Warm weather is limited here in Cedar Grove, Tennessee. No longer can we depend upon the stifling heat of summer to make us sweat when we exit our homes or cars. Temperatures have been dipping into the mid sixties when our side of the globe darkens. Light heats up our side into the low nineties. The soy beans are filling out, growth spurred more by time of daylight than by heat. Corn is kerneling based more on water availability in the soil than heat. And cotton is bowling from water gathered by a deeply sent tap root to suck up the last of the ground water that has not been replenished in any meaningful way for over a month now.
The streams are now only sluggish trickles. Fish are holed up in the deeper areas carved out for just such dry times to give our aquatic zoonotics a fighting chance to survive this drought. Melancholia weighs heavy on my shoulders.
Another summer of life wasted, and again no great accomplishments to speak of in my 58 misspent years slogging across this earthly realm. In 1965, I shared an upstairs bedroom with my older brother in a house with no air conditioning. In the summer we would lie awake before sleep in the stifling heat and talk. It was during one of these special moments when it was too hot to sleep that he predicted I would never amount to anything. I was not big and strong enough to be a good football player. I was too lazy and stupid to ever be a scholar of any note. And my teeth were coming in crooked which would prevent me from entering public life as an actor or politician. In his final argument that warm summer's night as we waited for our upstairs bedroom to cool down enough to sleep, praying for a breeze as an escape from the dreadful heat, he finished with: "Jack, I sure as hell would not want to be you!"
As my tears slipped silently onto my pillow, I was more than determined to show that lousy son of a bitch and all my detractors that they were wrong! I could make something of myself. All I had to do was set my mind to it. They would see.
Next day, my mother and grandmother were taking their annual pilgrimage to Memphis to buy our school clothes at Goldsmith's Department Store. I was invited so I could try on some clothing, but as was my habit, I, instead, sent my regrets, preferring to play outside in the creek catching snakes and turtles. This was the year I would be attending Junior High School. Moving on from the safe haven of the elementary school and up where stories of horrible acts of cruelty were perpetrated on the smaller students.
A well known tactic called "poling" was in vogue at our school, and it did not involve politics or voting in any shape or manner.
Briefly, poling involved four larger male students preying on a smaller male, new to the Jr. High School. Each of the four larger student grabs a limb and they carry the struggling waif feet first, legs parted rapidly towards the nearest telephone pole and drive the unfortunates open pelvis and his man junk into the pole after which he is dropped on his ass, left to roll around on the ground holding his crotch. This was amusing as long as you were not the sacrificiianato of this festival of barbarism. Most seventh graders had not as yet developed a large twig or berries, but the custom was to roll about on the ground and feign agony in case any of the hotties had witnessed your most recent misfortunes. You did not want anybody to know that your junk was not much larger than a vagina.
I was never poled. I was leery and fast, and spent my mornings before school well away from the light poles. Anyway back on point, if there is one to this treatise.
My older brother always went with Granny and Mother on that day long toddle to Memphis and was rewarded with the newest fashions from London, Paris, and New York City. He always looked like he stepped out of the Brooks Brothers Store. He struck a dashing figure, the envy of all the other boys at our school and the desire of all the girls! With my hopelessly waifish habitus and my large hideous teeth which came in in no particular orderly way, my mother and her mother, bought what ever was on the sale rack for my attire. That year I got a nifty pair of pink corduroy bell bottom pants which I wore with my dazzling black and white saddle oxfords! My pants were accented with either a white dress shirt, or a bright blue dress shirt with a frill in front like Tom Jones used to wear.
I was not dressed for success, nor was I expected to succeed. I owe my speed and agility to being chased around by packs of fashion policemen who wanted to change my wardrobe out there on the campus commons.
I grew up and was mentored by my father, a truly kind and generous soul, who backed me in what ever endeavor I pursued. He was my facilitator. When there was a lull in the excitement, he would come home with bows and arrows. Then my friends and I would entertain ourselves taking shots at each other from a hundred yards away. I owe my keen eye to watching for arrows shot my way by my pals the Chump brothers. Our favorite bow shot was straight up, and our Ben Pearson 50 lb draw bows could send a cedar target arrow up and out of sight. Then we had to strained to spot the arrow as it stopped in the upper atmosphere and turned on its side ever so briefly and then disappeared from sight once more as it hurled back towards its release point at 32 ft per second squared. This is when the fun began. We ran away from the release point at variable distances and awaited our fates. We called that diversion dodge arrow. No body caught an arrow, but it was not because we used good judgment. We had guardian angels, exhausted but mighty fine guardian angels.
After the arrows fell silent, father came home with a case of dynamite, TNT, the real stuff. Back then all you had to do was to be a farmer and sign a form and you could buy all you wanted at the local farmer's Coop. This is the stuff every 14 yr old boy and pals yearn to play with! One pal loved it so much he wanted to demolish a county bridge with some of it, but I prevailed upon him after some explanation of what the consequences might be to forgo his unbridled passion to commit this act of wanton destruction.
We blew up stumps, firewood, trees and a lot of dirt. Our biggest bundle was an eight stick load to celebrate New Years which we set off in our front yard moments after midnight without adult supervision. As I said we had some powerful guardian angels. The New Year's Eve explosion prompted calls to the local police from all over town. We lived just outside the city limits at that time.
Naturally a father that arms his children with bows and arrows and dynamite, must support children with guns. We had guns all over the house, BB, pellet, 22 rifles, 30'06, shotguns in all gauges and we hunted all the seasons, squirrel, dove, duck, rabbit, quail, and raccoon. We learned how to shoot and stalk squirrels in the great bottoms of West Tennessee. We also got fairly good at avoiding landowners and the game warden by walking in opposite directions from the road. We did not poach game, but figured we really did not need to discuss our prizes with anybody. My avoidance of the local game warden came one morning after my father had taken my brother and me out to shoot doves when we were ages 10 and 11. We had bagged a couple of birds that morning and up walks the game warden who engages my father in small talk and asked if we had any success. When my brother and I proudly displayed our two dead birds he wrote my father a ticket for $225, since we had taken doves illegally before noon.
We did not know the law, $225 was a fortune in 1963. My father went to court and only had to pay 20 dollars for the court costs as it was a small town and my father socialized with the judge. The game warden was furious the fine was waived.
I have never been checked since, out in the field. I was a quick learner.
The heat is still stifling here midday, and my brother's prediction all those years ago are on the mark. I have not amounted to a hill of beans as my mother was fond of saying. What ever they say about me, for now I am sure that tomorrow is another day.
It could happen. Even, as they say, a blind pig picks up an acorn now and then. Now where did I put that dynamite?
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"You know you got to wear your brother's hand-me-downs when you gained weight in your 30's." Mother Maybolt, 1922-2008
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Hurricane Irene Blows Al Gore Out Of Obscurity:Middle Chakra Warning!
Fellow Tennessean, Albert Phineas Gore, Jr, has emerged out of the background noises of Libya, the Virginia Quake Monologues, and the first super-hyped hurricane to hit the east coast of the United States( finally something in the news that matches President Obama's epic failure blows by begging the questions, why Gore, why now and why ever?
First, Albert Gore Sr. was a corrupt pol from Tennessee who was courted by Russian partisan Armand Hammer. It was Hammer's Occidental Petroleum company that paid for the seismographic survey of Tennessee and alerted Gore Sr to purchase land in Middle Tennessee, which by chance was one of the few mine able zinc deposits in our state. After Gore, Sr stole the seemingly worthless tracts of land from the landowners, one of whom was a poor widow trying to raise eight children during the depression, Hammer and Occidental Petro leased the mineral rights from the new lucky owners, Al Gore Sr, for a $100,000 dollars a year!
Some people have all the luck! We can thank the father for the son. These black payments set Albert Phineas Gore, Jr up as a privileged Trust Funded Monkey, with all the rights and the public soapbox that often accompanies great wealth and privilege.
My father was politically connected in Tennessee as it was a small state and anyone with a triple digit IQ was seen as some kind of freak and if you haven't noticed, most in the political classes fancy themselves smarter than the average voter and are naturally drawn to intellectuals.
My first recollection of Albert Gore, Jr was the day my brother came home from Vanderbilt University on break stating he just met one of the biggest goofs ever, a fellow with the same name as Gore, Jr was in Divinity School at Vandy in my brother's fraternity and telling all who would listen he was going to be president some day! But for Geo W. Bush, and Gore, Jr landing squarely on the wrong side of gun control in 2000, Ralph Nader, and the 537 vote advantage for Bush, that goober would have been correct.
Enough background, Tennesseans know the Gores and they are a Communist backed creation of the cold war. Black or maybe a better term would be red money has tainted them for ever.
Hurricane Irene has released Al Gore's middle chakra and I believe it is seen in part by that clip of the Fox News reporter getting splashed by the green slime on the banks of New York. Yuck! That is a lot of chakra. Now Gore compares the Global Warming Alarmists to the civil rights activists of the 50's and 60's. It was an enlightened Al Jr who watched Bull Connor turn the hoses and dogs loose on the Black Civil Rights demonstrators in Birmingham Alabama back in 1963.
He was a pimply 15 yr old boy in 1963 who probably did not give a small middle chakra about civil rights. I know his father, Senator Gore of Tennessee, voted the civil rights bill down each time it was presented and even voted against it when it passed.
His memories of questioning bigots and homophobes and changing the tone are all fabrications. He did nothing to change the lexicon. It changed because it was time to move on. The blacks did not cause the war of Northern Aggression, but were merely
convenient excuses for one group of have nots to take from another group of haves. In 1850 there were more millionaires in Mississippi than in New York. The only reason for war is theft on a nation to nation scale. It is certainly not to free a segment of the underclass. A rich nation like the United States of America has nothing to gain from fighting battles in poorer nations.
Show me the wealth, the plunder, the riches. I predict the next war will involve China as it has run out of breeding age females and will be a battle for the womb. The War of the Womb. The Womb of the Unknown Soldier. Make Womb for Father. There is a time-womb ticking over in China. When all those millions of extra boys become men and have no womb for play there will be war.
A poem by William Ross Wallace, "The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world." The reference is to woman and yes, she rules the world. They are the gate keepers. They decide who plays and who stays and who comes and who goes who rents and who owns.
Now Phineas Gore, Jr has decided Global Warming Skeptics are the newest racist, rednecks and he has decided to float this flatus filled balloon out from under the skirts of Hurricane Irene. Hurricanes are worsened by Global Warming. Global Warming that has been unmeasurable for the past 10 years, because there is no there there.
The earth was created by a God who foresaw the use of fossil fuels and fire by man to power the engines of civilization and the earth has built in methods to dissipate excessive heat through rain and evaporation, and through radiation of heat into space and by having the earth rotate slowly on its axis and allow the lit side to heat and the dark side to cool off. Brilliant!
So finally, Albert Phineas Gore, Jr, I am not a racist if I do not buy into your Global Warming hype especially when you and your rich fellow titans of treason and captains of crony capitalism have awarded yourselves all the carbon trading credits which can be sold to rubes as another unnecessary tax. You and your political friends are worse than racists. You are evil and gross!
I suggest you retake a ninth grade science course and learn about how the earth is set up and how heat behaves. Heat is good. Carbon dioxide is good for plant growth. Explain how 4 molecules of carbon dioxide bouncing around in a cubic meter of earth's air can significantly heat all that air and moisture up even a tiny amount. Realize that earth is surrounded by a great heat sink, space! There is no there there in that hot air.
And Al, find yourself a 28 yr old wife and have a couple of kids and get a life and try to stay out of public for a while longer. It is too soon still. Get back with us in 2022. The US has work to do and your policies hamstring business as Global Warming is all about taxes. We don't need no new stinking taxes. Share this with Obama if his handlers ever grant you an audience.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, PhD, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Four things can hurt you in life, Earth, Fire, Wind and Water!" Mother Maybolt, 1928-2008
First, Albert Gore Sr. was a corrupt pol from Tennessee who was courted by Russian partisan Armand Hammer. It was Hammer's Occidental Petroleum company that paid for the seismographic survey of Tennessee and alerted Gore Sr to purchase land in Middle Tennessee, which by chance was one of the few mine able zinc deposits in our state. After Gore, Sr stole the seemingly worthless tracts of land from the landowners, one of whom was a poor widow trying to raise eight children during the depression, Hammer and Occidental Petro leased the mineral rights from the new lucky owners, Al Gore Sr, for a $100,000 dollars a year!
Some people have all the luck! We can thank the father for the son. These black payments set Albert Phineas Gore, Jr up as a privileged Trust Funded Monkey, with all the rights and the public soapbox that often accompanies great wealth and privilege.
My father was politically connected in Tennessee as it was a small state and anyone with a triple digit IQ was seen as some kind of freak and if you haven't noticed, most in the political classes fancy themselves smarter than the average voter and are naturally drawn to intellectuals.
My first recollection of Albert Gore, Jr was the day my brother came home from Vanderbilt University on break stating he just met one of the biggest goofs ever, a fellow with the same name as Gore, Jr was in Divinity School at Vandy in my brother's fraternity and telling all who would listen he was going to be president some day! But for Geo W. Bush, and Gore, Jr landing squarely on the wrong side of gun control in 2000, Ralph Nader, and the 537 vote advantage for Bush, that goober would have been correct.
Enough background, Tennesseans know the Gores and they are a Communist backed creation of the cold war. Black or maybe a better term would be red money has tainted them for ever.
Hurricane Irene has released Al Gore's middle chakra and I believe it is seen in part by that clip of the Fox News reporter getting splashed by the green slime on the banks of New York. Yuck! That is a lot of chakra. Now Gore compares the Global Warming Alarmists to the civil rights activists of the 50's and 60's. It was an enlightened Al Jr who watched Bull Connor turn the hoses and dogs loose on the Black Civil Rights demonstrators in Birmingham Alabama back in 1963.
He was a pimply 15 yr old boy in 1963 who probably did not give a small middle chakra about civil rights. I know his father, Senator Gore of Tennessee, voted the civil rights bill down each time it was presented and even voted against it when it passed.
His memories of questioning bigots and homophobes and changing the tone are all fabrications. He did nothing to change the lexicon. It changed because it was time to move on. The blacks did not cause the war of Northern Aggression, but were merely
convenient excuses for one group of have nots to take from another group of haves. In 1850 there were more millionaires in Mississippi than in New York. The only reason for war is theft on a nation to nation scale. It is certainly not to free a segment of the underclass. A rich nation like the United States of America has nothing to gain from fighting battles in poorer nations.
Show me the wealth, the plunder, the riches. I predict the next war will involve China as it has run out of breeding age females and will be a battle for the womb. The War of the Womb. The Womb of the Unknown Soldier. Make Womb for Father. There is a time-womb ticking over in China. When all those millions of extra boys become men and have no womb for play there will be war.
A poem by William Ross Wallace, "The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world." The reference is to woman and yes, she rules the world. They are the gate keepers. They decide who plays and who stays and who comes and who goes who rents and who owns.
Now Phineas Gore, Jr has decided Global Warming Skeptics are the newest racist, rednecks and he has decided to float this flatus filled balloon out from under the skirts of Hurricane Irene. Hurricanes are worsened by Global Warming. Global Warming that has been unmeasurable for the past 10 years, because there is no there there.
The earth was created by a God who foresaw the use of fossil fuels and fire by man to power the engines of civilization and the earth has built in methods to dissipate excessive heat through rain and evaporation, and through radiation of heat into space and by having the earth rotate slowly on its axis and allow the lit side to heat and the dark side to cool off. Brilliant!
So finally, Albert Phineas Gore, Jr, I am not a racist if I do not buy into your Global Warming hype especially when you and your rich fellow titans of treason and captains of crony capitalism have awarded yourselves all the carbon trading credits which can be sold to rubes as another unnecessary tax. You and your political friends are worse than racists. You are evil and gross!
I suggest you retake a ninth grade science course and learn about how the earth is set up and how heat behaves. Heat is good. Carbon dioxide is good for plant growth. Explain how 4 molecules of carbon dioxide bouncing around in a cubic meter of earth's air can significantly heat all that air and moisture up even a tiny amount. Realize that earth is surrounded by a great heat sink, space! There is no there there in that hot air.
And Al, find yourself a 28 yr old wife and have a couple of kids and get a life and try to stay out of public for a while longer. It is too soon still. Get back with us in 2022. The US has work to do and your policies hamstring business as Global Warming is all about taxes. We don't need no new stinking taxes. Share this with Obama if his handlers ever grant you an audience.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, PhD, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Four things can hurt you in life, Earth, Fire, Wind and Water!" Mother Maybolt, 1928-2008
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Self-Pity Exercise: Do Not Read If Depressed
The only thing that can stop tyranny is a just and moral people. We must take the necessary steps to slash the size and scope of the federal government now.
Our economy is contracting at an alarming rate. The new norms will be at 50% of the post war boom years. Our growth was spurred by the population explosion after WW II. New businesses started up to sell and market to the millions of new consumers in the US. Only serious idiots failed in those population boom times. I am one of the idiots.
Businesses I have failed at:
When I was 7 my brother was 8 and a half and we were paid by grandfather to mow his lawn. I was too little to push the mower.
Failed.
When I was 9-14 my grandfather set us up to sell cokes and hot dogs at the Strawberry Festival every May. I was deemed too poor a worker to get a full half share of the profits.
Failed.
When I was 15 my mother pulled strings at the country club and I was given a job as lifeguard. If you do not count the three children that drown under my watch, I would have chalked up my first success. It was not to be.
Failed.
When I was 16 I got a job as a greens keeper at the country club. I did not check the oil on the greens mower and burned it up over on hole 7 on my last day of work.
Failed.
When I was 17 my neighbor hired me to work at his strawberry packing company where it was my duty to staple the boxes the cartoons of freshly packed strawberries were packed into. I fell asleep after lunch droned by the monotonous sounds of the packing machine.
Failed.
When I was 18 my pal got me on with Sears Roebuck as a helper to the service and repairman. I kept falling asleep and dropped my end of a new freezer we were delivering to a farm house out in Alamo.
Failed.
In college I worked at the ag barn mowing greens, but I could not show up on time and was let go.
Failed.
Second job in college, I was hired to run an atomic absorption spectrophotometer to measure stream pollutants from strip mining sites. I got mixed up and ran the wrong samples. I was let go.
Failed.
I went to the University of Wyoming as a teaching assistant and graduate student in Chemistry. I could not keep my hands off the freshman girls.
Failed.
After my PhD I took a post doctoral fellowship at the Department of Energy and worked on shale oil with instructions to find out what was in the oil. I worked for over 10 months and my report that indicated the shale oil contained oil and other substances as yet undetermined was not a hit. I was let go.
Failed.
My medical school experiences at the University of Utah were another series of set backs and disappointments, especially for my teachers and patients. Do you know what they call the person who graduates last in the medical class?
Doctor Maybolt.
Failed.
My residency in Chicago proved to be like every other endeavor. I found the emergency room to be too unstructured and unpredictable for my taste and I would sign myself in as a patient halfway through many of my shifts just so I would not have to see any more patients.
Failed.
I have written and shelved a marvelous self-help tome for people who have low self esteem, but I do not think it is good enough to send in to a publisher. I hate rejection. I know I should not feel this way, but I am pretty much worthless as you can see from my lack of meaningful accomplishments.
After the John Deere Manure spreader mangled me, an abject act of Divine intervention without which I would have killed thousands of unsuspecting patients by now, I settled in and lived comfortably with my mother until her untimely death in the Bingo Pallor fire here in Cedar Grove.
Since then, I have thrown myself into my work here at the Urban Poverty Law Center and even this seems to be on shaky ground. I have very little funding to help the poor, and I am not able to find any poor people who want my help. I have found the poor to be very fickle and feckless.
Offer them some potatoes and they'd rather have beer. Offer some baby formula for the baby and they would rather have cigarettes. Offer to buy some clothing for the older children and they would rather have cash for gasoline. Sometimes I think the poor are poor for a reason. Maybe the poor choose to be poor since it is easier than being rich.
I did learn the third law in thermodynamics is called entropy. Entropy is a force that makes all things go to the lowest energy state or from order to disorder unless energy is utilized to keep things ordered. Rich requires energy, poor is the immutable law of entropy. Why bother?
Hot is to rich as cold is to poor. Like absolute zero for cold, there is a place from which the poorest of poor can not get any poorer. I am not aware of what the absolute highest temperature is? But rich, like heat, has no ceiling. Thank God above that poor is limited.
We will not become affluent in this country until the energy costs are reigned in. It is a law of thermodynamics. The third law,I believe. $40 a barrel oil is the key to prosperity.
Failed.
I am Jackson Delano Maybolt, MD, PhD; President of the Urban Poverty Law Center
"Jack, Mommy still loves you, failures, warts and all!" Mother Maybolt, 1922-2008
Our economy is contracting at an alarming rate. The new norms will be at 50% of the post war boom years. Our growth was spurred by the population explosion after WW II. New businesses started up to sell and market to the millions of new consumers in the US. Only serious idiots failed in those population boom times. I am one of the idiots.
Businesses I have failed at:
When I was 7 my brother was 8 and a half and we were paid by grandfather to mow his lawn. I was too little to push the mower.
Failed.
When I was 9-14 my grandfather set us up to sell cokes and hot dogs at the Strawberry Festival every May. I was deemed too poor a worker to get a full half share of the profits.
Failed.
When I was 15 my mother pulled strings at the country club and I was given a job as lifeguard. If you do not count the three children that drown under my watch, I would have chalked up my first success. It was not to be.
Failed.
When I was 16 I got a job as a greens keeper at the country club. I did not check the oil on the greens mower and burned it up over on hole 7 on my last day of work.
Failed.
When I was 17 my neighbor hired me to work at his strawberry packing company where it was my duty to staple the boxes the cartoons of freshly packed strawberries were packed into. I fell asleep after lunch droned by the monotonous sounds of the packing machine.
Failed.
When I was 18 my pal got me on with Sears Roebuck as a helper to the service and repairman. I kept falling asleep and dropped my end of a new freezer we were delivering to a farm house out in Alamo.
Failed.
In college I worked at the ag barn mowing greens, but I could not show up on time and was let go.
Failed.
Second job in college, I was hired to run an atomic absorption spectrophotometer to measure stream pollutants from strip mining sites. I got mixed up and ran the wrong samples. I was let go.
Failed.
I went to the University of Wyoming as a teaching assistant and graduate student in Chemistry. I could not keep my hands off the freshman girls.
Failed.
After my PhD I took a post doctoral fellowship at the Department of Energy and worked on shale oil with instructions to find out what was in the oil. I worked for over 10 months and my report that indicated the shale oil contained oil and other substances as yet undetermined was not a hit. I was let go.
Failed.
My medical school experiences at the University of Utah were another series of set backs and disappointments, especially for my teachers and patients. Do you know what they call the person who graduates last in the medical class?
Doctor Maybolt.
Failed.
My residency in Chicago proved to be like every other endeavor. I found the emergency room to be too unstructured and unpredictable for my taste and I would sign myself in as a patient halfway through many of my shifts just so I would not have to see any more patients.
Failed.
I have written and shelved a marvelous self-help tome for people who have low self esteem, but I do not think it is good enough to send in to a publisher. I hate rejection. I know I should not feel this way, but I am pretty much worthless as you can see from my lack of meaningful accomplishments.
After the John Deere Manure spreader mangled me, an abject act of Divine intervention without which I would have killed thousands of unsuspecting patients by now, I settled in and lived comfortably with my mother until her untimely death in the Bingo Pallor fire here in Cedar Grove.
Since then, I have thrown myself into my work here at the Urban Poverty Law Center and even this seems to be on shaky ground. I have very little funding to help the poor, and I am not able to find any poor people who want my help. I have found the poor to be very fickle and feckless.
Offer them some potatoes and they'd rather have beer. Offer some baby formula for the baby and they would rather have cigarettes. Offer to buy some clothing for the older children and they would rather have cash for gasoline. Sometimes I think the poor are poor for a reason. Maybe the poor choose to be poor since it is easier than being rich.
I did learn the third law in thermodynamics is called entropy. Entropy is a force that makes all things go to the lowest energy state or from order to disorder unless energy is utilized to keep things ordered. Rich requires energy, poor is the immutable law of entropy. Why bother?
Hot is to rich as cold is to poor. Like absolute zero for cold, there is a place from which the poorest of poor can not get any poorer. I am not aware of what the absolute highest temperature is? But rich, like heat, has no ceiling. Thank God above that poor is limited.
We will not become affluent in this country until the energy costs are reigned in. It is a law of thermodynamics. The third law,I believe. $40 a barrel oil is the key to prosperity.
Failed.
I am Jackson Delano Maybolt, MD, PhD; President of the Urban Poverty Law Center
"Jack, Mommy still loves you, failures, warts and all!" Mother Maybolt, 1922-2008
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Sees Wrath of God At Work
Americans clinging to guns and their bibles take homage the Lord is with us. He is sending warnings to the godless ruling class in the form of earthquakes and hurricanes. It would not surprise me to witness a volcano opening up on Pennsylvania Avenue where the street is blocked off in front of the White House.
A shimmie-shake and a big blow storm can be written off, but a volcano on Pennsylvania Avenue, definitely a sign, definitely!
The quake was felt on Martha's vineyard where our gifted Orator with the deep baritone voice was just teeing up to play a round of golf with his usual threesome, Hugo Chavez, fresh back from Cuba with a radioactive bumho, Willie Jefferson Clinton, with his much maligned trouser snake, and Jeff Immelt, CEO and Chief Solicitor Begger for General Electric, a multi billion dollar company, that paid no income taxes in the US on $10 billions in profits last year.
Come on Jeffie, get some skin in da game, man! You are an unpatriotic puke! Corporations don't need no stinking cash, people need cash. If I was Warren Buffett, I would buy your company just so I could fire you. Then I would sell off a lot of stuff and try to make amends by paying back taxes. Jeff Immelt, you blow! You are such a weasel I bet you let Barack Hussein Obama win? Privileged puke, king of the titans of treason, co-captain of crony capitalism, go ahead let all the little people like me kick in your share of the cost of government after all you are the great and powerful GE, the same GE that did not know enough to see that direct current was not commercially viable on a large scale back when electricity was young and Westinghouse was cleaning your clock. Douche!
Tragedy struck the White House where President Obama's favored teleprompters toppled and were broken by the 5.9 rated earthquake. Press spokesman for the White House Jay Carney said all speeches will be postponed until a new pair of prompters could be manufactured in China. The machines are on rush order, so Obama should be up and reading in 6 to 8 weeks. Until such time his speeches will be available on twitter at www.twitnthewhitehouse.gov.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Jack and Jill went up the hill each with a buck and a quarter.
Jill came back with with all the cash and Jack with a smile and the water."
Mother Maybolt, nursery rhymes told to me as a child, 1923-2008
A shimmie-shake and a big blow storm can be written off, but a volcano on Pennsylvania Avenue, definitely a sign, definitely!
The quake was felt on Martha's vineyard where our gifted Orator with the deep baritone voice was just teeing up to play a round of golf with his usual threesome, Hugo Chavez, fresh back from Cuba with a radioactive bumho, Willie Jefferson Clinton, with his much maligned trouser snake, and Jeff Immelt, CEO and Chief Solicitor Begger for General Electric, a multi billion dollar company, that paid no income taxes in the US on $10 billions in profits last year.
Come on Jeffie, get some skin in da game, man! You are an unpatriotic puke! Corporations don't need no stinking cash, people need cash. If I was Warren Buffett, I would buy your company just so I could fire you. Then I would sell off a lot of stuff and try to make amends by paying back taxes. Jeff Immelt, you blow! You are such a weasel I bet you let Barack Hussein Obama win? Privileged puke, king of the titans of treason, co-captain of crony capitalism, go ahead let all the little people like me kick in your share of the cost of government after all you are the great and powerful GE, the same GE that did not know enough to see that direct current was not commercially viable on a large scale back when electricity was young and Westinghouse was cleaning your clock. Douche!
Tragedy struck the White House where President Obama's favored teleprompters toppled and were broken by the 5.9 rated earthquake. Press spokesman for the White House Jay Carney said all speeches will be postponed until a new pair of prompters could be manufactured in China. The machines are on rush order, so Obama should be up and reading in 6 to 8 weeks. Until such time his speeches will be available on twitter at www.twitnthewhitehouse.gov.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Jack and Jill went up the hill each with a buck and a quarter.
Jill came back with with all the cash and Jack with a smile and the water."
Mother Maybolt, nursery rhymes told to me as a child, 1923-2008
Monday, August 22, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Urges Maxine Waters To Chill
What happens when the government hates the people as much as the people hate the government? Waco, Ruby Ridge, Tim McVey, Stimulus packages to bail out fat cat bankers and Wall Street trading whores, QE1,2,3?, air travel restricted to those who comply with nudity or fondling by the TSA, and politicians like Representative Maxine Waters, who invited the 46% of Americans who pay her salary via taxes, to take a trip to visit her colleague and master, old Satan himself.
From a representative republic to a unrepresentative Kleptocracy in just over 200 years, the fall of the American way of life is now complete. All that is left is for someone to turn out the lights, and Obama's new EPA regulations against cross state pollution has threatened to do just that. His EPA plans to shutter 1/5 of our nation's coal fired generating plants. Electricity rates will necessarily skyrocket! What a fool!
The Tea Party must pray for relief to the only One Who keeps Maxine Waters and Satan in check. Could the veering off of the latest tropical storm away from Rush Limbaugh in Florida and straight for our vacationing Baritone in Chief on Martha's Vineyard be God's sign that he has not forsaken his little lambs here in America?
Is the grand American experiment in freedom not ending with this most remarkable fluke of presidential politics?
A man only elected by a majority of voters as the anti-Bush, Clinton fatigued, wow a clean well-spoken black man(Joe Biden's take) candidate who could charm the panties off a young Doris Day, and then be just as comfortable wearing them to the pizza parlor on Martha's vineyard, leaving Miss Day to wonder what just happened.
Today, we are all Miss Day. Barack Hussein Obama has all our underwear and we are unsure how this happened without us realizing it. Oh yeah, he promises to give them back, but we must all take a good look at them when we get them back before we try to wear them. Obama promised to fundamentally change America. He did.
He has taken our very foundations, our freedoms, our money, our choices and stolen them like an underwear thief in the night and most of us do not even realize we have gone commando. We are too busy raising families and working two jobs to notice his attack.
Our freedom to choose whether or not to buy medical insurance is gone. He chose to force us to buy it. Our freedom to earn a dollar today and save it secure in the knowledge it will be worth the same in three months let alone in 10 years is gone thanks to his goons at the Federal Reserve Bank and their printing presses.
Our freedom to educate our children with God in the school room has been taken from us with horrifying results. Flash mobs beating and robbing fellow citizens with callous disregard for our shared heritage and the Ten Commandments.
Our vote has been taken by him and his thugs at ACORN and others through voter intimidation and outright fraud. The Tea Party realizes we are back to "taxation without representation"! It pissed us off then and it pisses us off now.
Our borders have been taken from us as have the rights and privileges being a US citizen bestows. Walk across the border, can't speak English, no problemo, can't get a job, no problemo, want to vote even though not a citizen, no problemo!
Well, Mr. Obama, the Tea Party thinks we have a big problemo! And we showed your team what a warm up looked like in 2010. We were just clearing our throats in 2010. You ain't seen nothing yet.
You might as well reserve the moving vans now to haul you and your self-indulgent entourage out of the people's White House, not your house, not the Federal Reserve's house, not the bandits of Wall Street's house, and not Maxine Waters'house. To show you there are no hard feelings, the tea party will even pick up the tab for your move with a generous retirement for the rest of your life. Where, in retirement you can wow your big powerful friends,the titans of treason and the captains of crony-capitalism, making $500,000 a speech, spouting platitudes filled with empty rhetoric about how you almost fundamentally changed America!
It is the Tea Party's White House. We pay for it and we controlled its occupant until you began to steal the power of the vote. Shame on you, you know what you've done. Thief! A low down underwear thief!
Your welcome is waning. Your leadership is reckless. Your timing is out of sync. Anyway watch out for that hurricane. God works in mysterious ways. Pray that others are praying for and not against you. Our God is an awesome God.
Maybe you should attend church this weekend? And perhaps you should take that old sulphur spewing gas bag, Maxine Waters, with you.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
"Jack, you hate going to Church." Mother Maybolt, 1922-2008
A note to the SS: Never mind! JDM
From a representative republic to a unrepresentative Kleptocracy in just over 200 years, the fall of the American way of life is now complete. All that is left is for someone to turn out the lights, and Obama's new EPA regulations against cross state pollution has threatened to do just that. His EPA plans to shutter 1/5 of our nation's coal fired generating plants. Electricity rates will necessarily skyrocket! What a fool!
The Tea Party must pray for relief to the only One Who keeps Maxine Waters and Satan in check. Could the veering off of the latest tropical storm away from Rush Limbaugh in Florida and straight for our vacationing Baritone in Chief on Martha's Vineyard be God's sign that he has not forsaken his little lambs here in America?
Is the grand American experiment in freedom not ending with this most remarkable fluke of presidential politics?
A man only elected by a majority of voters as the anti-Bush, Clinton fatigued, wow a clean well-spoken black man(Joe Biden's take) candidate who could charm the panties off a young Doris Day, and then be just as comfortable wearing them to the pizza parlor on Martha's vineyard, leaving Miss Day to wonder what just happened.
Today, we are all Miss Day. Barack Hussein Obama has all our underwear and we are unsure how this happened without us realizing it. Oh yeah, he promises to give them back, but we must all take a good look at them when we get them back before we try to wear them. Obama promised to fundamentally change America. He did.
He has taken our very foundations, our freedoms, our money, our choices and stolen them like an underwear thief in the night and most of us do not even realize we have gone commando. We are too busy raising families and working two jobs to notice his attack.
Our freedom to choose whether or not to buy medical insurance is gone. He chose to force us to buy it. Our freedom to earn a dollar today and save it secure in the knowledge it will be worth the same in three months let alone in 10 years is gone thanks to his goons at the Federal Reserve Bank and their printing presses.
Our freedom to educate our children with God in the school room has been taken from us with horrifying results. Flash mobs beating and robbing fellow citizens with callous disregard for our shared heritage and the Ten Commandments.
Our vote has been taken by him and his thugs at ACORN and others through voter intimidation and outright fraud. The Tea Party realizes we are back to "taxation without representation"! It pissed us off then and it pisses us off now.
Our borders have been taken from us as have the rights and privileges being a US citizen bestows. Walk across the border, can't speak English, no problemo, can't get a job, no problemo, want to vote even though not a citizen, no problemo!
Well, Mr. Obama, the Tea Party thinks we have a big problemo! And we showed your team what a warm up looked like in 2010. We were just clearing our throats in 2010. You ain't seen nothing yet.
You might as well reserve the moving vans now to haul you and your self-indulgent entourage out of the people's White House, not your house, not the Federal Reserve's house, not the bandits of Wall Street's house, and not Maxine Waters'house. To show you there are no hard feelings, the tea party will even pick up the tab for your move with a generous retirement for the rest of your life. Where, in retirement you can wow your big powerful friends,the titans of treason and the captains of crony-capitalism, making $500,000 a speech, spouting platitudes filled with empty rhetoric about how you almost fundamentally changed America!
It is the Tea Party's White House. We pay for it and we controlled its occupant until you began to steal the power of the vote. Shame on you, you know what you've done. Thief! A low down underwear thief!
Your welcome is waning. Your leadership is reckless. Your timing is out of sync. Anyway watch out for that hurricane. God works in mysterious ways. Pray that others are praying for and not against you. Our God is an awesome God.
Maybe you should attend church this weekend? And perhaps you should take that old sulphur spewing gas bag, Maxine Waters, with you.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President, Urban Poverty Law Center
"Jack, you hate going to Church." Mother Maybolt, 1922-2008
A note to the SS: Never mind! JDM
Urban Poverty Law Center Offers Iranian Prisoner Exchange
Shane Bauer and Josh Fattal are sentenced to 8 years in prison in Iran for doing what any adventurous American 20 somethings would undertake--hike the border between Iran and Iraq. Any of you who have read any of the writings contained within these hallowed bytes know this is something my sister's boy Jakob Maybolt Finkbinder would try but he only got as far as middle Turkey before his antiperspirant got him mistaken for a local and he had to return to America foregoing any chance of unwanted intercourse with Iranian detainees.
Seems Shane and Josh were only trying to peer into southern Iran from Northern Iraq to see if they could subvert the ruling mullahs authority and lead a revolt according to the charges placed on the two innocent pilgrims. Aside from the two years at CIA headquarters at Quantico, Virginia, neither of the boys has any formal training in clandestine operations. Their fake passports and the briefcase in their possession filled with Iranian Rials, valued at over $5 million, could not be used as evidence against the pair as they had not been read their rights when the evidence was seized. Ironically, both Josh and Shane are fluent in Farsi and Arabic as well as English, Russian and Chinese, again not an unusual talent for American school educated children where foreign languages are stressed in a challenging and difficult educational curriculum. Both hail from NYC PS 45 in the Bronx, where Shane was remembered for his dodge ball skills, and Josh was more of a loner, who read books on espionage and watched reruns of "Hogan's Heros" in Stalag Thirteen.
I wonder how many Shanes and Joshes made it through the porous border from Iraq and into Iran? I would venture not many. Perhaps we should contract the Iranians to secure our border with Mexico?
Well I did not start this fight, but I am here to offer myself as a high yield target exchange for these young men, only 28 yrs old.
President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, I, Jackson Delano Maybolt, do here by offer myself up in a one for two prisoner exchange for the release of Josh Fattal and Shane Bauer. One fat 58 year old disabled farmer, with his best years behind him, squandered on beer and cigarettes with too little worship of our Lord to make any difference in my fate, for two bright young men with everything to look forward to if they can avoid your gulag.
I can leave tomorrow if the trade interests you, but I must warn you, I have no state secrets unless you believe my first hand knowledge of JFK's affair with Betsy Shenanigans of Clarksburg, Tn is of any value to your operatives. Word around here was Betsy's husband was firing from that grassy knoll in Dallas. Delbert Shenanigans was an unpleasant cuckold and Betsy had a harder time filling her date book after that November 22. There is a red headed Shenanigan boy and Delbert loved him like his own. He always said it would be wrong to blame the boy for the whore in the mother. I guess that makes good sense.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"There are spies of the flesh as well as spies of the spirit." Mother Maybolt, 1927-2008
Seems Shane and Josh were only trying to peer into southern Iran from Northern Iraq to see if they could subvert the ruling mullahs authority and lead a revolt according to the charges placed on the two innocent pilgrims. Aside from the two years at CIA headquarters at Quantico, Virginia, neither of the boys has any formal training in clandestine operations. Their fake passports and the briefcase in their possession filled with Iranian Rials, valued at over $5 million, could not be used as evidence against the pair as they had not been read their rights when the evidence was seized. Ironically, both Josh and Shane are fluent in Farsi and Arabic as well as English, Russian and Chinese, again not an unusual talent for American school educated children where foreign languages are stressed in a challenging and difficult educational curriculum. Both hail from NYC PS 45 in the Bronx, where Shane was remembered for his dodge ball skills, and Josh was more of a loner, who read books on espionage and watched reruns of "Hogan's Heros" in Stalag Thirteen.
I wonder how many Shanes and Joshes made it through the porous border from Iraq and into Iran? I would venture not many. Perhaps we should contract the Iranians to secure our border with Mexico?
Well I did not start this fight, but I am here to offer myself as a high yield target exchange for these young men, only 28 yrs old.
President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, I, Jackson Delano Maybolt, do here by offer myself up in a one for two prisoner exchange for the release of Josh Fattal and Shane Bauer. One fat 58 year old disabled farmer, with his best years behind him, squandered on beer and cigarettes with too little worship of our Lord to make any difference in my fate, for two bright young men with everything to look forward to if they can avoid your gulag.
I can leave tomorrow if the trade interests you, but I must warn you, I have no state secrets unless you believe my first hand knowledge of JFK's affair with Betsy Shenanigans of Clarksburg, Tn is of any value to your operatives. Word around here was Betsy's husband was firing from that grassy knoll in Dallas. Delbert Shenanigans was an unpleasant cuckold and Betsy had a harder time filling her date book after that November 22. There is a red headed Shenanigan boy and Delbert loved him like his own. He always said it would be wrong to blame the boy for the whore in the mother. I guess that makes good sense.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"There are spies of the flesh as well as spies of the spirit." Mother Maybolt, 1927-2008
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Offers To Broker Libyan Peace Deal
Below is a copy of a letter we at UPLC sent to both Madam Hillary Clinton and President Barack Obama.
20 August, 2011
Dear President Obama and Secretary Clinton:
We have been watching the unrest in Libya over the past few months with great angst and wish to contribute to the peace process.
We have already offered Colonel Gaddafi safe haven here in Cedar Grove, Tn and believe he will accept our offer if we can get over there and present our offer in person. As we see it he has a few details to work out before he can accept our generous offer. His safe departure from Libya being foremost and pressing given the recent downturn in his fortunes.
My legal team says we will need a waiver from the State Department. Hillary, you can get this for us, please,so we can travel there during this time of unrest? We will sign all the waivers and releases you require. We need this pronto.
President Obama, if you are finished campaigning for the summer in the beautiful and heavily armored bus built in Canada and purchased with our grandchildren's labor, I would like to include it in the offer to Colonel Gaddafi. This bus will make his exit from Tripoli more certain of success.
Check with Michelle. Reassure her we could make the president's bedroom off limits to his entourage if it is a deal breaker for her and forbid the Colonel from using the cheap cologne he applies after monthly baths to mask the odors from his apocrine sweat glands colonized by the virulent Mid East strains of flesh eating staphylococcus and e. coli. We will also ask him to refrain from transporting camel's milk in the bus to avoid spillage and he will not be allowed to butcher anything in the kitchen. All goats will be slaughtered before being brought aboard. I will personally see to it. You have my word.
We need to hear from your people right away so we can make our plans. As you both know things over there are heating up.
If you agree to our proposal, we will need help with transport of the armored bus. Perhaps one air force C130 has the payload, and could we hitch a ride as it will be going there anyway? We like to keep things simple as we are on a very limited budget since we have no nation of sheep to tax nor a banking system willing to print up extra cash when the sheep begin to bleat in protest.
The way we see it this would be a small yet very kind and powerful gesture to Colonel Gaddafi and may break the stalemate we find ourselves in Libya.
If this works you could commission a number of buses, to be constructed in Canada of course, and call it Barack Obama's Bus Tour For Peace, Freedom and Democracy. These could be sent as Peace Symbols and powerful warnings to every tin hat dictator in the world who has the gall to disagree with US hegemony.
Hugo, Fidel, Assad, Muammar, Kim, Mahmoud, and Beautrix, Queen of the Netherlands need to know we are building a bus reserved especially for them. They can run but they can't hide from the bus when it comes for them. Nothing signals gravitas like a heavily armored black bus, except maybe a nuclear armed cruise missile en route.
Nixon gave us Kissinger and his shuttle diplomacy, T Roosevelt with his walk softly and carry a big stick, The Bush Doctrine of shoot first and ask questions later, Clinton with his no intern's behind left alone policy, and now Barack Hussein Obama, Black Bus Diplomacy with Hillary Clinton driving! Brilliant!
History is yesterday's news tomorrow written by life's winner" as they are fond of saying on Martha's Vineyard this time of year, while sipping expensive French wines and dining on lobster and Wagu beef. All there save a few are on that island now because of a seed planted by fate in a mother's open womb by a wealthy father with foresight to set his spawn up for life as "Trust Funded Monkeys" with all the privileges it entails.
I believe the Black Bus will be driving history for years if not decades to come. What have we done to deserve this? We are truly blessed by the great wisdom and the unselfish actions of our vaulted leadership.
So come on, get on the bus already!
As a show of respect, the paint job should be in the colors of the respective country's flag.
Yours truly:
S.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Maybolts don't do politics. Too base. Leave that to the political underclass." Mother Maybolt, 1925-2008
20 August, 2011
Dear President Obama and Secretary Clinton:
We have been watching the unrest in Libya over the past few months with great angst and wish to contribute to the peace process.
We have already offered Colonel Gaddafi safe haven here in Cedar Grove, Tn and believe he will accept our offer if we can get over there and present our offer in person. As we see it he has a few details to work out before he can accept our generous offer. His safe departure from Libya being foremost and pressing given the recent downturn in his fortunes.
My legal team says we will need a waiver from the State Department. Hillary, you can get this for us, please,so we can travel there during this time of unrest? We will sign all the waivers and releases you require. We need this pronto.
President Obama, if you are finished campaigning for the summer in the beautiful and heavily armored bus built in Canada and purchased with our grandchildren's labor, I would like to include it in the offer to Colonel Gaddafi. This bus will make his exit from Tripoli more certain of success.
Check with Michelle. Reassure her we could make the president's bedroom off limits to his entourage if it is a deal breaker for her and forbid the Colonel from using the cheap cologne he applies after monthly baths to mask the odors from his apocrine sweat glands colonized by the virulent Mid East strains of flesh eating staphylococcus and e. coli. We will also ask him to refrain from transporting camel's milk in the bus to avoid spillage and he will not be allowed to butcher anything in the kitchen. All goats will be slaughtered before being brought aboard. I will personally see to it. You have my word.
We need to hear from your people right away so we can make our plans. As you both know things over there are heating up.
If you agree to our proposal, we will need help with transport of the armored bus. Perhaps one air force C130 has the payload, and could we hitch a ride as it will be going there anyway? We like to keep things simple as we are on a very limited budget since we have no nation of sheep to tax nor a banking system willing to print up extra cash when the sheep begin to bleat in protest.
The way we see it this would be a small yet very kind and powerful gesture to Colonel Gaddafi and may break the stalemate we find ourselves in Libya.
If this works you could commission a number of buses, to be constructed in Canada of course, and call it Barack Obama's Bus Tour For Peace, Freedom and Democracy. These could be sent as Peace Symbols and powerful warnings to every tin hat dictator in the world who has the gall to disagree with US hegemony.
Hugo, Fidel, Assad, Muammar, Kim, Mahmoud, and Beautrix, Queen of the Netherlands need to know we are building a bus reserved especially for them. They can run but they can't hide from the bus when it comes for them. Nothing signals gravitas like a heavily armored black bus, except maybe a nuclear armed cruise missile en route.
Nixon gave us Kissinger and his shuttle diplomacy, T Roosevelt with his walk softly and carry a big stick, The Bush Doctrine of shoot first and ask questions later, Clinton with his no intern's behind left alone policy, and now Barack Hussein Obama, Black Bus Diplomacy with Hillary Clinton driving! Brilliant!
History is yesterday's news tomorrow written by life's winner" as they are fond of saying on Martha's Vineyard this time of year, while sipping expensive French wines and dining on lobster and Wagu beef. All there save a few are on that island now because of a seed planted by fate in a mother's open womb by a wealthy father with foresight to set his spawn up for life as "Trust Funded Monkeys" with all the privileges it entails.
I believe the Black Bus will be driving history for years if not decades to come. What have we done to deserve this? We are truly blessed by the great wisdom and the unselfish actions of our vaulted leadership.
So come on, get on the bus already!
As a show of respect, the paint job should be in the colors of the respective country's flag.
Yours truly:
S.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
"Maybolts don't do politics. Too base. Leave that to the political underclass." Mother Maybolt, 1925-2008
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