder if my congressman will survive this? Will I get dunned at work for missing today?
Hey, I do not like to be the bearer of bad news, but as usual I am. Now, as a disclaimer: I made all that shit up. None of it is true. Or is it? You be the judge. I am still in the Huntingdon Animal Clinic where I transcribed the above just as it was told me by "Buster" the American Bull Dog, who is in for neutering.
He is the liar, here! See, you can't blame me as I am "just not right" as they are fond of saying around these parts.
Jackson Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
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