People of The World:
I come to praise seizures not to bury him! Am I the only one who thinks Muammar Qaddafi is looking like Jimmy Hendrix in drag? That is one ugly dictator! Please refer back to my end of times article dated 11/9/10 to see that the great banking minds in control have gone to plan A where world strife causes the dollar to rise up from the dead to take its rightful place at the head of the world's currencies, only subservient to GOLD:
G: God's
O: Only
L: Legitimate
D: Dollar
The latest unrest is caused by the manipulation of the weather and the food shortages which ensued. People with empty bellies are not happy people. We have been overfed and stuffed with corn starch laden drinks here in the US for so long we have forgotten what hunger pains really feel like. Over half the kids in the US are too fat to tie their shoes. Some genius decided to keep them from feeling bad by fashioning a shoe that does not need tying. When we were kids we tied our shoes to keep them from coming off our feet while we played. These overstuffed darlings have enough trouble waddling from classroom to classroom and never ran in their lives unless it was to the dinner table.
My proposal for overweight children is to bring back the playground and the monkee bars and the slide and the swing and all the other equipment that has been removed for our children's safety to the point that they can't get physically hurt out on the playground, but this safe playground has been traded for increases in cardiac events in their thirties! They can't keep the calories burned off by walking around like little over-stuffed Michelin men during recess. The schools are not teaching anything of great value other than a revision of history and global warming myths. Make recess half the day for grades 1-6 and a third for 7-9. Make high schoolers only attend class for 4 hours and off the rest of the day to smoke pot and have sex with the teachers.
Next bring back the inedible school lunches I remember as a child. Where have the greens and corn, and Cole slaw, and cauliflower gone? What about that mystery meat in gravy? Now they feed Jr and Sis, pizza and hot dogs, and cheeseburgers and fries. My god, I would have weighed 6,000 lbs if I got to eat that stuff when I was in school.. Stop the breakfast program all together. With food stamps nobody misses meals in the US. Put in a few national days of fasting and bring prayer and paddling back into the schools. Pray for thinner children in school and paddle the fatties until they can tie their shoes!
Take my recommendations to the bank and our children will be thinner and a lot smarter.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Global/ Urban Poverty Law Center
"It is not "Spare the rod and spoil the child." It is "Spoil the rod to spare the child."
You can get another rod and another child for that matter." Mother Maybolt 1924-2008
Showing posts with label urban poverty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label urban poverty. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Father and Roy in Hollywood
Blogosphereons:
Letters to and from A Son of A Bitch
2 November 1987
Jack,
This finds me in Hollywood across from Gauman's Chinese theater, in the heart of sin-city--Grumman's maybe it was and is now named Mann's so maybe Mr. Mann bought it, anyhow I had a sumptuous breakfast at Burger King and bought the newspapers and will in a short while go to see tiny tits and the Bronx flash and see about getting my expense check. They must think I am a big rich Southerner. I am hoping the receipts from Burger King and even cheaper places if I can locate them will bring them to the conclusion that I need my money.
The flight out was very long and boring seated between a Japanese girl and a man wearing jeans and a moustache reading an Alastair McLean novel and drinking water. The Jap miss did not eat or drink anything or say anything but something in Japanese that sounded like "Oink-Oink," to which I replied Moshe-moshe a-noney-ah so desca, which I think means just a moment if you please, ah, yes thank you, at which she turned her face to the window and seemed to quit breathing for about an hour.
So I had my flask of Jack Daniels in my breast pocket of my Brooks Brothers jacket and so I ordered some club soda and the waitress brought me 7-up but I was lucky and tasted it and rang the alarm that lands the plane and ejects the pilots and she came and asked what the matter was and I said you dunce, you drab, you baggage, you gave me 7-up and I asted you plain fer CLUB SODY! So she put off the light and the plane came out of the dive and the pilots were reintroduced to the cockpit and she brought the club soda with apologies and peanuts and I poured in some Jack Daniels and enjoyed the company of my flask--all the company there was to be had between Mademoiselle Butterfly and Mr. Reader.
ROY MET me at the airport and we talked about his wrecks and nearly had another one the way there when some motorcycles Roy did not think were important nearly hit us as he pulled squarely out in front of them while talking about Greg B. who died yesterday of a heart throbber at age 73 and was at death head of an office with 129 lawyers in it and whango the motorcycles nearly swat us and then some cars Roy had not considered nearly got us and he said: "I knew a guy once that was killed when a motorcycle hit his car on the driver's side. He was no great loss. It was a good thing when he died. I didn't like him nobody really liked him." "Who was he?"
Roy never answered, just changed the subject and we pulled in around behind this hotel which has been cleaned up some and the man we thought was the doorman turned out to be a parking valet and Roy kept trying to tell him to take the bags and boxes out of the car and he kept saying no but he would park it and Roy kept saying: "God
damn it, take the bags out first, don't park it with the bags in--"
So finally, Roy and I unloaded the car, the valet parker being too good for such work and then when the valet parker tried to park the car Roy said: "Fuck, I will park on the street." And so the valet got the claim check back from me and Roy went and parked on the street. I could hear the tires screeching and the horns blowing while he was about this and did not look but just adamantly faced elsewhere and finally we got to the check in desk and they said my room was paid for but they need my credit card for "incidentals" and since the production company already owes me about two grand after Mobile and ain't ponied up as yet. So I said well I do not need a phone or any incidentals and the desk clerk said but you should be grateful after all they are paying your hotel room rent and I said, asshole, desk clerks do not rebuke me, you keep out of this it is these Hollywood tycoons that want to borrow my money to run their business. "Did you say tycoons?" he said. "I meant shitheads!" "Excuse me, shitheads?" He said: "I will not wait on you." I said: "Now things are looking up at last."
A woman came extra polite and checked me in and at Roy's urging I gave up my credit card and got a phone after all.
Love,
Old Man
My father was hired by a Hollywood producer to give advice on a movie about carnival life. I forget the name of the movie. I think it really didn't work out for him. In later letters he never got paid what they promised.
12 February 2011
Dear Dad,
I am glad you and Roy made it safely to the hotel and were able to check in.
Was the Japanese girl pretty?
Love
your son, Jack.
Jackson Delano Maybolt,
Urban/Global Poverty Law Center
Letters to and from A Son of A Bitch
2 November 1987
Jack,
This finds me in Hollywood across from Gauman's Chinese theater, in the heart of sin-city--Grumman's maybe it was and is now named Mann's so maybe Mr. Mann bought it, anyhow I had a sumptuous breakfast at Burger King and bought the newspapers and will in a short while go to see tiny tits and the Bronx flash and see about getting my expense check. They must think I am a big rich Southerner. I am hoping the receipts from Burger King and even cheaper places if I can locate them will bring them to the conclusion that I need my money.
The flight out was very long and boring seated between a Japanese girl and a man wearing jeans and a moustache reading an Alastair McLean novel and drinking water. The Jap miss did not eat or drink anything or say anything but something in Japanese that sounded like "Oink-Oink," to which I replied Moshe-moshe a-noney-ah so desca, which I think means just a moment if you please, ah, yes thank you, at which she turned her face to the window and seemed to quit breathing for about an hour.
So I had my flask of Jack Daniels in my breast pocket of my Brooks Brothers jacket and so I ordered some club soda and the waitress brought me 7-up but I was lucky and tasted it and rang the alarm that lands the plane and ejects the pilots and she came and asked what the matter was and I said you dunce, you drab, you baggage, you gave me 7-up and I asted you plain fer CLUB SODY! So she put off the light and the plane came out of the dive and the pilots were reintroduced to the cockpit and she brought the club soda with apologies and peanuts and I poured in some Jack Daniels and enjoyed the company of my flask--all the company there was to be had between Mademoiselle Butterfly and Mr. Reader.
ROY MET me at the airport and we talked about his wrecks and nearly had another one the way there when some motorcycles Roy did not think were important nearly hit us as he pulled squarely out in front of them while talking about Greg B. who died yesterday of a heart throbber at age 73 and was at death head of an office with 129 lawyers in it and whango the motorcycles nearly swat us and then some cars Roy had not considered nearly got us and he said: "I knew a guy once that was killed when a motorcycle hit his car on the driver's side. He was no great loss. It was a good thing when he died. I didn't like him nobody really liked him." "Who was he?"
Roy never answered, just changed the subject and we pulled in around behind this hotel which has been cleaned up some and the man we thought was the doorman turned out to be a parking valet and Roy kept trying to tell him to take the bags and boxes out of the car and he kept saying no but he would park it and Roy kept saying: "God
damn it, take the bags out first, don't park it with the bags in--"
So finally, Roy and I unloaded the car, the valet parker being too good for such work and then when the valet parker tried to park the car Roy said: "Fuck, I will park on the street." And so the valet got the claim check back from me and Roy went and parked on the street. I could hear the tires screeching and the horns blowing while he was about this and did not look but just adamantly faced elsewhere and finally we got to the check in desk and they said my room was paid for but they need my credit card for "incidentals" and since the production company already owes me about two grand after Mobile and ain't ponied up as yet. So I said well I do not need a phone or any incidentals and the desk clerk said but you should be grateful after all they are paying your hotel room rent and I said, asshole, desk clerks do not rebuke me, you keep out of this it is these Hollywood tycoons that want to borrow my money to run their business. "Did you say tycoons?" he said. "I meant shitheads!" "Excuse me, shitheads?" He said: "I will not wait on you." I said: "Now things are looking up at last."
A woman came extra polite and checked me in and at Roy's urging I gave up my credit card and got a phone after all.
Love,
Old Man
My father was hired by a Hollywood producer to give advice on a movie about carnival life. I forget the name of the movie. I think it really didn't work out for him. In later letters he never got paid what they promised.
12 February 2011
Dear Dad,
I am glad you and Roy made it safely to the hotel and were able to check in.
Was the Japanese girl pretty?
Love
your son, Jack.
Jackson Delano Maybolt,
Urban/Global Poverty Law Center
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center On Cost of War On Terror
Blogosphereons:
World War IV is on and in case you haven't been paying attention, the think tank over at the Global/Urban Poverty Law Center
has been carefully watching the situation and is ready to point out some of our incredible and unique observations. Being a near complete shut-in for years brings with it either genius or insanity. I am too close to my situation to be an impartial critic. I will leave that critical judgement to the historians of the next generation to ferret out.
1: WWIV began in ernst on 11.09.2001 when the box cutters sliced the slice that was felt around the world.
2. The US invades Iraq and Afganistan with WWII mindset tactics against a 21st century freedom fighter who will not be tricked into fighting a conventional "stand your ground and fight like a man" which was so stupidly practiced by the Western World for the last millenium. Great way to kill societies expendable young males, but a hard way to fight in terms of blood losses and treasure expended. Bankers like to finance the hard and expensive fight.
Combat Marine Expenditures on 1 vs Middle Eastern Warrior Expenditures on 1
training $25,000 boot camp vs $1.00
uniform $675 vs $1.00
armor $1,100 vs $0.00
weapon $3,500 vs $50.00
ammunition $250 vs $5.00
travel $47,000 vs $0.50
support $1,600,000 vs $100.00
daily rations $75.00 vs $0.35
medical $15,000 vs $1.78
death benefits $12,500 vs $0.00
leave benefits $1,200 vs $0.00
Pay daily $75.00 vs $0.06
kill costs $12,875,000/freedom fighter vs $1,273.50/ American warrior
interest costs $189,000/ soldier vs $0.00
birth rate/female 2.3 vs 5.6
After studying the above stastics it is my humble opinion our efforts to contain this enemy and fighting in the fashions which we have begun are unsustainable using any accounting methods which are currently acceptable. My recommendation would be to pull back and develop more special ops and a more defensive stance in dealing with the threat from these enemies.
Fighting between a first world power and a third world population can only lower the standard of living for the first world power and raise the standard of living for the third world nation.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President
Global/ Urban Poverty Law Center
"War is time wasted, treasure squandered, lives ruined, property destroyed, and best viewed from afar." Mother Maybolt, 1923-2008
World War IV is on and in case you haven't been paying attention, the think tank over at the Global/Urban Poverty Law Center
has been carefully watching the situation and is ready to point out some of our incredible and unique observations. Being a near complete shut-in for years brings with it either genius or insanity. I am too close to my situation to be an impartial critic. I will leave that critical judgement to the historians of the next generation to ferret out.
1: WWIV began in ernst on 11.09.2001 when the box cutters sliced the slice that was felt around the world.
2. The US invades Iraq and Afganistan with WWII mindset tactics against a 21st century freedom fighter who will not be tricked into fighting a conventional "stand your ground and fight like a man" which was so stupidly practiced by the Western World for the last millenium. Great way to kill societies expendable young males, but a hard way to fight in terms of blood losses and treasure expended. Bankers like to finance the hard and expensive fight.
Combat Marine Expenditures on 1 vs Middle Eastern Warrior Expenditures on 1
training $25,000 boot camp vs $1.00
uniform $675 vs $1.00
armor $1,100 vs $0.00
weapon $3,500 vs $50.00
ammunition $250 vs $5.00
travel $47,000 vs $0.50
support $1,600,000 vs $100.00
daily rations $75.00 vs $0.35
medical $15,000 vs $1.78
death benefits $12,500 vs $0.00
leave benefits $1,200 vs $0.00
Pay daily $75.00 vs $0.06
kill costs $12,875,000/freedom fighter vs $1,273.50/ American warrior
interest costs $189,000/ soldier vs $0.00
birth rate/female 2.3 vs 5.6
After studying the above stastics it is my humble opinion our efforts to contain this enemy and fighting in the fashions which we have begun are unsustainable using any accounting methods which are currently acceptable. My recommendation would be to pull back and develop more special ops and a more defensive stance in dealing with the threat from these enemies.
Fighting between a first world power and a third world population can only lower the standard of living for the first world power and raise the standard of living for the third world nation.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President
Global/ Urban Poverty Law Center
"War is time wasted, treasure squandered, lives ruined, property destroyed, and best viewed from afar." Mother Maybolt, 1923-2008
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Purchased by George Soros Funded Group
Blogosphereons:
Imagine my shock to go through the mail for the Urban Poverty Law Center and find a letter from a George Soros funded group, "People Who Color Outside the Box"! In the letter, one of their corporate lawyers, Dennis Doubel-Latte, Esq, has ordered me to cease and give up my organization's name as it sounds too similar to his client's "Urbane Poverty Law Centre."
Quite frankly, I do not see the problem as their institution's title is not even close to mine! I think he is on a fishing expedition and wants to buy my UPLC so he can have the coolest think tank name. I have dictated the following letter to Mr.
Dennis Doubel-Latte, Esq. if that is his real name:
08,02,2011
Dear Mr. Doubel-Latte:
I refer to your letter dated 21,01,2011 on your fancy Urbane Poverty Law Centre letter head and I reject your inference that my institution which was founded in 1988to help get America's Urban Poor's stories out and help get a dialog between the haves and the have wants started, has stolen in kind your institutes name.
You can ask Carl down at the Cedar Grove store, where I go every morning to get a fried bologna sandwich with light mayonnaise and a coca-cola in a bottle and visit with my colleagues about the integrity of the Urban Poverty Law Center and its long
history of helping our down-trodden brothers and sisters in our blighted population centers all over this great land and now we are taking our efforts globally!
We provide information that is available nowhere else. We pride ourselves with our common sense approach to problem solving and though we haven't a sugar daddy like that old curmudgeon, Horhey Soros, like you folks down at the Urbane Poverty Law Centre, we are doing just fine.
Our budget is a little over $112.52 a month and the greatest majority of that is for Susan Blunderdoss, my secretary. I do give her a dozen farm fresh eggs a week, which raises her wages by about $6 a month, but it is a gift and my accountants, Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe, LLC assure me that she does not have to declare this on her income taxes.
I believe by the tone of your letter, you think you are so sophisticated and we at the Urban Poverty Law Center are a bunch of rednecks. Well you may be right about that, but you better not be showing your face in these parts in your Gucci shoes and your $300 three piece Italian suits from The Men's Warehouse and your $20 hair styles, likely as not got from a woman's salon, unless you want your hair mussed and your shoes soiled!
I am not one to condone violence, but you have struck a nerve, a raw nerve with me.
The Urban Poverty Law Center is all I have. It is all I think about day in and day out. After the insulting tone of page one of your missive, I see that your organization has offered us a million dollars for the name,........ on page 2 paragraph 3.
Really, Mr. Doubel-Latte, really, a million dollars? Now we have a situation. I will need to consult with counsel about this as this changes everything. I will get back to you, soon.
I am you humble Liege
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President
Urban Poverty Law Center
"Lie down with dogs and get up with fleas. Lie down with dogs and a lawyer and the lawyer will have all the fleas, you and the dog, nothing!" Mother Maybolt 1928-2008
Imagine my shock to go through the mail for the Urban Poverty Law Center and find a letter from a George Soros funded group, "People Who Color Outside the Box"! In the letter, one of their corporate lawyers, Dennis Doubel-Latte, Esq, has ordered me to cease and give up my organization's name as it sounds too similar to his client's "Urbane Poverty Law Centre."
Quite frankly, I do not see the problem as their institution's title is not even close to mine! I think he is on a fishing expedition and wants to buy my UPLC so he can have the coolest think tank name. I have dictated the following letter to Mr.
Dennis Doubel-Latte, Esq. if that is his real name:
08,02,2011
Dear Mr. Doubel-Latte:
I refer to your letter dated 21,01,2011 on your fancy Urbane Poverty Law Centre letter head and I reject your inference that my institution which was founded in 1988to help get America's Urban Poor's stories out and help get a dialog between the haves and the have wants started, has stolen in kind your institutes name.
You can ask Carl down at the Cedar Grove store, where I go every morning to get a fried bologna sandwich with light mayonnaise and a coca-cola in a bottle and visit with my colleagues about the integrity of the Urban Poverty Law Center and its long
history of helping our down-trodden brothers and sisters in our blighted population centers all over this great land and now we are taking our efforts globally!
We provide information that is available nowhere else. We pride ourselves with our common sense approach to problem solving and though we haven't a sugar daddy like that old curmudgeon, Horhey Soros, like you folks down at the Urbane Poverty Law Centre, we are doing just fine.
Our budget is a little over $112.52 a month and the greatest majority of that is for Susan Blunderdoss, my secretary. I do give her a dozen farm fresh eggs a week, which raises her wages by about $6 a month, but it is a gift and my accountants, Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe, LLC assure me that she does not have to declare this on her income taxes.
I believe by the tone of your letter, you think you are so sophisticated and we at the Urban Poverty Law Center are a bunch of rednecks. Well you may be right about that, but you better not be showing your face in these parts in your Gucci shoes and your $300 three piece Italian suits from The Men's Warehouse and your $20 hair styles, likely as not got from a woman's salon, unless you want your hair mussed and your shoes soiled!
I am not one to condone violence, but you have struck a nerve, a raw nerve with me.
The Urban Poverty Law Center is all I have. It is all I think about day in and day out. After the insulting tone of page one of your missive, I see that your organization has offered us a million dollars for the name,........ on page 2 paragraph 3.
Really, Mr. Doubel-Latte, really, a million dollars? Now we have a situation. I will need to consult with counsel about this as this changes everything. I will get back to you, soon.
I am you humble Liege
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President
Urban Poverty Law Center
"Lie down with dogs and get up with fleas. Lie down with dogs and a lawyer and the lawyer will have all the fleas, you and the dog, nothing!" Mother Maybolt 1928-2008
Monday, February 7, 2011
Superbowl XLV, Is that all you got?
Blogosphereons:
I don't like to comment on pop culture, but from what I saw of the Super Bowl, it was the worst kind of bread and circuses. Has the entertainment industry gone completely nuts with the reading of the Declaration Of Independence and that flag waving in your face patriotism on display and up until Super Skank Christina Aguilera croaked out her autistic rendition of the Star Spangled Banner I thought the teams were going to get into Nascars and drive around and around the stadium at 200 plus mph for an hour.
Do they think we will not come for them when all this collapses? History will not be kind to those who have destroyed this country, nor will the crowd that gathers them up to mete out the punishments. I will not participate, but like the fellow who lives too near the train tracks, it is hard not to watch when a crash is eminent.
The commercials were some of the worst tripe ever. Has 5th avenue been taken over by middle schoolers or has the mercury from fluorescent lighting been working its magic on our population and I am the only one left mentally intact? I will not be drinking Pepsi as the cans can magically fly across the room and strike you in the nuts. May be something to do with the shifting of the earth's magnetic poles? Russia is stealing the north pole from Canada and it is moving at a rate of 41 miles per year. I think the Russians believe it will bring more jobs to their country as the elves and Santa will have to necessarily move with the poles and it will also serve as a tourist destination. The Canadian Prime Minister has written a protest letter to the UN and, of course, the Russian ambassador denies the allegations.
Now would the Pepsi crotch missile be funny if the target in the commercial was not a white male, but a Middle Easterner, or a Black panther, or perhaps a white homosexual, or even an intoxicated Native American or Hispanic? The only way to make that commercial politically correct was make sure all the victims of this "pop-violence" are white guys. I am surprised the 5th Avenue potentates did not dress the white victims of these commercial advertisements in Founding Father's era clothing to make the mockery of white maleness even more salacious. I guess they figured most males who might be offended were working to pay the taxes for all the stay at home non-producers in this great big country of ours, myself included, and not watching the Super Bowl.
Susan, my secretary, who proofs all my writings for insensitivity, has correctly pointed out, the victim of the Pepsi can was probably a Jew, the religion which tops this current administrations least favorite list, followed closely by white American males. In Pepsi's defense, they did balance the violence against the Jew with some tastefully done black on white violence when the black woman threw the Pepsi can at her man who ducked landing a direct hit into some white chick's face. Now that is entertainment!
Maybe next year they can read from Obama's birth certificate before the opening ceremony and Pepsi will air a Sharia inspired honor killing where the stones are replaced by Pepsi cans. Of course the girl must be young and beautiful, and though her death will be painful and uncomfortable for some to watch, the show must go on for the people demand entertainment. Frankly I am getting tired of watching skateboarders crock themselves on banisters. I want to see a comely 14 yr old Muslim girl die in a Pepsi commercial. It is their culture as they say!
I say shame on America, shame on the Super Bowl, shame on Pepsi, shame on 5th Avenue, shame on me for not being free of bigotry, but hey, it is in my culture as they say! Until we can take Martin Luther Kings' advice to heart " to judge one not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character." we will continue to fall short on compassion and understanding and the Pepsi cans will continue to fly as will the bombs. I suggest you be prepared to duck, wear a cup, and build a bomb shelter if you know what's good for you.
All in all, last night's big event was a complete bomb! Now I remember why I have not watched a Super Bowl since Super Bowl VII. I will pray for America, but I fear it is too late to save her from sinking into the abyss. As Larry Simmons said of Bell's last cow,
"She's a gonner!"
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President
Urban Poverty Law Center/ Global Poverty Law Center
"Jack, you are not a bigot if you hate everybody." Mother Maybolt, 1923-2008
I don't like to comment on pop culture, but from what I saw of the Super Bowl, it was the worst kind of bread and circuses. Has the entertainment industry gone completely nuts with the reading of the Declaration Of Independence and that flag waving in your face patriotism on display and up until Super Skank Christina Aguilera croaked out her autistic rendition of the Star Spangled Banner I thought the teams were going to get into Nascars and drive around and around the stadium at 200 plus mph for an hour.
Do they think we will not come for them when all this collapses? History will not be kind to those who have destroyed this country, nor will the crowd that gathers them up to mete out the punishments. I will not participate, but like the fellow who lives too near the train tracks, it is hard not to watch when a crash is eminent.
The commercials were some of the worst tripe ever. Has 5th avenue been taken over by middle schoolers or has the mercury from fluorescent lighting been working its magic on our population and I am the only one left mentally intact? I will not be drinking Pepsi as the cans can magically fly across the room and strike you in the nuts. May be something to do with the shifting of the earth's magnetic poles? Russia is stealing the north pole from Canada and it is moving at a rate of 41 miles per year. I think the Russians believe it will bring more jobs to their country as the elves and Santa will have to necessarily move with the poles and it will also serve as a tourist destination. The Canadian Prime Minister has written a protest letter to the UN and, of course, the Russian ambassador denies the allegations.
Now would the Pepsi crotch missile be funny if the target in the commercial was not a white male, but a Middle Easterner, or a Black panther, or perhaps a white homosexual, or even an intoxicated Native American or Hispanic? The only way to make that commercial politically correct was make sure all the victims of this "pop-violence" are white guys. I am surprised the 5th Avenue potentates did not dress the white victims of these commercial advertisements in Founding Father's era clothing to make the mockery of white maleness even more salacious. I guess they figured most males who might be offended were working to pay the taxes for all the stay at home non-producers in this great big country of ours, myself included, and not watching the Super Bowl.
Susan, my secretary, who proofs all my writings for insensitivity, has correctly pointed out, the victim of the Pepsi can was probably a Jew, the religion which tops this current administrations least favorite list, followed closely by white American males. In Pepsi's defense, they did balance the violence against the Jew with some tastefully done black on white violence when the black woman threw the Pepsi can at her man who ducked landing a direct hit into some white chick's face. Now that is entertainment!
Maybe next year they can read from Obama's birth certificate before the opening ceremony and Pepsi will air a Sharia inspired honor killing where the stones are replaced by Pepsi cans. Of course the girl must be young and beautiful, and though her death will be painful and uncomfortable for some to watch, the show must go on for the people demand entertainment. Frankly I am getting tired of watching skateboarders crock themselves on banisters. I want to see a comely 14 yr old Muslim girl die in a Pepsi commercial. It is their culture as they say!
I say shame on America, shame on the Super Bowl, shame on Pepsi, shame on 5th Avenue, shame on me for not being free of bigotry, but hey, it is in my culture as they say! Until we can take Martin Luther Kings' advice to heart " to judge one not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character." we will continue to fall short on compassion and understanding and the Pepsi cans will continue to fly as will the bombs. I suggest you be prepared to duck, wear a cup, and build a bomb shelter if you know what's good for you.
All in all, last night's big event was a complete bomb! Now I remember why I have not watched a Super Bowl since Super Bowl VII. I will pray for America, but I fear it is too late to save her from sinking into the abyss. As Larry Simmons said of Bell's last cow,
"She's a gonner!"
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President
Urban Poverty Law Center/ Global Poverty Law Center
"Jack, you are not a bigot if you hate everybody." Mother Maybolt, 1923-2008
Friday, January 21, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Left Out Of the Omnibus Bill, Again
Blogosphereoneons
My secretary, whom I refer to as Susan, as that is her name, informs me she has looked over the 2734 page congressional Omnibus bill to fund the bloated federal bureaucracy for another 10 months and is shocked, shocked I tell you, not to see our worthy cause funded yet for another year. We are not the new kids on the block. We have been here since 1988! This strings our record out to 23 years of fighting for justice for America's Urban Poor, all the while we have been poor ourselves. Talk about irony.
These ass monkeys in congress can budget for a study to determine how often college students have sex with the lights off or on for $7.3 million dollars and look at what may affect the copulant's decision to go with or without lighting. I haven't seen the dating scene in over 40 years, but I still remember the lights on if she is a lookin good, and lights off if she is a "butter-face".
Other factors include the amount of beer consumed prior to disrobing and probing and positioning of the supplicant. Lights on if you are facing the same direction, on or off if facing opposite directions. One of my pals in college was a lights on all the time guy, said every pillow has a pillow case that can be employed when roll playing as a KKK grand dame and grand trouser lizard!
Said he once dated a gorgeous gal, Helen, from Troy, Tn, a cheerleader, who was known for her keen love of fellatio, he used to quip that she was" Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand zips." He said she was the best traveling companion he ever had. He always drove because when she got bored she would entertain herself with her lips on his man- lizard. Said he put a hundred thousand miles on his pinto that summer they dated. I apologize the tone this missive has taken. Please accept it. I do not mean to repulse anyone, only titillate.
After all if you are reading this someone thought enough of your mother to spend a couple of minutes of quality time with her, lights on or lights off, and left you behind as a token of his appreciation. So don't go all sanctimonious on me here. If I left your father out of the above equation it was not an oversight. Another Omnibus Bill funded study determined that one in seven children is not sired by the husband in the marriage.
For this reason I decided to stop having children after six if I ever found a woman who would marry me. Mother encouraged me to date after my horrible accident, but most girls were distracted by my missing limbs and my foley catheter.
I got to first base a couple of times, but when I had to stop the romancing to remove my foley catheter, the young ladies would state "I do not think this is working out." I appreciate their honesty, I really do.
Anyway, I am sorry. I do not know how I got off on this subject, but I guess the ass-clowns in congress would rather find out about sex in college rather than fight poverty in our urban centers. Next year Susan and I are going to apply for a grant to study the sex lives of bisexual shut-ins and how the internet has impacted their level of satisfaction. I already know first, and only, hand, so to speak, how the internet has helped one heterosexual shut-in!
You do not believe any of this, do you?
Jack D. Maybolt, PhD
President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Love is what's left out of the "wet spot", and that's where babies come from."
Mother Maybolt's explanation of the "birds and the bees" to me, her second grader. 1926-2008
My secretary, whom I refer to as Susan, as that is her name, informs me she has looked over the 2734 page congressional Omnibus bill to fund the bloated federal bureaucracy for another 10 months and is shocked, shocked I tell you, not to see our worthy cause funded yet for another year. We are not the new kids on the block. We have been here since 1988! This strings our record out to 23 years of fighting for justice for America's Urban Poor, all the while we have been poor ourselves. Talk about irony.
These ass monkeys in congress can budget for a study to determine how often college students have sex with the lights off or on for $7.3 million dollars and look at what may affect the copulant's decision to go with or without lighting. I haven't seen the dating scene in over 40 years, but I still remember the lights on if she is a lookin good, and lights off if she is a "butter-face".
Other factors include the amount of beer consumed prior to disrobing and probing and positioning of the supplicant. Lights on if you are facing the same direction, on or off if facing opposite directions. One of my pals in college was a lights on all the time guy, said every pillow has a pillow case that can be employed when roll playing as a KKK grand dame and grand trouser lizard!
Said he once dated a gorgeous gal, Helen, from Troy, Tn, a cheerleader, who was known for her keen love of fellatio, he used to quip that she was" Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand zips." He said she was the best traveling companion he ever had. He always drove because when she got bored she would entertain herself with her lips on his man- lizard. Said he put a hundred thousand miles on his pinto that summer they dated. I apologize the tone this missive has taken. Please accept it. I do not mean to repulse anyone, only titillate.
After all if you are reading this someone thought enough of your mother to spend a couple of minutes of quality time with her, lights on or lights off, and left you behind as a token of his appreciation. So don't go all sanctimonious on me here. If I left your father out of the above equation it was not an oversight. Another Omnibus Bill funded study determined that one in seven children is not sired by the husband in the marriage.
For this reason I decided to stop having children after six if I ever found a woman who would marry me. Mother encouraged me to date after my horrible accident, but most girls were distracted by my missing limbs and my foley catheter.
I got to first base a couple of times, but when I had to stop the romancing to remove my foley catheter, the young ladies would state "I do not think this is working out." I appreciate their honesty, I really do.
Anyway, I am sorry. I do not know how I got off on this subject, but I guess the ass-clowns in congress would rather find out about sex in college rather than fight poverty in our urban centers. Next year Susan and I are going to apply for a grant to study the sex lives of bisexual shut-ins and how the internet has impacted their level of satisfaction. I already know first, and only, hand, so to speak, how the internet has helped one heterosexual shut-in!
You do not believe any of this, do you?
Jack D. Maybolt, PhD
President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Love is what's left out of the "wet spot", and that's where babies come from."
Mother Maybolt's explanation of the "birds and the bees" to me, her second grader. 1926-2008
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Welcomes Hu With Advice
Blogosphereons,
As President of the Urban Poverty Law Center, Ms. Susan Blunderdoss informs me protocol requires I welcome all foreign dignitaries Hu or Hum (here I get the syntax confused) visit our great United States of America. I saw on Fox News where China's president Hu is here for a state visit. I have enclosed a copy of my greeting and advice to the President of China which I faxed to the editrixx of the Wall Street Journal. I have no doubt they will publish it in today's paper, or at least in the Online edition.
19, January 2011(Chinese Year of the Defaulters)
President Hu:
As President of the Urban Poverty Law Center I wish to welcome you, Hu, to our great nation. I hope you, Hu, enjoyed the lavish state dinner put on by our esteemed politician, President Barack Hussein Obama. I got a copy of the menu via a distant relative, Hu, works in a lower position with the presidents Secret Service detail. Champagne, caviar, fresh dates from the middle east, poppies from Afghanistan, bar-b-Que goat fresh from Pakistan, yak cream fresh from Tibet, Kobe beef from Iowa, a nice selection of fresh dog from North Korea. I hope you, Hu, enjoyed it, and the grandiosity of the event with its splendidly spectacular display of conspicuous consumption which was intended to reassure you, Hu, that the United States Government is flush with Cash!
But you, Hu, like I, know that after the last champagne toast is guzzled down by our third tier diplomats and their parasitic and quite frankly obese spouses and before the appetizers even hit their government backed colons, somebody has to pay for it all. I understand that you ,Hu, traveled to the US on a civilian 747 with China Air markings spending only 75,000 yuan.
Barack, Michelle, Mikala,and Sasha Obama spend ten times that on meals and travel on a slow day in the White House. Here is where I believe that you, Hu, and I as an American Taxpayer are not that different, but you, Hu, are not in as much trouble as we are when the default occurs. OR ARE YOU, HU?
Yes, I wrote it, the default will occur. Here is where a little math is good. I do not wish to sound racist, but I know you, Hu, are probably quite adept and comfortable with numbers and math. Here is the nut.
Estimates from the Congressional Budgetary Office place the cost of the lavish State Dinner honoring you, Hu, at about 12 million dollars not counting the flowers which were a gift from Sarah Palin. Using this past years budget numbers and assuming this years deficit will be similar, you, Hu, are on the hook for 42% of that amount as an American Creditor, whereas I, Hu, as an American taxpayer am on for only 58%.
Do you, Hu, think those smiles with the champagne toasts to you, Hu, could have been mocking you, Hu, because you, Hu, will not spend lavishly on yourself, but continue to permit these" Western Imperialistic Dogs" to live the high life as you, Hu, struggle to feed 1.5 billion Chinese people every day! What is in it for you, Hu? Why do you, Hu, continue to pay toll to the trolls in Washington, DC by buying our debt?
Are you, Hu, afraid of our military? Under this current President, who is all hat and no cattle, your fears are unfounded. Has the IRS written to you, Hu, a threatening letter like the ones it sends to thousands of its hard working US citizens every year, whose only crime was to do business and earn a profit in this once great land of ours and not be able to comply with the god damned tax code? The inmates are ruining the asylum! No that was not a typo.
I believe I know what you, Hu, fear. It is mentioned in a previous paragraph. You, Hu, fear failing to feed and provide for your billion point five charges. You, Hu, realize that the United States is the worlds bread basket and its farmers are who you, Hu, should be in direct talks with before the coming great default brought on by the great clowns who now inhabit our halls of congress.
If the Great American Farmer fails for only one growing season, people starve, people riot, governments fall, and the world will be in hurt. I suggest that you, Hu, and Barack, and the others begin to print your yuan, dollars, and euros on rice paper, and be sure to add a little chicken or beef flavoring, depending on the denomination, so when all we have left is money, just add water, heat, and stir and the money will not be a complete waste.
I, Hu, am available to negotiate an independent contract with America's farmers. We need to have in place the ability to provide seed, fuel, fertilizer and herbicides, etc and the use of the infrastructure, trucking shipping etc. I can get you a third of the crop if you, Hu, can provide the above mentioned items. Forget your military build up. It is the food man!
President Hu, contact me at my home in Cedar Grove, Tn if you, Hu, wish to begin the negotiations with America's farmers in earnest. This is what we do at America's Urban Poverty Law Center. We do what is right.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"I loathe Jo Ann Studebakker, everything she eats turns to shit, everything!" Mother Maybolt 1915-2008
As President of the Urban Poverty Law Center, Ms. Susan Blunderdoss informs me protocol requires I welcome all foreign dignitaries Hu or Hum (here I get the syntax confused) visit our great United States of America. I saw on Fox News where China's president Hu is here for a state visit. I have enclosed a copy of my greeting and advice to the President of China which I faxed to the editrixx of the Wall Street Journal. I have no doubt they will publish it in today's paper, or at least in the Online edition.
19, January 2011(Chinese Year of the Defaulters)
President Hu:
As President of the Urban Poverty Law Center I wish to welcome you, Hu, to our great nation. I hope you, Hu, enjoyed the lavish state dinner put on by our esteemed politician, President Barack Hussein Obama. I got a copy of the menu via a distant relative, Hu, works in a lower position with the presidents Secret Service detail. Champagne, caviar, fresh dates from the middle east, poppies from Afghanistan, bar-b-Que goat fresh from Pakistan, yak cream fresh from Tibet, Kobe beef from Iowa, a nice selection of fresh dog from North Korea. I hope you, Hu, enjoyed it, and the grandiosity of the event with its splendidly spectacular display of conspicuous consumption which was intended to reassure you, Hu, that the United States Government is flush with Cash!
But you, Hu, like I, know that after the last champagne toast is guzzled down by our third tier diplomats and their parasitic and quite frankly obese spouses and before the appetizers even hit their government backed colons, somebody has to pay for it all. I understand that you ,Hu, traveled to the US on a civilian 747 with China Air markings spending only 75,000 yuan.
Barack, Michelle, Mikala,and Sasha Obama spend ten times that on meals and travel on a slow day in the White House. Here is where I believe that you, Hu, and I as an American Taxpayer are not that different, but you, Hu, are not in as much trouble as we are when the default occurs. OR ARE YOU, HU?
Yes, I wrote it, the default will occur. Here is where a little math is good. I do not wish to sound racist, but I know you, Hu, are probably quite adept and comfortable with numbers and math. Here is the nut.
Estimates from the Congressional Budgetary Office place the cost of the lavish State Dinner honoring you, Hu, at about 12 million dollars not counting the flowers which were a gift from Sarah Palin. Using this past years budget numbers and assuming this years deficit will be similar, you, Hu, are on the hook for 42% of that amount as an American Creditor, whereas I, Hu, as an American taxpayer am on for only 58%.
Do you, Hu, think those smiles with the champagne toasts to you, Hu, could have been mocking you, Hu, because you, Hu, will not spend lavishly on yourself, but continue to permit these" Western Imperialistic Dogs" to live the high life as you, Hu, struggle to feed 1.5 billion Chinese people every day! What is in it for you, Hu? Why do you, Hu, continue to pay toll to the trolls in Washington, DC by buying our debt?
Are you, Hu, afraid of our military? Under this current President, who is all hat and no cattle, your fears are unfounded. Has the IRS written to you, Hu, a threatening letter like the ones it sends to thousands of its hard working US citizens every year, whose only crime was to do business and earn a profit in this once great land of ours and not be able to comply with the god damned tax code? The inmates are ruining the asylum! No that was not a typo.
I believe I know what you, Hu, fear. It is mentioned in a previous paragraph. You, Hu, fear failing to feed and provide for your billion point five charges. You, Hu, realize that the United States is the worlds bread basket and its farmers are who you, Hu, should be in direct talks with before the coming great default brought on by the great clowns who now inhabit our halls of congress.
If the Great American Farmer fails for only one growing season, people starve, people riot, governments fall, and the world will be in hurt. I suggest that you, Hu, and Barack, and the others begin to print your yuan, dollars, and euros on rice paper, and be sure to add a little chicken or beef flavoring, depending on the denomination, so when all we have left is money, just add water, heat, and stir and the money will not be a complete waste.
I, Hu, am available to negotiate an independent contract with America's farmers. We need to have in place the ability to provide seed, fuel, fertilizer and herbicides, etc and the use of the infrastructure, trucking shipping etc. I can get you a third of the crop if you, Hu, can provide the above mentioned items. Forget your military build up. It is the food man!
President Hu, contact me at my home in Cedar Grove, Tn if you, Hu, wish to begin the negotiations with America's farmers in earnest. This is what we do at America's Urban Poverty Law Center. We do what is right.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"I loathe Jo Ann Studebakker, everything she eats turns to shit, everything!" Mother Maybolt 1915-2008
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Policy on Letters tafasob
Blogosphereons,
First let me apologize for that last posting. I think it reads like a Peggy Noonan editorial in the WSJ, back when Monica Lewinsky was kneeling before our Knight in Shining Armor in the Oval office. I will insist old Doc Porter check my testosterone levels next check up. I enjoy reading her material, but I would rather be compared to Samuel Clemens than Peggers, no offense.
I opened my father's first letter to me dated October 12, 1979.
"Letters To and From A Son of A Bitch"
Dear Jackson Jr,
I am sorry I have not contacted you before now. It is hard adapting to the carny life when all you have known for the past 25 years is a post office in "Hicksville, USA".
LouLou sends her love and wishes you a speedy recovery. I have enclosed one of her publicity photo shots and chose the one with the great white Burmese Python. I know how fond you were of reptiles when you were growing up. She signed it over her beautiful backside at my insistence so as not to shock you. Do not let your mother see the picture!
We are in Toledo, Ohio today and tomorrow we pull up stakes and head for Evanston, Indiana for a 4 day showing. I have befriended the Clowns and find the smaller ones
to be quite good company. I spent the better part of an afternoon talking to "BoBo"
and find him to be a rather interesting fellow. Very funny, but his political views are far too liberal for my liking. I chalk his liberal views up to too much youth, but if he remains a liberal after age 40, it can only be a mental illness. Time will tell. By the way if you ever entertain any little people, I mistakenly thought I had enough finger foods out as they were all little. Don't let the small size fool you. They eat like linebackers! Had to run out to the 7-Eleven and get more chips and dip.
Meeting with the clowns after the show where we are going to discuss Jimmy Carter's reluctance to use force to free the American Hostages who are held in Iran.
I think the middle east will be trouble for the west in the future. Are you reading the Mark Twain collection I sent you?
Love,
Dear Ole Dad/ S. Jackson Delano Maybolt, Sr
Jackson Delano Maybolt, Sr
general delivery
Evanston, Indiana
Dear Dad,
I am reading Mark Twain's work and find it greatly amusing. Thank you for the fine gift. I will not let mother see the pix of LouLou, but between you and me, I see why you are where you are now. I bet that is the luckiest snake in the world! It even looks like it is smiling, I know I would be! She is beautiful.
Thanks for the advice on the feeding and entertaining of little people. You never know when that kind of information could come in handy. I think someday in the future when new and marvelous technologies open up the airwaves, there might possibly be a TV reality series specifically devoted to those amongst us who are severely vertically challenged and talk with funny little voices. We will just have to wait and see about that. That sounds crazy, doesn't it?
I think Jimmy's testosterone level is way lower than Rosalynn's and we will likely have to wait until we get a president with a set of balls, really big balls, to get the hostages released. Just a gut feeling I have. I agree the middle east will be a problem for us in the future. There are a couple of stocks I think you might want to add to your portfolio. Check out Microsoft and WalMart. Buy as much as you can and hold on!
Love,
Jack, Jr/ S Jack,Jr
Jackson Delano Maybolt, jr
President Urban Poverty Law Center
Since this blog deals with my father there will be no Mother Maybolt quote so she does not spin furiously in her grave. I respect her too much to dishonor her in any way. jm
First let me apologize for that last posting. I think it reads like a Peggy Noonan editorial in the WSJ, back when Monica Lewinsky was kneeling before our Knight in Shining Armor in the Oval office. I will insist old Doc Porter check my testosterone levels next check up. I enjoy reading her material, but I would rather be compared to Samuel Clemens than Peggers, no offense.
I opened my father's first letter to me dated October 12, 1979.
"Letters To and From A Son of A Bitch"
Dear Jackson Jr,
I am sorry I have not contacted you before now. It is hard adapting to the carny life when all you have known for the past 25 years is a post office in "Hicksville, USA".
LouLou sends her love and wishes you a speedy recovery. I have enclosed one of her publicity photo shots and chose the one with the great white Burmese Python. I know how fond you were of reptiles when you were growing up. She signed it over her beautiful backside at my insistence so as not to shock you. Do not let your mother see the picture!
We are in Toledo, Ohio today and tomorrow we pull up stakes and head for Evanston, Indiana for a 4 day showing. I have befriended the Clowns and find the smaller ones
to be quite good company. I spent the better part of an afternoon talking to "BoBo"
and find him to be a rather interesting fellow. Very funny, but his political views are far too liberal for my liking. I chalk his liberal views up to too much youth, but if he remains a liberal after age 40, it can only be a mental illness. Time will tell. By the way if you ever entertain any little people, I mistakenly thought I had enough finger foods out as they were all little. Don't let the small size fool you. They eat like linebackers! Had to run out to the 7-Eleven and get more chips and dip.
Meeting with the clowns after the show where we are going to discuss Jimmy Carter's reluctance to use force to free the American Hostages who are held in Iran.
I think the middle east will be trouble for the west in the future. Are you reading the Mark Twain collection I sent you?
Love,
Dear Ole Dad/ S. Jackson Delano Maybolt, Sr
Jackson Delano Maybolt, Sr
general delivery
Evanston, Indiana
Dear Dad,
I am reading Mark Twain's work and find it greatly amusing. Thank you for the fine gift. I will not let mother see the pix of LouLou, but between you and me, I see why you are where you are now. I bet that is the luckiest snake in the world! It even looks like it is smiling, I know I would be! She is beautiful.
Thanks for the advice on the feeding and entertaining of little people. You never know when that kind of information could come in handy. I think someday in the future when new and marvelous technologies open up the airwaves, there might possibly be a TV reality series specifically devoted to those amongst us who are severely vertically challenged and talk with funny little voices. We will just have to wait and see about that. That sounds crazy, doesn't it?
I think Jimmy's testosterone level is way lower than Rosalynn's and we will likely have to wait until we get a president with a set of balls, really big balls, to get the hostages released. Just a gut feeling I have. I agree the middle east will be a problem for us in the future. There are a couple of stocks I think you might want to add to your portfolio. Check out Microsoft and WalMart. Buy as much as you can and hold on!
Love,
Jack, Jr/ S Jack,Jr
Jackson Delano Maybolt, jr
President Urban Poverty Law Center
Since this blog deals with my father there will be no Mother Maybolt quote so she does not spin furiously in her grave. I respect her too much to dishonor her in any way. jm
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Policy on Renewal
Blogosphereons,
I was thinking about politicians and guns with the most recent horrific events in the Safeway parking lot in Tucson Arizona, and believe that nobody is safe in our culture which has become for the most part Godless and pagan. I wonder if Mr. Loughner could cite even one of the Ten Commandments? That Mr. Loughner could crazy around Tucson for the better part of 21 years and not be on the radar of local law enforcement or the mental health establishment is a sad testimonial to public servants. At least the first Wal-Mart clerk where Mr. Loughner went for his ammunition purchase that morning was suspicious enough to deny him his purchase as to him or her he seemed a bit off and spooky. He got his ammo at the next place without any problems sadly enough.
I was happy to read in the accounts of an armed Safeway patron who ran towards the shooting ready to stop the shooter if he had not already been disabled by a few brave citizens who tackled this kook and by a grandmother who snatched his second loaded clip out of his maniacal manhands, tossing it a safe distance from the tussle.
With 911 and everything that has happened since seems we the people are responsible for our own protection and people are aware that it has always been that way. I hope that each of us would run towards the shooting if events such as those occur in our lives.
As the famous quote goes by Edmund Burke: "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." From the actions of the Tucson good men and women it looks like we are in gear, rev ed up, and ready!
God bless those who were slain and injured and bring peace to their grieving families.
We've come a long way since the Columbine Massacres where the Swat Team sat outside idle for a couple of hours after the two lunatics inside had committed suicide while the teacher bled to death. Talk about running into the action. I know you could not have kept one of the mothers out of that hellhole for two hours if she felt her child was in there. Our Swat Teams need to be more maternal in their response to danger. Remembering what David Farragut said during the Civil War: "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"
In other news, I was moving some of Mother Maybolt's personal belongings and I found a chest with some of her personal items and letters. In amongst the papers I found over 200 letters written to me by my father. The letters are all unopened and this is the first I have seen of them. These were sent to me by him and they are post marked from all over the country, where ever the carnival was at the time, and I am going to spend a few days reading them. I will share any interesting tidbits from father. I am excited about my find, but sad to think, Mother would keep these missives from me for over 25 years. I know she had my best interests at heart. She always did. I will include these out of Urban Poverty Law Center Business and alert those who have no interest in these letters by a subtitle "Letters To and From A Son of a Bitch". I plan to answer my father after each of his letters as I would have 25plus years ago.
I do not know how this will work, but nothing in life is certain and that is part of the beauty of it all.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Throughout all the ages, a kind word spoken at just the right moment has thwarted World Wars. "President Ahmadinejad, who is your nose hair barber, you are looking really, really nice today!" Mother Maybolt, 1922-2008.
I was thinking about politicians and guns with the most recent horrific events in the Safeway parking lot in Tucson Arizona, and believe that nobody is safe in our culture which has become for the most part Godless and pagan. I wonder if Mr. Loughner could cite even one of the Ten Commandments? That Mr. Loughner could crazy around Tucson for the better part of 21 years and not be on the radar of local law enforcement or the mental health establishment is a sad testimonial to public servants. At least the first Wal-Mart clerk where Mr. Loughner went for his ammunition purchase that morning was suspicious enough to deny him his purchase as to him or her he seemed a bit off and spooky. He got his ammo at the next place without any problems sadly enough.
I was happy to read in the accounts of an armed Safeway patron who ran towards the shooting ready to stop the shooter if he had not already been disabled by a few brave citizens who tackled this kook and by a grandmother who snatched his second loaded clip out of his maniacal manhands, tossing it a safe distance from the tussle.
With 911 and everything that has happened since seems we the people are responsible for our own protection and people are aware that it has always been that way. I hope that each of us would run towards the shooting if events such as those occur in our lives.
As the famous quote goes by Edmund Burke: "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." From the actions of the Tucson good men and women it looks like we are in gear, rev ed up, and ready!
God bless those who were slain and injured and bring peace to their grieving families.
We've come a long way since the Columbine Massacres where the Swat Team sat outside idle for a couple of hours after the two lunatics inside had committed suicide while the teacher bled to death. Talk about running into the action. I know you could not have kept one of the mothers out of that hellhole for two hours if she felt her child was in there. Our Swat Teams need to be more maternal in their response to danger. Remembering what David Farragut said during the Civil War: "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"
In other news, I was moving some of Mother Maybolt's personal belongings and I found a chest with some of her personal items and letters. In amongst the papers I found over 200 letters written to me by my father. The letters are all unopened and this is the first I have seen of them. These were sent to me by him and they are post marked from all over the country, where ever the carnival was at the time, and I am going to spend a few days reading them. I will share any interesting tidbits from father. I am excited about my find, but sad to think, Mother would keep these missives from me for over 25 years. I know she had my best interests at heart. She always did. I will include these out of Urban Poverty Law Center Business and alert those who have no interest in these letters by a subtitle "Letters To and From A Son of a Bitch". I plan to answer my father after each of his letters as I would have 25plus years ago.
I do not know how this will work, but nothing in life is certain and that is part of the beauty of it all.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Throughout all the ages, a kind word spoken at just the right moment has thwarted World Wars. "President Ahmadinejad, who is your nose hair barber, you are looking really, really nice today!" Mother Maybolt, 1922-2008.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Death of My Father, 25 yrs Ago
Blogasphereons,
I have taken some time off from fighting poverty with both my right hand and my left foot to read
Mark Twain's autobiography. It is delightful and a fine look into the life and mind of America's most gifted writer.
I received his complete works compiled in 1906 as a birthday gift from my father, Jackson Delano Maybolt,Sr. He left my
mother for a carnival stripper when I was 19, just after I was injured so grievously by the manure spreader. I read all the volumes from my hospital bed and was hooked on Twain. It was the last gift and the last time I ever heard from father so the books have a special meaning for me. Twain's autobiography has caused me to reflect. Hence the following:
I am ashamed to admit my father was stabbed in the heart and killed by the bearded lady when he caught his stripper girlfriend and the aforementioned bearded one cheating on him while the midget clown troupe was watching the hot action hidden in a trunk in the corner of the bearded lady's dressing room. Seems the bearded lady liked an audience no matter the task and the midget clown troupe, through prior agreement, was a willing audience. Little did they know they were in for the spectacle of a lifetime that fateful day.
The midget clown testified that father mistook the bearded lady for a fellow, what with the facial hair and all and attacked her by throwing the trunk which contained the three midgets at her head. She was able to duck, but the midgets, beings as they were in the trunk were along for the ride so to speak...when the trunk slammed into the wall and fell to the floor, all three midget clowns staggered out of that trunk just in time to see the bearded lady grab the sword swallower's prop which was in the corner. They watched as she pointed the sword at father who was rushing in to attack his sweetheart's bearded paramour. The sword pierced my father's chest bisecting his heart. He staggered back and fell against the wall.
My father, who was well known for his love of the dramatic arts, never let an opportunity for public oratory pass. Even when mortally wounded, he took this most unfortunate, yet appropriate time for his last words. I have copied them as reported in the court documents compiled from the testimony of Bobo, the midget clown, whose statements got the bearded lady acquitted of murder in my father's death.
"Hark, I am greatly injured by this object which you have so carelessly passed into my chest. Is it not enough that you have broken my heart with your actions here with my sweet, sweet Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen." ( This was my father's girlfriend's stage handle, she used snakes and skeletons as props, and though I never saw her in action, one of my
friends slipped into one of her shows and said she needed the props since her "ass was smokin hot, but her tits were weak".
Recall this was at a time before fine titties could be bought for $5,000 from any plastic surgeon.) I digress, back to my father's last words.
At this point, Bobo testifies that the effect of the sword in my father chest was taking command of the situation, and the look on my father's face went from shock to cold acceptance of his fate. Father continues, his words now sprayed out with frothing
bright red blood, which added dramatic effect according to Bobo.
"Oh, woe is to me that I gave up a loving family and a rural postmaster's position with full federal benefits and 16 federal and state holidays off a year to satisfy my wicked carnal desires with this tramp from the swamps of humanity!"
By now all the occupants of the small dressing room are crowded into the corner furthest away from my dying father because as Bobo put it, the blood spatter from my dad's last words was "wickedly profuse and looking like a red mist. The day was saved when the smallest midget clown, CoaCoa, whose specialty was honking a funny sounding air horn instead of talking, found an umbrella and opened it to protect all of them from that bloody spray.
Via Bobo, even with the life draining out of father, he bravely continues his speech:
"Tell my family that my last thoughts were of them. Beg......." At this time Bobo said my father's eyes got really big and he was unable to continue until a forced cough cleared a large blood clot from father's throat which flew under the umbrella at great speed and struck the bearded lady where it immediately began to slowly slide down the curly rivulets of her beard, inching its way towards a horrified CoaCoa. At this time CoaCoa let out a blast from his horn and promptly threw up on Bobo's hilariously large clown shoes. This was apparently too much for little CoaCoa. Father's last words continued:
"Beg, nay pray them to forgive me for I am just a man, a man who was unable to resist temptation... the temptation of a wicked temptress........."
Another clot, this one taking longer to clear than the previous which allowed the bearded lady to protect the huddled mass of carnival humanity by redirecting the umbrella downward and towards father who has slumped in the opposite corner. Then the cough with the clot that struck the umbrella with force enough to unnerve those in attendance. My father continues:
"who used me for her carnal pleasures over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over..... and then over again, and threw my life away, nay cast my love away for what, a fat white man with a beard!"
According to Bobo, there was not a dry eye in the trailer. When my father's speech was concluded, they all went over to shake his hand and to congratulate him, but it was too late. He was gone. CoaCoa held his air horn next to father's ear and let out a short blast to make sure he was really gone. No reaction, my father was dead and was now required to follow the custom of not moving or talking or doing anything that might disturb the others. 1.
No one has heard from him since.
It pains me even now though the anesthetic of time passed has lessened it somewhat. I still tear up and get that fullness in my throat when I think about him, because he was my father and he loved me and I loved him.
Mark Twain's daughter, Suzy, often asked her father the meaning of life. "What is it all for?" 1. That a man, a fine church going family man, postmaster for 25 yrs with only 5 yrs to go til fully vested in a generous federal pension system could or would throw it away on what? What is it all for, Sam and Suzy Clemens?
We may never know the answer to that query which has confounded mankind since first he became aware.
I hope this does not cause any of you who risked reading this any discomfort, but I had to get it off my chest as it is the 25th, yes, the silver anniversary of my father's last words. God bless you all and your little children.
Jackson Delano Maybolt President Urban Poverty Law Center
orphaned since 2008 yet not hopeless
"Let's not talk about your father, he's dead."
Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
1. Mark Twain Autobiography
I have received many requests to comment on what ever became of the principles in the above story.
The bearded lady shaved her beard off and is now known as Rosie ODonnell and is believed by some to be an actress and political commentator.
Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen went on to write the "Vagina Monologues".
The Midget Clowns all gave up the carnival life and one of the clowns, Bobo, changed his name to Jon Stewart and hosts a successful political satire show on Comedy Central.
CoaCoa, the Midget Clown, now works as the horn operator at the Sports Emporium in Salt Lake City, Utah.
The third Midget Clown was never seen or heard from after that infamous day. jm
I have taken some time off from fighting poverty with both my right hand and my left foot to read
Mark Twain's autobiography. It is delightful and a fine look into the life and mind of America's most gifted writer.
I received his complete works compiled in 1906 as a birthday gift from my father, Jackson Delano Maybolt,Sr. He left my
mother for a carnival stripper when I was 19, just after I was injured so grievously by the manure spreader. I read all the volumes from my hospital bed and was hooked on Twain. It was the last gift and the last time I ever heard from father so the books have a special meaning for me. Twain's autobiography has caused me to reflect. Hence the following:
I am ashamed to admit my father was stabbed in the heart and killed by the bearded lady when he caught his stripper girlfriend and the aforementioned bearded one cheating on him while the midget clown troupe was watching the hot action hidden in a trunk in the corner of the bearded lady's dressing room. Seems the bearded lady liked an audience no matter the task and the midget clown troupe, through prior agreement, was a willing audience. Little did they know they were in for the spectacle of a lifetime that fateful day.
The midget clown testified that father mistook the bearded lady for a fellow, what with the facial hair and all and attacked her by throwing the trunk which contained the three midgets at her head. She was able to duck, but the midgets, beings as they were in the trunk were along for the ride so to speak...when the trunk slammed into the wall and fell to the floor, all three midget clowns staggered out of that trunk just in time to see the bearded lady grab the sword swallower's prop which was in the corner. They watched as she pointed the sword at father who was rushing in to attack his sweetheart's bearded paramour. The sword pierced my father's chest bisecting his heart. He staggered back and fell against the wall.
My father, who was well known for his love of the dramatic arts, never let an opportunity for public oratory pass. Even when mortally wounded, he took this most unfortunate, yet appropriate time for his last words. I have copied them as reported in the court documents compiled from the testimony of Bobo, the midget clown, whose statements got the bearded lady acquitted of murder in my father's death.
"Hark, I am greatly injured by this object which you have so carelessly passed into my chest. Is it not enough that you have broken my heart with your actions here with my sweet, sweet Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen." ( This was my father's girlfriend's stage handle, she used snakes and skeletons as props, and though I never saw her in action, one of my
friends slipped into one of her shows and said she needed the props since her "ass was smokin hot, but her tits were weak".
Recall this was at a time before fine titties could be bought for $5,000 from any plastic surgeon.) I digress, back to my father's last words.
At this point, Bobo testifies that the effect of the sword in my father chest was taking command of the situation, and the look on my father's face went from shock to cold acceptance of his fate. Father continues, his words now sprayed out with frothing
bright red blood, which added dramatic effect according to Bobo.
"Oh, woe is to me that I gave up a loving family and a rural postmaster's position with full federal benefits and 16 federal and state holidays off a year to satisfy my wicked carnal desires with this tramp from the swamps of humanity!"
By now all the occupants of the small dressing room are crowded into the corner furthest away from my dying father because as Bobo put it, the blood spatter from my dad's last words was "wickedly profuse and looking like a red mist. The day was saved when the smallest midget clown, CoaCoa, whose specialty was honking a funny sounding air horn instead of talking, found an umbrella and opened it to protect all of them from that bloody spray.
Via Bobo, even with the life draining out of father, he bravely continues his speech:
"Tell my family that my last thoughts were of them. Beg......." At this time Bobo said my father's eyes got really big and he was unable to continue until a forced cough cleared a large blood clot from father's throat which flew under the umbrella at great speed and struck the bearded lady where it immediately began to slowly slide down the curly rivulets of her beard, inching its way towards a horrified CoaCoa. At this time CoaCoa let out a blast from his horn and promptly threw up on Bobo's hilariously large clown shoes. This was apparently too much for little CoaCoa. Father's last words continued:
"Beg, nay pray them to forgive me for I am just a man, a man who was unable to resist temptation... the temptation of a wicked temptress........."
Another clot, this one taking longer to clear than the previous which allowed the bearded lady to protect the huddled mass of carnival humanity by redirecting the umbrella downward and towards father who has slumped in the opposite corner. Then the cough with the clot that struck the umbrella with force enough to unnerve those in attendance. My father continues:
"who used me for her carnal pleasures over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over..... and then over again, and threw my life away, nay cast my love away for what, a fat white man with a beard!"
According to Bobo, there was not a dry eye in the trailer. When my father's speech was concluded, they all went over to shake his hand and to congratulate him, but it was too late. He was gone. CoaCoa held his air horn next to father's ear and let out a short blast to make sure he was really gone. No reaction, my father was dead and was now required to follow the custom of not moving or talking or doing anything that might disturb the others. 1.
No one has heard from him since.
It pains me even now though the anesthetic of time passed has lessened it somewhat. I still tear up and get that fullness in my throat when I think about him, because he was my father and he loved me and I loved him.
Mark Twain's daughter, Suzy, often asked her father the meaning of life. "What is it all for?" 1. That a man, a fine church going family man, postmaster for 25 yrs with only 5 yrs to go til fully vested in a generous federal pension system could or would throw it away on what? What is it all for, Sam and Suzy Clemens?
We may never know the answer to that query which has confounded mankind since first he became aware.
I hope this does not cause any of you who risked reading this any discomfort, but I had to get it off my chest as it is the 25th, yes, the silver anniversary of my father's last words. God bless you all and your little children.
Jackson Delano Maybolt President Urban Poverty Law Center
orphaned since 2008 yet not hopeless
"Let's not talk about your father, he's dead."
Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
1. Mark Twain Autobiography
I have received many requests to comment on what ever became of the principles in the above story.
The bearded lady shaved her beard off and is now known as Rosie ODonnell and is believed by some to be an actress and political commentator.
Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen went on to write the "Vagina Monologues".
The Midget Clowns all gave up the carnival life and one of the clowns, Bobo, changed his name to Jon Stewart and hosts a successful political satire show on Comedy Central.
CoaCoa, the Midget Clown, now works as the horn operator at the Sports Emporium in Salt Lake City, Utah.
The third Midget Clown was never seen or heard from after that infamous day. jm
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Policy On Lighting
I know the readers have been clamoring for the policy of UPLC on fluorescent lighting.
Most of you are aware fluorescent lights require mercury to ionize the gas in the bulb or tube to produce light. The mercury is great until it gets out of the bulb and onto your floor. Then it can vaporize and enter your lungs and blood stream and make its way to your brain where it will turn your 100 watt bulb into a 60 watt bulb. The biochemistry and the neurochemistry are way to complex for a publicly read treatise, but believe me, I have it on good authority, mercury in the brain is bad.
Billy Chaterleaux, had a promising career as a line worker at Proctor and Gamble in Jackson. He made pringles and had to make sure the potato slurry was the correct consistency as it was poured into those molds. He had worked without err for over 13 years when tragedy struck. He was in the den watching Bill O'Reily on Fox News when his wife, Millicent, came into the room brandishing a curly fluorescent light, where she removed the old fashion incandescent bulb and screwed the new light into the lamp on the table beside Billy's chair.
Things went well except Billy had to buy 2.25 powered reading glasses since the softer fluorescent light made reading harder for him than the old fashion 75 watt bulb. Then the mercury hit the floor when Billy accidentally toppled the lamp when he struck at a common house fly who was busy practicing touch and go landings on his gloriously bald head. Billy was not sure why the fly was so keen on his noggin, but he pondered if the better view up there might have something to do with it.1
Anyway, when the bulb broke it sent over 1,000 micrograms of elemental mercury into the living space. The fly wisely exited the room immediately and made its way to the litter box where it made a flawless six point landing on a fresh pile. The limited view, though not nearly as breathtaking as the lookout afforded by old Billy's head, was more than compensated by the cuisine and the aromatics the fly encountered in his new local. Jackpot!
Flies are queer little creatures.
Billy picked up the broken glass and got the vacuum out and vacuumed up the mercury dust, but in doing so, he contaminated the entire house. Millicent called the EPA and they came in and closed the house off. Billy and Millicent moved in with her parents while the EPA determines if the house will have to be demolished and placed in baggies and shipped off to Nevada where the spent nuclear fuel rods are stored, or if just tearing out the carpeting,the walls and replacing the insulation, the sheet rock, and flooring will be good enough to reduce the mercury contamination in the home to 0.00000376 nanograms, the maximum allowed in occupied homes. Understand now that an average can of Starkist tuna has 0.00000384 nanograms of mercury.
Billy asked Ned Bunsenburner, the West Tennessee EPA representative, how a can of Tuna could have fully 0.00000008 nanograms more than his home and be safe? To which Ned replied,
"Safe, hell the tuna in that can is dead and it comes under the jurisdiction of the Food and Drug Administration and they have totally different standards than the EPA. We here at the EPA feel they are too lax in their allowances. But we can't allow you back into your home until our quality standards are met. We are just looking out for your health. If you and Mrs Chaterleaux become retarded because of the mercury you would be a great burden on the tax payers and potentially add to the deficit. Good God man, did you ever consider what it could do to the debt ceiling?"
Billy understood about the deficit as well as the debt ceiling.
Three months after the Chaterleaux home was gutted they are still living with Millecent's mother. The EPA has long since retreated back to its offices in Memphis. Billy got kicked in the head by one of his mother-in-laws alpacas. When he came out of his coma he was worse off than if the mercury had had its way with his brain. He is still on at Proctor and Gamble but in a less demanding capacity which is more consistent with his "new skills level" as his physical and medical rehab worker puts it.
Six months have passed since the lamp crashed to the floor, the Chaterleauxs are not back in their home. They are expecting a final ruling from the EPA anytime now, but the decision has been kicked up to a higher level at the regional offices in St. Louis, Mo.
They tried to sue the company that makes the bulbs, but congress granted them immunity. Now I hear the Chaterleaux's are driving to Washington DC with 2 dozen fluorescent bulbs in the car. She plans to protest by throwing all the bulbs from the gallery at congress while it is in session. Should work better than a filibuster.
After a toxic clean up break in the House, perhaps congress will repeal the law against the incandescent bulb and outlaw the toxic ones. Naw, that would be too much to hope for.
There are fools and there are damn fools. We the people are the fools and congress is filled with damn fools.
Godspeed, Lady Chaterleaux!
Jack Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Heat a gold coin to 2000 degrees and you still have gold. Heat a hundred dollar bill to 2000 degrees and all you have left is carbon. There is no paper money in hell." Mother Maybolt 1923-2008
1. Mark Twain from his autobiography, days in Florence.
Most of you are aware fluorescent lights require mercury to ionize the gas in the bulb or tube to produce light. The mercury is great until it gets out of the bulb and onto your floor. Then it can vaporize and enter your lungs and blood stream and make its way to your brain where it will turn your 100 watt bulb into a 60 watt bulb. The biochemistry and the neurochemistry are way to complex for a publicly read treatise, but believe me, I have it on good authority, mercury in the brain is bad.
Billy Chaterleaux, had a promising career as a line worker at Proctor and Gamble in Jackson. He made pringles and had to make sure the potato slurry was the correct consistency as it was poured into those molds. He had worked without err for over 13 years when tragedy struck. He was in the den watching Bill O'Reily on Fox News when his wife, Millicent, came into the room brandishing a curly fluorescent light, where she removed the old fashion incandescent bulb and screwed the new light into the lamp on the table beside Billy's chair.
Things went well except Billy had to buy 2.25 powered reading glasses since the softer fluorescent light made reading harder for him than the old fashion 75 watt bulb. Then the mercury hit the floor when Billy accidentally toppled the lamp when he struck at a common house fly who was busy practicing touch and go landings on his gloriously bald head. Billy was not sure why the fly was so keen on his noggin, but he pondered if the better view up there might have something to do with it.1
Anyway, when the bulb broke it sent over 1,000 micrograms of elemental mercury into the living space. The fly wisely exited the room immediately and made its way to the litter box where it made a flawless six point landing on a fresh pile. The limited view, though not nearly as breathtaking as the lookout afforded by old Billy's head, was more than compensated by the cuisine and the aromatics the fly encountered in his new local. Jackpot!
Flies are queer little creatures.
Billy picked up the broken glass and got the vacuum out and vacuumed up the mercury dust, but in doing so, he contaminated the entire house. Millicent called the EPA and they came in and closed the house off. Billy and Millicent moved in with her parents while the EPA determines if the house will have to be demolished and placed in baggies and shipped off to Nevada where the spent nuclear fuel rods are stored, or if just tearing out the carpeting,the walls and replacing the insulation, the sheet rock, and flooring will be good enough to reduce the mercury contamination in the home to 0.00000376 nanograms, the maximum allowed in occupied homes. Understand now that an average can of Starkist tuna has 0.00000384 nanograms of mercury.
Billy asked Ned Bunsenburner, the West Tennessee EPA representative, how a can of Tuna could have fully 0.00000008 nanograms more than his home and be safe? To which Ned replied,
"Safe, hell the tuna in that can is dead and it comes under the jurisdiction of the Food and Drug Administration and they have totally different standards than the EPA. We here at the EPA feel they are too lax in their allowances. But we can't allow you back into your home until our quality standards are met. We are just looking out for your health. If you and Mrs Chaterleaux become retarded because of the mercury you would be a great burden on the tax payers and potentially add to the deficit. Good God man, did you ever consider what it could do to the debt ceiling?"
Billy understood about the deficit as well as the debt ceiling.
Three months after the Chaterleaux home was gutted they are still living with Millecent's mother. The EPA has long since retreated back to its offices in Memphis. Billy got kicked in the head by one of his mother-in-laws alpacas. When he came out of his coma he was worse off than if the mercury had had its way with his brain. He is still on at Proctor and Gamble but in a less demanding capacity which is more consistent with his "new skills level" as his physical and medical rehab worker puts it.
Six months have passed since the lamp crashed to the floor, the Chaterleauxs are not back in their home. They are expecting a final ruling from the EPA anytime now, but the decision has been kicked up to a higher level at the regional offices in St. Louis, Mo.
They tried to sue the company that makes the bulbs, but congress granted them immunity. Now I hear the Chaterleaux's are driving to Washington DC with 2 dozen fluorescent bulbs in the car. She plans to protest by throwing all the bulbs from the gallery at congress while it is in session. Should work better than a filibuster.
After a toxic clean up break in the House, perhaps congress will repeal the law against the incandescent bulb and outlaw the toxic ones. Naw, that would be too much to hope for.
There are fools and there are damn fools. We the people are the fools and congress is filled with damn fools.
Godspeed, Lady Chaterleaux!
Jack Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Heat a gold coin to 2000 degrees and you still have gold. Heat a hundred dollar bill to 2000 degrees and all you have left is carbon. There is no paper money in hell." Mother Maybolt 1923-2008
1. Mark Twain from his autobiography, days in Florence.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Urban Poverty Law Center New Year Resolution
Blogosphereons,1.
As the president of this fine Law Center, I like to look back at the year just past and recall some of my accomplishments. Well even with all that we did, poverty is keeping ahead of our best efforts to crush it. My twenty dollar contribution to the homeless fellow unexpectedly and regretfully reduced the homeless population by one when he smoked two dime bags of meth and had a brain seizure. Malinda Teague's eldest son, Wendell, is a EMT and rides third seat with the crew in Finger, Tn on Fridays and said he'd seen it before and that poor wretch was probably dead before he hit the ground.
I devised 10 ways to reduce the federal deficit and am always thinking of ways to improve on the ways. We could reduce federal spending by 1/5 by granting our public servants off every Wednesday without pay. Generally speaking, nothing great ever happens on Wednesday in the halls of government or on the other four days for that matter. We could reduce our outlays for government if all public servants were paid on merit and for results. Payroll expenditures would necessarily drop to pre-WWI levels as most civil servants are pathetic paper weights and position holders for the next lucky winner of "who gonna get a government job?"
In local developments, Larry Simmons called to say that we had a sick cow. Seems she is all snotty around the nose, foaming at the mouth, and can not muster the energy to get up off the ground. Merle said he'd seen it before and was pneumonia. I gave Larry my bottle of penicillin and he give the cow a couple of shots and brung it some water and some feed and we will see what tomorrow brings. I think we will be burying another of Mr.D.B. Bell's cows tomorrow.
Damned if old Bell don't have the worst luck with his cows. That is the second one this year for old Bell. I tried to tell him not to buy them old cows sight unseen, but Bell is a banker and banker's know everything, except perhaps when not to buy cows with no teeth left in their heads. In his favor, he did get two fine calves out of those edentulus bovines. God rest their souls, a cow is a noble creature and its intelligence is universally underrated. Only the dog is smarter, because we do not eat dogs. But a Chinese dog, that is a totally different matter.
As I look back over the past year, I find I have pissed away another one without accomplishing anything of any worth or value. Even the IRS sent most of my money back. I hope to be more productive in 2011 as it is the next to last year in the Mayan calender.
This year I plan to end poverty, end wealth, end inequality, end dreams, end profits, end global warming, end racism, end homophobia, end religion, end bigotry, end criminality, end social injustice, end talk radio, end freedom of speech, end baring arms, end hunger, end teenage pregnancy, end war, end diseases, and end profits from businesses both great and small.
I will vote democrat.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"You know you are a Democrat if you find National Public Radio's news segments from Central America----------facinating!" Mother Maybolt, 1928-2008
1. A term to denote those who hang out in the blogosphere, generally another term for loser with a computer who is tired of watching porno 24/7. jm
As the president of this fine Law Center, I like to look back at the year just past and recall some of my accomplishments. Well even with all that we did, poverty is keeping ahead of our best efforts to crush it. My twenty dollar contribution to the homeless fellow unexpectedly and regretfully reduced the homeless population by one when he smoked two dime bags of meth and had a brain seizure. Malinda Teague's eldest son, Wendell, is a EMT and rides third seat with the crew in Finger, Tn on Fridays and said he'd seen it before and that poor wretch was probably dead before he hit the ground.
I devised 10 ways to reduce the federal deficit and am always thinking of ways to improve on the ways. We could reduce federal spending by 1/5 by granting our public servants off every Wednesday without pay. Generally speaking, nothing great ever happens on Wednesday in the halls of government or on the other four days for that matter. We could reduce our outlays for government if all public servants were paid on merit and for results. Payroll expenditures would necessarily drop to pre-WWI levels as most civil servants are pathetic paper weights and position holders for the next lucky winner of "who gonna get a government job?"
In local developments, Larry Simmons called to say that we had a sick cow. Seems she is all snotty around the nose, foaming at the mouth, and can not muster the energy to get up off the ground. Merle said he'd seen it before and was pneumonia. I gave Larry my bottle of penicillin and he give the cow a couple of shots and brung it some water and some feed and we will see what tomorrow brings. I think we will be burying another of Mr.D.B. Bell's cows tomorrow.
Damned if old Bell don't have the worst luck with his cows. That is the second one this year for old Bell. I tried to tell him not to buy them old cows sight unseen, but Bell is a banker and banker's know everything, except perhaps when not to buy cows with no teeth left in their heads. In his favor, he did get two fine calves out of those edentulus bovines. God rest their souls, a cow is a noble creature and its intelligence is universally underrated. Only the dog is smarter, because we do not eat dogs. But a Chinese dog, that is a totally different matter.
As I look back over the past year, I find I have pissed away another one without accomplishing anything of any worth or value. Even the IRS sent most of my money back. I hope to be more productive in 2011 as it is the next to last year in the Mayan calender.
This year I plan to end poverty, end wealth, end inequality, end dreams, end profits, end global warming, end racism, end homophobia, end religion, end bigotry, end criminality, end social injustice, end talk radio, end freedom of speech, end baring arms, end hunger, end teenage pregnancy, end war, end diseases, and end profits from businesses both great and small.
I will vote democrat.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"You know you are a Democrat if you find National Public Radio's news segments from Central America----------facinating!" Mother Maybolt, 1928-2008
1. A term to denote those who hang out in the blogosphere, generally another term for loser with a computer who is tired of watching porno 24/7. jm
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Urban Poverty Law Center Wishes You A Merry Christmas
Friends and Democrats,
I will get the niceties out of the way before I get started, Merry Christmas! I got everything I wanted for Christmas this year, world peace, global warming subsiding on our efforts to control emissions from cattle and politicians, and an end to world hunger when the last of the starving Somali's passed on to the other side. Really, the United Nations reported that world hunger is defeated the old fashion way. They finally died. Sad but true.
National Public Radio had live reportage standing by as the last two, known world hunger poster children, drew their last air.
Juan Williams had been scheduled to be the senior reporter, but his flap with Fox News got him canned and Nina Totumpole
got tapped for the assignment. I think Nina's choice was a coup de tat, as she brought a warmness to the report whereas Juan, with his harsh anti-Islam, anti-Starving African/Fox News biases, would have fallen flat. Juan's heart and soul would not have been in that report. Achmed and Schlamile, dead of world hunger! Next.
One last thing about Nina Totumpole, she is a great reporter with a gentle heart, a kind spirit, and a fine historian when facts are not essential. 1.
As I compose, globing warming, the hoax, concocted in some Tennesseans warped mind, who was erroneously awarded the Nobel Peas Prize, whose last name rhymes with whore, and first name rhymes with fert, past pluperfect for "fart", When I surprised Betty Wahlbanger with a baked potato, she was embarrassed by her fert, is melting away at Europe and the Americas.
It is so cold in the British Isles that one can hear many loud cracks over there as Brits with hideously crooked teeth have them contracted and spontaneously straightened when they draw in that first frosty morning breath of fresh air. The Royal Society of Odontics and Maxillo-Facial Surgery is planning a protest letter to the UN.
With the expiration date set firmly on the 111th congress, and the Lame Duck America Congress at its end, I think we can all sit back and with a sigh of relief, pray to God Almighty, the 112th Congress only stings half as much as its predecessor. Asking Congress to watch your money is like asking a dog to watch your food. 2. I had almost lost my faith in Hell until I observed the shenanigans of this Lame Duck Congress. 3.
I believe that we can all agree they gave Americans what they truly want, a good screwing. But, I haven't felt this bad about a screwing since prom night,1968, when Jess Nunamaker and I got all liquored up and experimented in the back of his pick up truck, said he lost his balance, but he nearly ripped me a new one, if you know what I mean. I wasn't expecting that, and gave it up that year for Lent and never went back there again. I am not gay, not that there is anything wrong with sodomy or beastiality for that matter, Love is where you find it in my honest opinion. I just did not feel the love in the back of Jess's truck that night. I am a committed heterosexual, but my injuries, lost arm and leg, along with a large and smelly sacral decubitus require me to pay for sex, and if ever I find a really desperate crank whore with false teeth, I do. Too much information, I know. Change subjects.
Members of the reading public, you are instructed to disregard the written remarks the noble amongst you find repugnant and the rest of you, whose sensibilities were not shocked, are perverted, your mothers know who you are, don't fool yourself . Did that help anybody? Save it for your therapist.
Merry Christmas everybody!
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
1. Mark Twain plagiary, 2. ditto. 3. ditto
"All women are whores, except of course for your mother. But her mother was a whore!" Mother Maybolt, the unwhore, 1925-2008
I will get the niceties out of the way before I get started, Merry Christmas! I got everything I wanted for Christmas this year, world peace, global warming subsiding on our efforts to control emissions from cattle and politicians, and an end to world hunger when the last of the starving Somali's passed on to the other side. Really, the United Nations reported that world hunger is defeated the old fashion way. They finally died. Sad but true.
National Public Radio had live reportage standing by as the last two, known world hunger poster children, drew their last air.
Juan Williams had been scheduled to be the senior reporter, but his flap with Fox News got him canned and Nina Totumpole
got tapped for the assignment. I think Nina's choice was a coup de tat, as she brought a warmness to the report whereas Juan, with his harsh anti-Islam, anti-Starving African/Fox News biases, would have fallen flat. Juan's heart and soul would not have been in that report. Achmed and Schlamile, dead of world hunger! Next.
One last thing about Nina Totumpole, she is a great reporter with a gentle heart, a kind spirit, and a fine historian when facts are not essential. 1.
As I compose, globing warming, the hoax, concocted in some Tennesseans warped mind, who was erroneously awarded the Nobel Peas Prize, whose last name rhymes with whore, and first name rhymes with fert, past pluperfect for "fart", When I surprised Betty Wahlbanger with a baked potato, she was embarrassed by her fert, is melting away at Europe and the Americas.
It is so cold in the British Isles that one can hear many loud cracks over there as Brits with hideously crooked teeth have them contracted and spontaneously straightened when they draw in that first frosty morning breath of fresh air. The Royal Society of Odontics and Maxillo-Facial Surgery is planning a protest letter to the UN.
With the expiration date set firmly on the 111th congress, and the Lame Duck America Congress at its end, I think we can all sit back and with a sigh of relief, pray to God Almighty, the 112th Congress only stings half as much as its predecessor. Asking Congress to watch your money is like asking a dog to watch your food. 2. I had almost lost my faith in Hell until I observed the shenanigans of this Lame Duck Congress. 3.
I believe that we can all agree they gave Americans what they truly want, a good screwing. But, I haven't felt this bad about a screwing since prom night,1968, when Jess Nunamaker and I got all liquored up and experimented in the back of his pick up truck, said he lost his balance, but he nearly ripped me a new one, if you know what I mean. I wasn't expecting that, and gave it up that year for Lent and never went back there again. I am not gay, not that there is anything wrong with sodomy or beastiality for that matter, Love is where you find it in my honest opinion. I just did not feel the love in the back of Jess's truck that night. I am a committed heterosexual, but my injuries, lost arm and leg, along with a large and smelly sacral decubitus require me to pay for sex, and if ever I find a really desperate crank whore with false teeth, I do. Too much information, I know. Change subjects.
Members of the reading public, you are instructed to disregard the written remarks the noble amongst you find repugnant and the rest of you, whose sensibilities were not shocked, are perverted, your mothers know who you are, don't fool yourself . Did that help anybody? Save it for your therapist.
Merry Christmas everybody!
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
1. Mark Twain plagiary, 2. ditto. 3. ditto
"All women are whores, except of course for your mother. But her mother was a whore!" Mother Maybolt, the unwhore, 1925-2008
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Urban Poverty Law Center Visited By Mark Twain
Friends,
I have not been more excited about anything in Cedar Grove, TN than the news I received through my personal assistant, Susan Blunderdoss. As many will recall she was our first hire here at the UPLC. She has the son who plays the drums in the West Carroll High Marching Band who has to march freestyle to minimize his chance of being struck by a heavenly body.
Anyway, Susan's second cousin, who hails from Mississippi, got into a little bit of trouble back home with her church, and rather than fight it out locally, her momma, Clotile, felt it would be better for little Yolanda to move up here and have the preacher's child out of state as well as out of wedlock. Yolanda is a spirited young girl with black, black hair, and pale white skin with a sprinkling of freckles around the nose and the bluest of blue eyes. She has a nice figure for a girl of thirteen and in a certain light could pass for sixteen.
She was only twelve when she got into trouble with the Preacher, there in Humpityduditycannipotitty County, Mississippi. Funny how all the Mississippi counties have native American names. Humpityduditycannipotitty is the Kashkashkia Indian tribal word for salt. Back in the day humpityduditycannipotitty was a very valuable comodity. So important that Mississippi named an entire county for it!
Well, Susan has brought Yolanda out to the house where I met and have been speaking to her and she relates to me that she is a clairvoyant. And regularly communes with spirits, both famous and infamous. I thought I would humor this troubled teen with what I thought was a harmless question.
"Could she get me an interview with my favorite American writer, Ernest Hemingway?"
Well, before I knew it her bright blue eyes had rolled 180 degrees back into that pale faced skull, and she intoned in a somewhat other worldly voice, that Hemingway was not reachable through the gates of Hell, suicide, you know, but Mark Twain had an opening and was agreeable to an interview. I decided to play along with her on this one, curious to see what would follow.
I tentatively asked my interviewee if I could get him/her anything before we start. His/her bright blue eyes snapped back into focus, gazed about the library in which the ordeal was unfolding and rejoined, a Cuban Cigar if you have one. I had some swishersweets left over when mother was alive and offered him/her one of these and he/she accepted. I lit it up and he/she took a long drag off it and blew it out and then refocused his/her gaze on me.
Mr. Twain, I uttered. I was not expecting you today, and have not prepared anything in particular. Can I get you anything to drink? Sherry would be just fine. I asked Susan to bring some of momma's finest in a glass for our guest and I asked Mr. Twain to tell me a story of interest to him. He related the following short to me that day:
When I was just a lad of 10 or 11, Tommy Blankenship and I would spend summers exploring the area around Hannibal. Mother always sent a negro named Roger to watch after us and keep us safe. Roger was a great big fellow who was a few years our senior and was strong enough to pick both Tom and me up with one arm, and though he looked like a man he was childlike. On a dare, he once swam across the Mississippi river round trip and didn't even get winded. He was strong but not bright.
His/her bright blue eyes flashed and flickered for a moment, and then he/she continued:
Roger was one of the kindest fellows I ever met. He wore a hat that was my grandfather's which was thrown out 10 years ago. Roger's mother, Cici, had retrieved it from our family's dump after my mother's father died. He never went anywhere without that hat. It was fine old hat in its day. Pap used to wear it to church and to campaign stops. And though it made Pap look distinguished, when Roger wore it, he looked comical. A young lad with a top hat! What next, honest men in politics! But I digress.
It was a hot, hot August day and Tommy and I had not played a trick on Roger for over a month. He, Roger, was terribly feared of haints and we could always count on his fear to play a good one on him. One of our swimming holes had a bank with a hole in it where a small boy could swim down into and come up on the other side of the bank and if you was quiet enough you could slip out of the water and it would look sure as not that you'd drown! The hole was made by muskrats and had washed big enough to allow passage of a small boy. I was playing and splashing with Tommy in that swimming hole as Roger looked on with a vacant stare. I winked to Tommy and went under and made it to and through the muskrat hole and slipped up and peered over the bank at the commotion when Tommy yells to Roger that Sam is done drown.
Roger lept up and hit the water so hard it nearly splashed half of it over the bank, he swam every inch of the swimming hole, coming up only long enough to grab a quick breath and down again. After what seemed a few minutes, I swam back through the hole and floated to the surface near Tommy and Roger had me hoisted on his shoulder and on the bank in seconds. He laid me out and began to wail over me. I done lets my little marster drown! Miss Clemens will never forgives me. I has failed. Lordy Jesus give my lil marster Sam back. The tears were welling up in his eyes and on cue, I opened my eyes and Tommy said, Look! He is alive!
Roger fell on my chest hugging and kissing me to a point that I was embarrassed by all the attention. I asked who they were and who was I and pretended not to know anything. Roger wasn't worried until Tommy told him I had "amnesia" a loss of memory attributed to folks that went across the river Styx and drank from its waters of forgetfulness and somehow mistakenly returned to the ranks of the living. Tommy explained that I was dead and didn't know it.
This got Roger's attention. He got off me and stepped back and studied the situation for a moment or two. Then he said, suppose we could take him home and ack like nothing happened? Tommy said, they would have to teach me everything first before I could go back home, if I lived. Roger's eyes got big as saucers.
Sam, yo name is Samuel Clemens! Yo mama is Mistress Clemens, and yo father is Marsta Clemens.
I am Mistress Clemens, my mama is Samuel Clemens, I said.
No, no, no! said Roger.
You is Samuel Clemens. Got it?
Yes, You is Samuel Clemens, I said.
Naw, I ain't you. You is you. You is Samuel Clemens! Samuel Clemens is you! I am Roger, remember, Roger.
I am Roger. I said.
About this time Yolanda's eyes flicker back in that white skull of hers, and she lets out a mighty groan. The baby, my water has broken, the baby is coming!
I fell out of my hoverround trying to get out of that room. I did not know nothing about water breaking. Yolanda started to laugh.
Shoot, Mr. Maybolt, didn't my aunt warn you that I am only in this thing to entertain myself? Everything's made up, it is all a young girls fancy. I am not even pregnant. I made that story up to get away from home for a few months too.
I have to admit that she was good. I will never forget Yolanda from Humpityduditycannipotitty County, Mississippi!
Jackson Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
"The difference between a tick and a congressman is eventually a tick will get its fill and drop off." Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
I have not been more excited about anything in Cedar Grove, TN than the news I received through my personal assistant, Susan Blunderdoss. As many will recall she was our first hire here at the UPLC. She has the son who plays the drums in the West Carroll High Marching Band who has to march freestyle to minimize his chance of being struck by a heavenly body.
Anyway, Susan's second cousin, who hails from Mississippi, got into a little bit of trouble back home with her church, and rather than fight it out locally, her momma, Clotile, felt it would be better for little Yolanda to move up here and have the preacher's child out of state as well as out of wedlock. Yolanda is a spirited young girl with black, black hair, and pale white skin with a sprinkling of freckles around the nose and the bluest of blue eyes. She has a nice figure for a girl of thirteen and in a certain light could pass for sixteen.
She was only twelve when she got into trouble with the Preacher, there in Humpityduditycannipotitty County, Mississippi. Funny how all the Mississippi counties have native American names. Humpityduditycannipotitty is the Kashkashkia Indian tribal word for salt. Back in the day humpityduditycannipotitty was a very valuable comodity. So important that Mississippi named an entire county for it!
Well, Susan has brought Yolanda out to the house where I met and have been speaking to her and she relates to me that she is a clairvoyant. And regularly communes with spirits, both famous and infamous. I thought I would humor this troubled teen with what I thought was a harmless question.
"Could she get me an interview with my favorite American writer, Ernest Hemingway?"
Well, before I knew it her bright blue eyes had rolled 180 degrees back into that pale faced skull, and she intoned in a somewhat other worldly voice, that Hemingway was not reachable through the gates of Hell, suicide, you know, but Mark Twain had an opening and was agreeable to an interview. I decided to play along with her on this one, curious to see what would follow.
I tentatively asked my interviewee if I could get him/her anything before we start. His/her bright blue eyes snapped back into focus, gazed about the library in which the ordeal was unfolding and rejoined, a Cuban Cigar if you have one. I had some swishersweets left over when mother was alive and offered him/her one of these and he/she accepted. I lit it up and he/she took a long drag off it and blew it out and then refocused his/her gaze on me.
Mr. Twain, I uttered. I was not expecting you today, and have not prepared anything in particular. Can I get you anything to drink? Sherry would be just fine. I asked Susan to bring some of momma's finest in a glass for our guest and I asked Mr. Twain to tell me a story of interest to him. He related the following short to me that day:
When I was just a lad of 10 or 11, Tommy Blankenship and I would spend summers exploring the area around Hannibal. Mother always sent a negro named Roger to watch after us and keep us safe. Roger was a great big fellow who was a few years our senior and was strong enough to pick both Tom and me up with one arm, and though he looked like a man he was childlike. On a dare, he once swam across the Mississippi river round trip and didn't even get winded. He was strong but not bright.
His/her bright blue eyes flashed and flickered for a moment, and then he/she continued:
Roger was one of the kindest fellows I ever met. He wore a hat that was my grandfather's which was thrown out 10 years ago. Roger's mother, Cici, had retrieved it from our family's dump after my mother's father died. He never went anywhere without that hat. It was fine old hat in its day. Pap used to wear it to church and to campaign stops. And though it made Pap look distinguished, when Roger wore it, he looked comical. A young lad with a top hat! What next, honest men in politics! But I digress.
It was a hot, hot August day and Tommy and I had not played a trick on Roger for over a month. He, Roger, was terribly feared of haints and we could always count on his fear to play a good one on him. One of our swimming holes had a bank with a hole in it where a small boy could swim down into and come up on the other side of the bank and if you was quiet enough you could slip out of the water and it would look sure as not that you'd drown! The hole was made by muskrats and had washed big enough to allow passage of a small boy. I was playing and splashing with Tommy in that swimming hole as Roger looked on with a vacant stare. I winked to Tommy and went under and made it to and through the muskrat hole and slipped up and peered over the bank at the commotion when Tommy yells to Roger that Sam is done drown.
Roger lept up and hit the water so hard it nearly splashed half of it over the bank, he swam every inch of the swimming hole, coming up only long enough to grab a quick breath and down again. After what seemed a few minutes, I swam back through the hole and floated to the surface near Tommy and Roger had me hoisted on his shoulder and on the bank in seconds. He laid me out and began to wail over me. I done lets my little marster drown! Miss Clemens will never forgives me. I has failed. Lordy Jesus give my lil marster Sam back. The tears were welling up in his eyes and on cue, I opened my eyes and Tommy said, Look! He is alive!
Roger fell on my chest hugging and kissing me to a point that I was embarrassed by all the attention. I asked who they were and who was I and pretended not to know anything. Roger wasn't worried until Tommy told him I had "amnesia" a loss of memory attributed to folks that went across the river Styx and drank from its waters of forgetfulness and somehow mistakenly returned to the ranks of the living. Tommy explained that I was dead and didn't know it.
This got Roger's attention. He got off me and stepped back and studied the situation for a moment or two. Then he said, suppose we could take him home and ack like nothing happened? Tommy said, they would have to teach me everything first before I could go back home, if I lived. Roger's eyes got big as saucers.
Sam, yo name is Samuel Clemens! Yo mama is Mistress Clemens, and yo father is Marsta Clemens.
I am Mistress Clemens, my mama is Samuel Clemens, I said.
No, no, no! said Roger.
You is Samuel Clemens. Got it?
Yes, You is Samuel Clemens, I said.
Naw, I ain't you. You is you. You is Samuel Clemens! Samuel Clemens is you! I am Roger, remember, Roger.
I am Roger. I said.
About this time Yolanda's eyes flicker back in that white skull of hers, and she lets out a mighty groan. The baby, my water has broken, the baby is coming!
I fell out of my hoverround trying to get out of that room. I did not know nothing about water breaking. Yolanda started to laugh.
Shoot, Mr. Maybolt, didn't my aunt warn you that I am only in this thing to entertain myself? Everything's made up, it is all a young girls fancy. I am not even pregnant. I made that story up to get away from home for a few months too.
I have to admit that she was good. I will never forget Yolanda from Humpityduditycannipotitty County, Mississippi!
Jackson Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
"The difference between a tick and a congressman is eventually a tick will get its fill and drop off." Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Urban Poverty Law Center's Proposals For Government
Below is the letter to the editor of the Wall Street Journal that I had to write since our great country is on a slide to financial ruination. I felt I had to comment as those in Washington who are at the controls are rocketing our futures into a vacuum of sustainable poverty for all. What kind of Poverty Law Center would this be if we did not comment when we see the crash coming?
An Open Letter From The Urban Poverty Law Center To Erstwhile Bowles and Alvin Simpson:
Co-Chairmen of The Presidents Deficit Reduction and Reunification Commission.
As the President of The Urban Poverty Law Center since 1998 I have balanced my budget each year and believe you me, it has not always been easy. One year, a particularly harsh one, we had to fore go the caviar and lobster and settle for bologna and government cheese at the annual Christmas party! Luckily, Larry Simmons spiked the
punch bowl and no one complained.
To briefly summarize the commissions 12 month work, they want to eliminate home mortgage deductions, raise gasoline taxes by 15 cents a gallon, raise the retirement age, cut retirement benefits at the same time,tweak the broken tax code so it favors the government over the tax payer even more, and cut the federal work force by 10% by the year 2525! Good grief! Is that all you got? My cows could have come up with a better plan given half the time and money you bloviates blew through this past year.
The Urban Poverty Law Center plan to reduce the deficit includes:
1: Eliminate all federal pensions and apply the broken social security and medicare policies to all federal workers. This is retroactive. Sorry Jimmy Carter and Bushes, and Clinton, and Jerry Ford if you are still alive.
2: Cut all federal pay by the percentage of this years projected deficit immediately-
this would save billions a year.
3. Make all medicare payments to doctors tax free. This would take the sting off accepting and caring for medicare patients.
4. Cut the corporate income tax in half. No federal taxes on corporations that mass produce products that have federal taxes on them, ie cigarettes, and gasoline. Corporations with a heart would pass the savings on to the little guy, the consumer.
5. Eliminate campaign finance regulations for limits on contributions, but have 100% compliance on reporting who is giving and how much. Then tax 50% of these contributions so those who are buying favors pay for the cost of the government.
6. Eliminate the restriction on foreign contributors to campaigns, we welcome their money to the Treasury as well.
7. Tax all former politicians at 90% for income from speeches, board membership, books, etc that exceeds 2 million dollars a year, and no charitable foundations shenanigans to avoid this debt they owe the American People! We made them, they owe us!
8. Immediate 20 percent reduction in the income taxes by allowing each taxpayer to work 1 year in every five years tax free. Start it in a lottery with the last 2 digits of your ss number corresponding when you can take your tax free year.
9. Add a 5% national sales tax to all goods and services which would capture the underground markets and this could phase out when the budgets are balanced.
10. Do what I recommend or you are an ass-monkey.
Jackson Delano Maybolt President Urban Poverty Law Center
"We're from the government and we are here to help ourselves to your stuff."
Mother Maybolt, 1927-2008
An Open Letter From The Urban Poverty Law Center To Erstwhile Bowles and Alvin Simpson:
Co-Chairmen of The Presidents Deficit Reduction and Reunification Commission.
As the President of The Urban Poverty Law Center since 1998 I have balanced my budget each year and believe you me, it has not always been easy. One year, a particularly harsh one, we had to fore go the caviar and lobster and settle for bologna and government cheese at the annual Christmas party! Luckily, Larry Simmons spiked the
punch bowl and no one complained.
To briefly summarize the commissions 12 month work, they want to eliminate home mortgage deductions, raise gasoline taxes by 15 cents a gallon, raise the retirement age, cut retirement benefits at the same time,tweak the broken tax code so it favors the government over the tax payer even more, and cut the federal work force by 10% by the year 2525! Good grief! Is that all you got? My cows could have come up with a better plan given half the time and money you bloviates blew through this past year.
The Urban Poverty Law Center plan to reduce the deficit includes:
1: Eliminate all federal pensions and apply the broken social security and medicare policies to all federal workers. This is retroactive. Sorry Jimmy Carter and Bushes, and Clinton, and Jerry Ford if you are still alive.
2: Cut all federal pay by the percentage of this years projected deficit immediately-
this would save billions a year.
3. Make all medicare payments to doctors tax free. This would take the sting off accepting and caring for medicare patients.
4. Cut the corporate income tax in half. No federal taxes on corporations that mass produce products that have federal taxes on them, ie cigarettes, and gasoline. Corporations with a heart would pass the savings on to the little guy, the consumer.
5. Eliminate campaign finance regulations for limits on contributions, but have 100% compliance on reporting who is giving and how much. Then tax 50% of these contributions so those who are buying favors pay for the cost of the government.
6. Eliminate the restriction on foreign contributors to campaigns, we welcome their money to the Treasury as well.
7. Tax all former politicians at 90% for income from speeches, board membership, books, etc that exceeds 2 million dollars a year, and no charitable foundations shenanigans to avoid this debt they owe the American People! We made them, they owe us!
8. Immediate 20 percent reduction in the income taxes by allowing each taxpayer to work 1 year in every five years tax free. Start it in a lottery with the last 2 digits of your ss number corresponding when you can take your tax free year.
9. Add a 5% national sales tax to all goods and services which would capture the underground markets and this could phase out when the budgets are balanced.
10. Do what I recommend or you are an ass-monkey.
Jackson Delano Maybolt President Urban Poverty Law Center
"We're from the government and we are here to help ourselves to your stuff."
Mother Maybolt, 1927-2008
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Urban Poverty Law Center Blog Will Not Monetize
I do not want to brag, but Google has approached my blog and asked me to accept advertisements.
They tell me this is the most widely read blog emanating from Cedar Grove, Tn. I am flattered that
both of you, sign in from time to time to see what Jack is thinking, and you know who you are.
I am not swayed by the big money Google has offered, but the extra 13 cents a month could come in
handy. But by the time I paid taxes on that I would probably waste it on three jolly ranchers at the local Walmart
conveniently located on Highway 70A in Huntingdon, Tn, where you are always welcome with convenient 24 hr shopping and an in-house pharmacy. "If Walmart doesn't Have It, You Really Didn't Need It!"
I am shopping for wood burning stoves for my home since I feel that propane and electricity will be short when George Soros and gang pull the plug on America. I found that Sears, located in Jackson, Tn, has a large selection of wood burners and pellet stoves and is open Mon-Friday 8am to 9pm and Sat 9am to 10pm, and Sunday noon to 8pm. Check out their specials in the women's undergarments section, I know I do each time I shop there for Craftsman tools, the only tools still made in America. Sears, where America Shops!
Folks, I would be lying if I did not tell you I have been buying gold from Blanchard and Company since 1994. The trained sales people are ready to sell you as much as you are willing to buy. Heck when gold fell to $254 and ounce one kind Blanchard salesman offered to buy my gold back from me so I would not lose all my money when it fell to $70 an ounce, true story. I kept the gold. I only wish I had bought more when it was low.
You might be wondering where I buy toners for my copier machine? I always shop at Office Max, where the people are always
friendly and the store is handicap accessible by law, Located in Jackson, Tn on Carriage House Drive and Highland. These
professionals can meet and exceed your business supply needs. Office Max, where business gets down to business.
Speaking of handicaps, I got my scooter for free from The Scooter Store. The fine people at The Scooter Store pre-qualified me for a free scooter. They can be contacted at thescooterstore.com.
When I need a gift or a unique household item I reliably can find it at my local Target Store. It is located on the 45 by-pass in Jackson, TN. Target, always aiming to please you, its valuable customer.
When I don't feel like cooking, I will visit one of West Tennessee's local McDonalds. I can get a value meal and know that my
money goes back into the local community to support good causes like the Ronald McDonald House. McDonalds, if you will eat it, we will cook it. McDonalds, I am eating it!
When I shop for a tractor I want green for my green, John Deere has been making tractors since tractors have been made.
Nothing runs like a Deere!
Finally, and I am a little embarrassed by this, but if I am suffering from erection deficit disorder I use Cialis from Pfizer.
Pfizer, we put the wood in the woody. We put the dog back into your puppy. Cilias, your not 16, but your dick won't know that! Pfizer, let us help you straighten out Mr. Wiggles. Cialis, we can help you drain the swamp! Cialis, just when your wife had forgotten how much she hated doing that, oh yeah!
As I said, the google people can take their tax avoidance schemes somewhere else. I will not play ball with anything but a Wilson which was proudly made in Humboldt Tn until the factory was out sourced to Mexico sending 300 jobs out of country.
Wilson, for all your outsourced produced sporting goods.
Jackson D. Maybolt
Urban Poverty Law Center
"Be careful what you wish for. I always preface each wish with a wish for a million dollars. Bingo!" Mother Maybolt 1926-2008
They tell me this is the most widely read blog emanating from Cedar Grove, Tn. I am flattered that
both of you, sign in from time to time to see what Jack is thinking, and you know who you are.
I am not swayed by the big money Google has offered, but the extra 13 cents a month could come in
handy. But by the time I paid taxes on that I would probably waste it on three jolly ranchers at the local Walmart
conveniently located on Highway 70A in Huntingdon, Tn, where you are always welcome with convenient 24 hr shopping and an in-house pharmacy. "If Walmart doesn't Have It, You Really Didn't Need It!"
I am shopping for wood burning stoves for my home since I feel that propane and electricity will be short when George Soros and gang pull the plug on America. I found that Sears, located in Jackson, Tn, has a large selection of wood burners and pellet stoves and is open Mon-Friday 8am to 9pm and Sat 9am to 10pm, and Sunday noon to 8pm. Check out their specials in the women's undergarments section, I know I do each time I shop there for Craftsman tools, the only tools still made in America. Sears, where America Shops!
Folks, I would be lying if I did not tell you I have been buying gold from Blanchard and Company since 1994. The trained sales people are ready to sell you as much as you are willing to buy. Heck when gold fell to $254 and ounce one kind Blanchard salesman offered to buy my gold back from me so I would not lose all my money when it fell to $70 an ounce, true story. I kept the gold. I only wish I had bought more when it was low.
You might be wondering where I buy toners for my copier machine? I always shop at Office Max, where the people are always
friendly and the store is handicap accessible by law, Located in Jackson, Tn on Carriage House Drive and Highland. These
professionals can meet and exceed your business supply needs. Office Max, where business gets down to business.
Speaking of handicaps, I got my scooter for free from The Scooter Store. The fine people at The Scooter Store pre-qualified me for a free scooter. They can be contacted at thescooterstore.com.
When I need a gift or a unique household item I reliably can find it at my local Target Store. It is located on the 45 by-pass in Jackson, TN. Target, always aiming to please you, its valuable customer.
When I don't feel like cooking, I will visit one of West Tennessee's local McDonalds. I can get a value meal and know that my
money goes back into the local community to support good causes like the Ronald McDonald House. McDonalds, if you will eat it, we will cook it. McDonalds, I am eating it!
When I shop for a tractor I want green for my green, John Deere has been making tractors since tractors have been made.
Nothing runs like a Deere!
Finally, and I am a little embarrassed by this, but if I am suffering from erection deficit disorder I use Cialis from Pfizer.
Pfizer, we put the wood in the woody. We put the dog back into your puppy. Cilias, your not 16, but your dick won't know that! Pfizer, let us help you straighten out Mr. Wiggles. Cialis, we can help you drain the swamp! Cialis, just when your wife had forgotten how much she hated doing that, oh yeah!
As I said, the google people can take their tax avoidance schemes somewhere else. I will not play ball with anything but a Wilson which was proudly made in Humboldt Tn until the factory was out sourced to Mexico sending 300 jobs out of country.
Wilson, for all your outsourced produced sporting goods.
Jackson D. Maybolt
Urban Poverty Law Center
"Be careful what you wish for. I always preface each wish with a wish for a million dollars. Bingo!" Mother Maybolt 1926-2008
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Urban Poverty Law Center Political Commentary
I know I risk alienating 50% of Americans who vote, but those Americans who would be alienated by this missive probably do not read, anyway not this blog. President Obama, dancing the nights away at the music festival of lights in India with 3,000 of his closest friends on a $200 million dollar a day taxpayer funded extravaganza, fiddle's as our American way of life burns.
Oil poised to break $90 a barrel today, gold courting $1500 an ounce, cotton futures breaking a buck-fifty, soybeans over twelve-fifty. Inflation is coming and it is here.
Savers will be crippled and debtors will be buried. Hold onto those houses prices will rise, values will remain depressed.
People on fixed income will starve. No cat or dog will be safe. If you have a job, do everything to keep it. If you do not have a job, find one, any job, even at a fast food restaurant which may help feed the family in these coming difficult times.
What do the bankers who control the world do when their property and high positions are threatened by a collapse of the economy? Well a look back at history will reveal the only logical and politically correct action is WORLD WAR III!
At risk now are the plans of the new world order creeps and goons who have positions and wealth far above the imaginations of your average Cedar Grove bacon and cornbread fed citizen. Once the economy fails and the public gets hungry, problems get worse.
Turn the lights off and watch out. Lawlessness will be rampant. We will be invaded by
renegades from our Southern borders because it is worse there than it is here and they will be rampaging about collecting what ever treasure is left in our decaying society.
People will have to arm themselves to go to Walmart if there is anything on the shelves,
food will be the new money, and cigarettes will be prized possessions. If you do not have your ammunition supplies already, you are too late.
It is time to circle the wagons. The government will be dissolved. Local people will have to set up cooperatives and barter for the goods and services they need. The people who have planned and have foods stockpiled will be found and punished when they are noted to not be losing weight as fast as those who had no plans. Death will be a welcome release for many. Fresh water will be at a premium. If you have a well, protect it. Be ready to pull it up one bucket at a time. Big agriculture will grind to a halt as all fertilizers and seeds and fuel will be shut off. Millions will die.
With these bleak predictions, what should we do?
I don't know. I am just a cripple hick from Cedar Grove, TN. But I have chickens, cows, guns and ammo, and need to put wood stoves in my house for heating and cooking.
I am also about 60 lbs over weight and this could be good for an extra three weeks to a month if I can find a clean water source and avoid being killed as a fat hoarder by the hoarder's posse.
On the bright side, depression will fall to the will to survive, people who have to work all day to find enough food to eat are seldom depressed. They are too busy.
Kids will no longer be useless blobs of protoplasm with attitudes and will be assets as they can be sent out to gather nuts and berries and taught to chop firewood and tote the water from the well. Children who refuse to work will be cooked and eaten.
Mindless nights in front of the TV would be replaced with chats around the fire and story telling would make a come back. The Minnonites will be king in our area. They are ready for lights out.
Jack Maybolt, President
Urban Poverty Law Center
"Jack, the more I read of your blog, the crazier you sound." Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
Oil poised to break $90 a barrel today, gold courting $1500 an ounce, cotton futures breaking a buck-fifty, soybeans over twelve-fifty. Inflation is coming and it is here.
Savers will be crippled and debtors will be buried. Hold onto those houses prices will rise, values will remain depressed.
People on fixed income will starve. No cat or dog will be safe. If you have a job, do everything to keep it. If you do not have a job, find one, any job, even at a fast food restaurant which may help feed the family in these coming difficult times.
What do the bankers who control the world do when their property and high positions are threatened by a collapse of the economy? Well a look back at history will reveal the only logical and politically correct action is WORLD WAR III!
At risk now are the plans of the new world order creeps and goons who have positions and wealth far above the imaginations of your average Cedar Grove bacon and cornbread fed citizen. Once the economy fails and the public gets hungry, problems get worse.
Turn the lights off and watch out. Lawlessness will be rampant. We will be invaded by
renegades from our Southern borders because it is worse there than it is here and they will be rampaging about collecting what ever treasure is left in our decaying society.
People will have to arm themselves to go to Walmart if there is anything on the shelves,
food will be the new money, and cigarettes will be prized possessions. If you do not have your ammunition supplies already, you are too late.
It is time to circle the wagons. The government will be dissolved. Local people will have to set up cooperatives and barter for the goods and services they need. The people who have planned and have foods stockpiled will be found and punished when they are noted to not be losing weight as fast as those who had no plans. Death will be a welcome release for many. Fresh water will be at a premium. If you have a well, protect it. Be ready to pull it up one bucket at a time. Big agriculture will grind to a halt as all fertilizers and seeds and fuel will be shut off. Millions will die.
With these bleak predictions, what should we do?
I don't know. I am just a cripple hick from Cedar Grove, TN. But I have chickens, cows, guns and ammo, and need to put wood stoves in my house for heating and cooking.
I am also about 60 lbs over weight and this could be good for an extra three weeks to a month if I can find a clean water source and avoid being killed as a fat hoarder by the hoarder's posse.
On the bright side, depression will fall to the will to survive, people who have to work all day to find enough food to eat are seldom depressed. They are too busy.
Kids will no longer be useless blobs of protoplasm with attitudes and will be assets as they can be sent out to gather nuts and berries and taught to chop firewood and tote the water from the well. Children who refuse to work will be cooked and eaten.
Mindless nights in front of the TV would be replaced with chats around the fire and story telling would make a come back. The Minnonites will be king in our area. They are ready for lights out.
Jack Maybolt, President
Urban Poverty Law Center
"Jack, the more I read of your blog, the crazier you sound." Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
Monday, November 8, 2010
Urban Poverty Law Center November And Remembering
Letters to My Mother Maybolt, RIP
Today is a sad date for me. It ranks up there with the day I was eat up by the John Deere Manure Spreader, no it far and away surpasses that day and I would gladly give up my only remaining leg to have my mother back! Mother passed two years ago to the date in the Cedar Grove Bingo Parlor fire. Mother was the only victim of the fire because her hoverround high centered on a box of bingo cards that had just been delivered out of Corinth Mississippi and according to the Cedar Grove Fire Marshall, Robert F. Flamretardeaux, a Frenchman who moved up to Cedar Grove after Katrina wiped him out, was a clear violation of the fire codes, where it blocked the handicap exit.
I remember when I got the call from Fire Marhsall Retardo, that ill-fated night, I was in mother's bedroom straightening out her drawers, well it is too painful to remember but I cannot forget. As is usual with folks who move in to the area from out of state, their accents have to be practiced on your ear to be able to understand what they are saying. Anyway, Fire Marshall Flamretardeaux, phoned me and said:
"Missour, Maybo, yam afrid dat ur mutter is dad."
I moved the receiver to my good ear and asked him to repeat that please. My mutter is dad? My father has been dead for 25 years.
"Ur mutter, Madameselle Maybo, es dad!"
"No, she is not here she is at the bingo parlor, it is Wednesday night and she always is at bingo," I replied.
"Oui-oui Missur Maybo, zee es dad at da bingo parlar, der wus a fire!"
Then it struck me like that feeling you get when you first hear about your mother's death, like everything inside you lets go, whatever the force is that holds you together just lets go. All the string goes out of everything inside of you. As I hung up the phone that evening taking in what Fire Marshal Retardo had just told me, I knew my life would never be the same. I raced to my mother's handicap accessible bathroom and transferred to her handicapped accessible toilet and I sobbed uncontrollably, flapping my arm and my good leg in the air from time to time, and my bowels wept too.
This time of self pity and despair passed that night and I have tried to put the best face on the hand that the Good Lord had dealt to me and mother that night back in November of 2008.
More about Fire Marshal Robert Flamretardeaux. We are really lucky to get a man of his experience. As noted he was washed away from his little hamlet in Southern Louisiana by Hurricane Katrina where he was chief of the volunteer department.
He had personally attended to over 17 fires in his long and distinguished career there in Louisiana. When we got him up here at the Milan Arsenal based refugee camp, he come right over to the fire department and spoke to Howard Milligan and was voted unanimously as the first Cedar Grove Volunteer Fire Marshall! He had been to three times as many fires as our best man, Fire Chief Mouse Featherstone.
Mouse's real name is Marvin, but he was nitnamed Mouse when he was a baby. Little Marvin put everything in his mouth as a baby and his mother was horrified one day when Marvin found a baby mouse the cat had brought up and before she could get it away from Marvin, he popped it into his little mouth, gummed it twice and swallowed it whole. Well the Featherstones waited for a couple of days for Marvin to die. His mother was even checked into the hospital with a nervous breakdown when as a joke her younger brother, Neeland Finkbinder, made a pine coffin for little Marvin and brought it over
for her approval. Nina passed out when she seen that sad little coffin. Anyway, Nina got out of the hospital, Marvin did not die, but was named Mouse, and Neeland never made another small coffin. Nothing is sadder than a small coffin except maybe a tiny wheelchair.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President
Urban Poverty Law Center
"They don't make smores in HELL!" Mother Maybolt, 1925-2008
Today is a sad date for me. It ranks up there with the day I was eat up by the John Deere Manure Spreader, no it far and away surpasses that day and I would gladly give up my only remaining leg to have my mother back! Mother passed two years ago to the date in the Cedar Grove Bingo Parlor fire. Mother was the only victim of the fire because her hoverround high centered on a box of bingo cards that had just been delivered out of Corinth Mississippi and according to the Cedar Grove Fire Marshall, Robert F. Flamretardeaux, a Frenchman who moved up to Cedar Grove after Katrina wiped him out, was a clear violation of the fire codes, where it blocked the handicap exit.
I remember when I got the call from Fire Marhsall Retardo, that ill-fated night, I was in mother's bedroom straightening out her drawers, well it is too painful to remember but I cannot forget. As is usual with folks who move in to the area from out of state, their accents have to be practiced on your ear to be able to understand what they are saying. Anyway, Fire Marshall Flamretardeaux, phoned me and said:
"Missour, Maybo, yam afrid dat ur mutter is dad."
I moved the receiver to my good ear and asked him to repeat that please. My mutter is dad? My father has been dead for 25 years.
"Ur mutter, Madameselle Maybo, es dad!"
"No, she is not here she is at the bingo parlor, it is Wednesday night and she always is at bingo," I replied.
"Oui-oui Missur Maybo, zee es dad at da bingo parlar, der wus a fire!"
Then it struck me like that feeling you get when you first hear about your mother's death, like everything inside you lets go, whatever the force is that holds you together just lets go. All the string goes out of everything inside of you. As I hung up the phone that evening taking in what Fire Marshal Retardo had just told me, I knew my life would never be the same. I raced to my mother's handicap accessible bathroom and transferred to her handicapped accessible toilet and I sobbed uncontrollably, flapping my arm and my good leg in the air from time to time, and my bowels wept too.
This time of self pity and despair passed that night and I have tried to put the best face on the hand that the Good Lord had dealt to me and mother that night back in November of 2008.
More about Fire Marshal Robert Flamretardeaux. We are really lucky to get a man of his experience. As noted he was washed away from his little hamlet in Southern Louisiana by Hurricane Katrina where he was chief of the volunteer department.
He had personally attended to over 17 fires in his long and distinguished career there in Louisiana. When we got him up here at the Milan Arsenal based refugee camp, he come right over to the fire department and spoke to Howard Milligan and was voted unanimously as the first Cedar Grove Volunteer Fire Marshall! He had been to three times as many fires as our best man, Fire Chief Mouse Featherstone.
Mouse's real name is Marvin, but he was nitnamed Mouse when he was a baby. Little Marvin put everything in his mouth as a baby and his mother was horrified one day when Marvin found a baby mouse the cat had brought up and before she could get it away from Marvin, he popped it into his little mouth, gummed it twice and swallowed it whole. Well the Featherstones waited for a couple of days for Marvin to die. His mother was even checked into the hospital with a nervous breakdown when as a joke her younger brother, Neeland Finkbinder, made a pine coffin for little Marvin and brought it over
for her approval. Nina passed out when she seen that sad little coffin. Anyway, Nina got out of the hospital, Marvin did not die, but was named Mouse, and Neeland never made another small coffin. Nothing is sadder than a small coffin except maybe a tiny wheelchair.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President
Urban Poverty Law Center
"They don't make smores in HELL!" Mother Maybolt, 1925-2008
Monday, October 25, 2010
Urban Poverty Law Center Supports America's Poor
One week until election day and counting. The tension within and around Washington and in the chattering classes is peaking. I was unable to raise the $1500 to have
C. Batsell Bateman Mortuary and Crematorium incinerate the hapless lowlife whom I killed with my $20 contribution last month as the calender ran out and he is now mixed with those animals euthanized at the humane shelter this week and is boxed up and unceremoniously heading to the Madison County landfill.
I often wonder if anyone can look at a dog and not see one of God's greatest creations! I am like Adolph Hitler who is reported to have said at one time in his busy life: "I know people and I know dogs, and I can honestly tell you that I like dogs!" Of course, I have taken the liberty to quote the English version as most of us would not know what to make of the German version:
"Ich bein ein Berliner, nine hunder, mitt wolfanhangers,geist flatulanders et mein pudendal grandeschmerkins. Ja? Mein hunder konamen e "Blonde"." I took a half quarter of German in Jr. College back in 1971, and never learned why the verb was so far down the sentence. It was like the German writers would have you in suspense waiting for the verb. I recall translating a Penthouse Forum letter in the original German for my midterm test, and it went something like this:
Anna's perky breasts with nipples large as saucers defying gravity for the moment in my mind were etched. Waves of Catholic guilt over my soul too great to bare until confessional as my sister in the shower, I watched. Oh, I forget the rest of the translation. It is not important.
We have not had a significant rain here in Carroll County since mid August and this has hurt the beans. That all changed yesterday when much needed rain fell like manna from heaven. Too late for the beans, but just in time for winter wheat which needs to be in place before November 15.
The second anniversary of my dear sweet mother's death is approaching and I am in a melancholia over it. I miss her terribly. As she aged she developed a peculiar odor which is best described as a mixture of sour milk and puppy-breath. All the women in my mother's family bore this trait. Sundays were often confusing as one never knew if we had a new puppy in the house or a visit from Aunt Clotile. Bathing and liniments were of no use in masking the curse as my mother's sisters would refer to it. The sweet puppy's breath would give way to sour milk as the rigors of age applied its burden on these proud and strong women.
Jack D. Maybolt President Urban Poverty Law Center
"A rich man has about as much chance of getting into heaven as a camel has avoiding sex with men in the middle east." Mother Maybolt, 1924-2008
C. Batsell Bateman Mortuary and Crematorium incinerate the hapless lowlife whom I killed with my $20 contribution last month as the calender ran out and he is now mixed with those animals euthanized at the humane shelter this week and is boxed up and unceremoniously heading to the Madison County landfill.
I often wonder if anyone can look at a dog and not see one of God's greatest creations! I am like Adolph Hitler who is reported to have said at one time in his busy life: "I know people and I know dogs, and I can honestly tell you that I like dogs!" Of course, I have taken the liberty to quote the English version as most of us would not know what to make of the German version:
"Ich bein ein Berliner, nine hunder, mitt wolfanhangers,geist flatulanders et mein pudendal grandeschmerkins. Ja? Mein hunder konamen e "Blonde"." I took a half quarter of German in Jr. College back in 1971, and never learned why the verb was so far down the sentence. It was like the German writers would have you in suspense waiting for the verb. I recall translating a Penthouse Forum letter in the original German for my midterm test, and it went something like this:
Anna's perky breasts with nipples large as saucers defying gravity for the moment in my mind were etched. Waves of Catholic guilt over my soul too great to bare until confessional as my sister in the shower, I watched. Oh, I forget the rest of the translation. It is not important.
We have not had a significant rain here in Carroll County since mid August and this has hurt the beans. That all changed yesterday when much needed rain fell like manna from heaven. Too late for the beans, but just in time for winter wheat which needs to be in place before November 15.
The second anniversary of my dear sweet mother's death is approaching and I am in a melancholia over it. I miss her terribly. As she aged she developed a peculiar odor which is best described as a mixture of sour milk and puppy-breath. All the women in my mother's family bore this trait. Sundays were often confusing as one never knew if we had a new puppy in the house or a visit from Aunt Clotile. Bathing and liniments were of no use in masking the curse as my mother's sisters would refer to it. The sweet puppy's breath would give way to sour milk as the rigors of age applied its burden on these proud and strong women.
Jack D. Maybolt President Urban Poverty Law Center
"A rich man has about as much chance of getting into heaven as a camel has avoiding sex with men in the middle east." Mother Maybolt, 1924-2008
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Urban Poverty Law Center Supports Constitution
Dear Friends,
Just a few weeks of the 2010 national campaign left and I am hoping for some change.
We at the Urban Poverty Law Center have not wanted to become political since we are applying for grants from the United States Government to help us with our fight against Urban Poverty. I do not know if I have stated our motto, but I apologize if this is something I repeat.
The Urban Poverty Law Center fights poverty at its root causes. We shovel cash
into areas where there previously was none picking off one poor soul at a time.
Just last week I gave a twenty dollar bill to a panhandler on the off ramp to I-40
and read about his demise in the local paper after scoring some good stuff at the park in Jackson. Lesson learned, a dime bag of meth would have pleased this fellow whereas two dimes were too much for his old haggard ticker. We have six weeks to raise the $1500 to have C. Batsell Bateman's funeral home intere this poor homeless
creature or the county will have him cremated at the humane shelter with the euthanized pets. Oh the humanity!
Got out to the flea market before the marriage of old folks in Cedar Grove, and picked up four fine laying hens. They have laid eggs each day since I acquired them, and are quite polite with the older hens.
I have been watching how the media has been treating Christine O'Donnell since she beat the walking cadaver, Mike Castle, in the Delaware primary last week. She sure has them stirred up. The way I see it, ole Mike don't have a dog left in him and even a six year senate seat is a stretcher by my calculations. I guess if it is only to spend the rest of VP Biden's term of maybe two years, he would have a chance, slim one.
Ms. O'Donnell is attractive enough and talks real good and she shore does have a perty mouth! I think she would be a great asset on the floor of the senate. I know if ole Teddy Kennedy was still there he would be on her like Washington on a dollar.
I wonder if she is married or has any children? I would like to be a facebook pal of hers. This is the first time I have been tempted to send any woman one of Mother Maybolt's merkins. Someone out there may advise if this would be to assuming for a gentleman to send a lady a merkin? I am awkward and not wise in the ways of relationships. Part of the territory when you live with your mother out in the country.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"If you can't say something nice about a person, they must be despicable." Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
Just a few weeks of the 2010 national campaign left and I am hoping for some change.
We at the Urban Poverty Law Center have not wanted to become political since we are applying for grants from the United States Government to help us with our fight against Urban Poverty. I do not know if I have stated our motto, but I apologize if this is something I repeat.
The Urban Poverty Law Center fights poverty at its root causes. We shovel cash
into areas where there previously was none picking off one poor soul at a time.
Just last week I gave a twenty dollar bill to a panhandler on the off ramp to I-40
and read about his demise in the local paper after scoring some good stuff at the park in Jackson. Lesson learned, a dime bag of meth would have pleased this fellow whereas two dimes were too much for his old haggard ticker. We have six weeks to raise the $1500 to have C. Batsell Bateman's funeral home intere this poor homeless
creature or the county will have him cremated at the humane shelter with the euthanized pets. Oh the humanity!
Got out to the flea market before the marriage of old folks in Cedar Grove, and picked up four fine laying hens. They have laid eggs each day since I acquired them, and are quite polite with the older hens.
I have been watching how the media has been treating Christine O'Donnell since she beat the walking cadaver, Mike Castle, in the Delaware primary last week. She sure has them stirred up. The way I see it, ole Mike don't have a dog left in him and even a six year senate seat is a stretcher by my calculations. I guess if it is only to spend the rest of VP Biden's term of maybe two years, he would have a chance, slim one.
Ms. O'Donnell is attractive enough and talks real good and she shore does have a perty mouth! I think she would be a great asset on the floor of the senate. I know if ole Teddy Kennedy was still there he would be on her like Washington on a dollar.
I wonder if she is married or has any children? I would like to be a facebook pal of hers. This is the first time I have been tempted to send any woman one of Mother Maybolt's merkins. Someone out there may advise if this would be to assuming for a gentleman to send a lady a merkin? I am awkward and not wise in the ways of relationships. Part of the territory when you live with your mother out in the country.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"If you can't say something nice about a person, they must be despicable." Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
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