Pants on fire.
That is the only response you deserve, President Obama, after the complete disrespect you showed the Supreme Court and disregard for our Constitution in your State of the Union address.
"I know that there are those who disagree with the overwhelming scientific evidence on climate change." Would that be the science that has been clearly demonstrated to be fraudulent? And cutting taxes always raises revenues President Obama. Maybe you can buy an economist or two, but credible economists on both sides contradict your claims on the stimulus and jobs. And I know you find this hard to believe, but people living outside the inner cities of democrat party run cities know all this.
Enough said. This President will not give up on the Marxist goals they, those holding the democrat party hostage, hold dear. They are not backing down on health care. They are not stopping the billions of the failed stimulus package still to be handed out for campaign support, aka votes.
The fight for the soul of this nation is far from over. 2010 will be a year of struggle between the forces of ACORN and Tea Party supporters. Struggles with local governments over voting irregularities. A struggle that will ultimately spill into the courts. Only 2013 will reveal if this nation will fall to tyranny or not.
It is the time the left will realize, if they haven't already, that now is the time to go for it all. Their last chance. And they will show no regard for the rights or well being of any who may stand in their way. It is the way every socialist/Marxist system that denies God has gone.
And for those of us who are past middle age, who remember the Cold War, and have a functioning intellect and conscience capable of discerning right from wrong, we see and understand clearly the tactics of the enemy. One of which is to break the moral fabric of the target society. The continual indoctrination of school children, at increasingly younger ages, in the management of sex and sex by-products being one part of the lefts strategy to subvert the people and attain complete control.
But over this last year, when everything looked so hopeful for the left to take over this nation, 'we the people' pushed back. We spontaneously responded, networking over the Internet and alternative media. Our voice is sweeping the nation, a portent of true change. A return to limited government.
Thank God for the Supreme Court ruling on corporate campaigning. 'We the people' can see who shares our values and direct our funds to those companies that do. And if those companies are not sincere, we will all soon find out on some blog somewhere. A way to offset the influence of government funds going to organizations and companies that support big government, organizations like Planned Parenthood, ACORN and its various reincarnations, and all those new green industries the government is looking to create.
And Thank God for the NRA for protecting our second amendment rights. Our right to revolt, or duty in the face of tyranny according to our founding fathers. Nothing can stop our opposition to a true tyranny if it should come to pass. Except.... the military. The military, a bastion of our finest Americans, like many who have coalesced behind the tea parties. Citizens of service and moral fortitude. Perhaps the only entity that is keeping us free.
When you step back and look at the bigger picture, the longer history, is it any surprise the left has been promoting homosexuality in the military. If the moral fiber of the military is broken, if military life becomes a petty process of conforming to political correctness (remember Fort Hood), we are all in deep doo doo, if we cannot turn the leftests back now.
But maybe we can put the homosexual men in the women's barracks and visa versa..... maybe prayer isn't the only cure for homosexuality.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
A piece of Fiction?
I wrote this for my private blog but thought it might fit here. It will most likely recieve more editing on my other blog. Undecided as to if I will keep it up.
A Piece of Fiction?
"I'll be right Back."
Dietrich said, as he slid out of his seat, the door of the pickup screeching closed behind him. It was an old American-made pickup. A canvas covered their most treasured possessions in the truck bed. Much less conspicuous on the back roads they were traveling than a family in a sedan, heavy in the trunk.
The sound of his boots on the crushed stone of the parking lot, sharp and piercing in the almost unnatural quiet.
'The peace of country life.' Dietrich tried to convince himself.
The air was thick and hot,and the mid-afternoon sun shown strong through the haze like atmosphere. The relative cool outside the cab brought a faux sense of relief. It was the time of year and the time of day when fierce storms seemed to materialize out of nowhere. But Dietrich was early.
He had headed north, paying a visit to his parents. A ruse to throw off the authorities. Afterwards making contact with a friend of a friend... of a friend of a high school classmate, making the switch from their sedan to this off the market heap of a pickup. Their best chance for escape, for freedom, as best they could imagine it.
With no job in the small town where they lived, and the constant and growing visits from an increasingly intrusive civil service, Dietrich looked to the new western nations, with their booming economies, as the chance for a better life. An opportunity he dare not let pass. Though originally from the big city, the great conflict had left it a burned out shell. The local capital of the never-ending queue of hopelessness. Where all wait their turn for a piece of the promised never nearing bounty to come, resting just beyond the horizon. Beyond one more campaign against the enemies of the people. One more damn or highway or factory, all constructed under the guidance of the great leader, who alone could open the floodgates of prosperity.
But Dietrich was hardly the only or the first with the same idea. The government had already closed all the main roads and was quickly closing off the entire border. Winding through small farming hamlets along country roads and highways, he found himself at a roadside canteen called 'Shults'.' An establishment housed in a generic structure, which served like all such country outposts a fare unique to its part of the country. In this case, a specialty meat battered and deep fried, and of course a home made brew.
He stretched his stiff legs, walking slowly towards the service counter. The young girl at the window looked his way and, with a nervous start, stepped away from her window into a back room.
'Fear'
Dietrich's life had hardly been easy, without its own traumas and corresponding terrors. Fear was something he had taught himself to treat with disdain. With a veiled huff he approached the service window. Leaning in slightly he called,
"Hey, can I get some service?"
Both defiance and caution ringing in his voice.
A long silence followed.
Then the door to the back room flung open. The young girl, a high school student at best, strode out slapping the key to the men's room down on the counter. She quickly turned and walked away, fixing her gaze upon the deep fryer, standing motionless.
His hand slid over the cool stainless steel, gripping the well-worn wood block attached to the key. A sinking feeling growing in his gut, he turned slowly heading for the far side of the building. Rounding the corner he shoved the key into the men's room lock. A quick forceful thrust opened the sticky door. It slammed behind him as he entered.
A urinal, evident by smell if not by sight, a sink and a stall, and a curious apprehension highlighted the spacious, for its type, room. Before Dietrich could wonder about what he had gotten himself into the door flew open. A middle aged bearded man swiftly stepped inside, watching the door close behind him, his hand keeping it from slamming.
"Are you Dietrich?" He asked.
"Are you Jason?" Replied Dietrich, waiting for the proper response.
"No, I'm Freddie."
"Then I'm Dietrich."
Named neither Jason nor Freddie, the bearded man's face sneered. Marching forward, pushing Dietrich back chest to chest he grabbed Dietrich's shirt collar with both hands, slamming him against the toilet partition.
"You were told not to tell anyone, punk!"
Dietrich instinctively brushed away the bearded man's arms, pushing him back.
"What are you talking about?"
The bearded man setting one hand on the partition leaned in strong. With teeth clenched and trying not to raise his voice said,
"You told your father!"
A dark cloud covered Dietrich's face. His dad...? He wondered why he had expected anything different. But he always did.
The bearded man stepped back and closing in on a whisper, words in quick succession, the tension never leaving his voice said,
"You're lucky. I shouldn't even be here. Keep south and turn onto the first gravel road on your right. After some miles you'll see a sign shaped like a steer with a farmers access road in front of it. Take it! It will take you to a small stand of trees. On the other side turn right through the field towards the river. You should be able to drive right through there. The border is several hundred yards beyond."
He raised his finger to Dietrich's face and said,
"Wait here till you hear me leave."
Walking away he stopped at the door and without turning back said,
"If you make it to the river they'll probably give up."
And he was gone.
Dietrich stood silent. The sound of a kick and a motorcycle throttling up came from behind the canteen. He listened as the bike sped off to the north, then stepped out of the men's room.
Support little and far between, and ultimately rejection was nothing new to Dietrich. He was in his natural element. Shoulders bent, head ever so slightly raised, holding something just short of a smile, he came around the corner exuding an odd confidence. Depositing the key at the service window, making his way towards the pickup, he spied a man on the phone on the near side of the canteen.
He noticed the utility room door slightly open, a broken lock resting on the ground. Leaning on the wall, staring down, the man on the phone looked up as if in response to Dietrich's own stare. A cold breeze drifted through the thick humid air. A chill and a shiver shot up the man's spine, but Dietrich smiled coolly. Never missing stride he walked calmly to the pickup.
Hopping in, fumbling with the keys to the pickup, his hand shook uncontrollably. With a deep breath and one swift motion he slid the key into the ignition and turned. There was a grumbled rumble and Dietrich dropped the engine into gear, gently pulling out onto the country highway.
Checking his rear view mirror, no one followed. The highway with its gentle rises and hollows ran due south through an endless sea of farms. The ride grew long and Dietrich pondered with the idea that he had missed the road, but couldn't see how. Then off in the distance, atop a far off rise in the road he saw them. A small column of military vehicles was heading their direction.
Dietrich's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, his breathing shallow. As the column disappeared behind a rise he sped up quickly, hoping to God he had not missed the turn. Anticipating their reappearance he slowed, waiting for his next opportunity, trying not to draw their attentions. After the third sighting he saw the gravel road at the bottom of a hollow and sped forward. Breaking at the last moment, nearly squealing to a stop, he turned. Slowly proceeding down the gravel road, not to kick up an unusual amount of dust, he let himself breath.
Cresting a small hill, leaving the highway out of sight without any apparent pursuit, they felt safe for the moment. After driving past countless fields of crops and patches of woods they saw the sign a mile or so in the distance. Dietrich had been keeping a generic speed, as if they belonged, but now their speed grew as the distance shortened.
Turning onto the dirt access road the pickup rocked softly forward and back, side to side. The stand of trees, stretching in a long line, was closer than he imagined.
Plop. Plop. Splat!
An ear of corn seemed to vaporize above the road before them. Dietrich turned and leaned out the window. Looking back down the gravel road he saw large dark clouds of dust rushing towards them. A well equipped jeep and military transports, loaded with soldiers at the ready leaning over the sides, were racing after them. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, the river flooded his thoughts.
Plop. Splat. Plop. Plop.
Warning shots sprinkled the road in front of them.
Eyes set forward Dietrich crushed the accelerator to the floor. A stutter and shudder exploded into a fierce roar as the carburetor snapped full open.
"Four! - Fifty! - Four!" shot through his head in word and spirit, bringing a moment of hope and a grin, as they were pressed hard against the back of the seat. The heap of a pickup lunged and leaped powerfully over the well rutted dirt road.
The gunfire grew into a steady din, ever closing as they made the shelter of the trees. Instantly the trees broke into chaos. Leaves rustling, boughs tossed to and fro in disbelief that they were not torn from their trunks, as two military helicopters crossed swiftly overhead.
The pickup burst out the other side of the stand of trees. Slipping and sliding, fishtailing over the field as Dietrich fought to keep control. Ripping through row upon row of corn he managed to point the pickup towards the river. It shook and trembled, cutting over the furrowed field. The stalks smashed and slid under and over the pickup with the sound of a tempest pouring down a tin roof.
The pickup steadied as it hit a rhythm with the field. The river was quickly approaching as the sound of something like a freight train, a freight train that had left its tracks, boomed in the background.
Dietrich looked over at his baby girl. A dazed blank look covered her face. As their gazes met, her eyes brightened and twinkled. She broke out into a big toothless smile and he couldn't help but smile back as tears welled up. Looking to his wife, that one encouragement with that look that he would make everything alright, the hood shattered the windshield. Engine exploding, wheels shredded as fifty caliber machine gun shells ripped through the front of the pickup driving it hard into the ground, blowing off the drivers door. Rockets exploding all around, their vehicle lifted into the air.
Floating free Dietrich instinctively stretch his arm forward, his fingertips ever so slightly brushing the top of the cab as the pickup spun out of reach. Pieces of canvas, pictures, clothing, shredded vegetation, earth and fire filled the air. Gases and dust filtering the light giving the entire atmosphere a strange unearthly hue. overcome with shock everything seemed as a dream, a foreign landscape upon some other world.
But this was no nightmare Dietrich could shatter with force of will. His face terror struck, eyes fixed intensely on the pickup with longing and dread, he stained to catch even a glimpse into the cab, the pickup spinning on end round and round in almost a blur. A life that could have been flashed before his eyes. In what felt like an eternity but less than seconds, the truck smashing to the ground upside down, flames saturating the surrounding cropland.
Tossed and tumbled, Dietrich rolled up on all fours. His eyes ached pushed deep into their sockets, lids clenched closed. Blood and sweat streamed from his body, tears pour down his face. The air whirling around him as the second helicopter had instantly moved in overhead.
"Why, why, why God why?"
Dietrich lamented, as his guts wrenched, every muscle in his body stressed tight. Betrayed by his country. Betrayed by his family. Betrayed by himself, for how could he think of going on? He wanted to die. Collapse, sink into the earth and be no more, but surrender was something he had never given anyone.
Overcome with the shock and horror his mind went blank. One hand squeezed the mud that had been parched earth moments before as his other hand, without conscience awareness, reached slowly back. His fingers feeling for the shells in his pocket, a tingle shot up his arm at their touch, as the first helicopter hovered into position, returning from its strafing run.
Raising his head he saw just yards before him his loaded twelve gauge. Beginning with a crawl and then jumping to his feet Dietrich ran for his gun. He tried to scream but the bursts of air from the helicopter rotors halted his breath. Every inch of his body cried with pain, clinging to his skin like rain drenched clothing. Gasping for air through clenched teeth, amidst muffled sounds of shouts and the click of machine gun bolts, he let out a low growl, grabbing up his shot gun and turning towards the river.
Snapping the safety off he looked skyward towards his foe. Suspended beyond the doors of the pair of helicopters were two gun man, faces hidden behind visors, barrels pointed straight down, just letting loose their thirty calibers.
Ducking his head with elbows raised and knees lifting high to shield himself, earth, stone and burning metal splashed and slashed upon impact of a hail of gunfire, as he ran and spun, the ground rippling under his feet. Shooting blind the smooth slide action of his shotgun kept continuous motion as round after round of triball buckshot flew woefully into the air. Like spit in the wind in the face of overwhelming firepower.
Spit that hit its mark.
Havoc broke out on one of the helicopters, almost sending it into the other, before both veered off in opposite directions, settling far afield into a steady deliberate rotation around his position.
In a half run half stagger he made his way towards the river. Eyes scanning the shallows, he found himself amidts a sudden calm. But inside he had no calm. He longed to turn around, to look back, no longer knowing why, his heart aching at the thought.
As his foot sank into the softness of the river bank, Dietrich paused. He set his eye upon the horizon. Looking upon that vision of freedom he would give anything to share. Not knowing exactly where it started he knew it was there. An empty smile burst briefly across his face, a quiver over his cheek.
A bright flash from beyond the trees on the far side of the field lit up the corner of Dietrich's eye. The sound to arrive later. but not before the inevitable impact... as his eye came to rest upon that Lone Star State.
A Piece of Fiction?
"I'll be right Back."
Dietrich said, as he slid out of his seat, the door of the pickup screeching closed behind him. It was an old American-made pickup. A canvas covered their most treasured possessions in the truck bed. Much less conspicuous on the back roads they were traveling than a family in a sedan, heavy in the trunk.
The sound of his boots on the crushed stone of the parking lot, sharp and piercing in the almost unnatural quiet.
'The peace of country life.' Dietrich tried to convince himself.
The air was thick and hot,and the mid-afternoon sun shown strong through the haze like atmosphere. The relative cool outside the cab brought a faux sense of relief. It was the time of year and the time of day when fierce storms seemed to materialize out of nowhere. But Dietrich was early.
He had headed north, paying a visit to his parents. A ruse to throw off the authorities. Afterwards making contact with a friend of a friend... of a friend of a high school classmate, making the switch from their sedan to this off the market heap of a pickup. Their best chance for escape, for freedom, as best they could imagine it.
With no job in the small town where they lived, and the constant and growing visits from an increasingly intrusive civil service, Dietrich looked to the new western nations, with their booming economies, as the chance for a better life. An opportunity he dare not let pass. Though originally from the big city, the great conflict had left it a burned out shell. The local capital of the never-ending queue of hopelessness. Where all wait their turn for a piece of the promised never nearing bounty to come, resting just beyond the horizon. Beyond one more campaign against the enemies of the people. One more damn or highway or factory, all constructed under the guidance of the great leader, who alone could open the floodgates of prosperity.
But Dietrich was hardly the only or the first with the same idea. The government had already closed all the main roads and was quickly closing off the entire border. Winding through small farming hamlets along country roads and highways, he found himself at a roadside canteen called 'Shults'.' An establishment housed in a generic structure, which served like all such country outposts a fare unique to its part of the country. In this case, a specialty meat battered and deep fried, and of course a home made brew.
He stretched his stiff legs, walking slowly towards the service counter. The young girl at the window looked his way and, with a nervous start, stepped away from her window into a back room.
'Fear'
Dietrich's life had hardly been easy, without its own traumas and corresponding terrors. Fear was something he had taught himself to treat with disdain. With a veiled huff he approached the service window. Leaning in slightly he called,
"Hey, can I get some service?"
Both defiance and caution ringing in his voice.
A long silence followed.
Then the door to the back room flung open. The young girl, a high school student at best, strode out slapping the key to the men's room down on the counter. She quickly turned and walked away, fixing her gaze upon the deep fryer, standing motionless.
His hand slid over the cool stainless steel, gripping the well-worn wood block attached to the key. A sinking feeling growing in his gut, he turned slowly heading for the far side of the building. Rounding the corner he shoved the key into the men's room lock. A quick forceful thrust opened the sticky door. It slammed behind him as he entered.
A urinal, evident by smell if not by sight, a sink and a stall, and a curious apprehension highlighted the spacious, for its type, room. Before Dietrich could wonder about what he had gotten himself into the door flew open. A middle aged bearded man swiftly stepped inside, watching the door close behind him, his hand keeping it from slamming.
"Are you Dietrich?" He asked.
"Are you Jason?" Replied Dietrich, waiting for the proper response.
"No, I'm Freddie."
"Then I'm Dietrich."
Named neither Jason nor Freddie, the bearded man's face sneered. Marching forward, pushing Dietrich back chest to chest he grabbed Dietrich's shirt collar with both hands, slamming him against the toilet partition.
"You were told not to tell anyone, punk!"
Dietrich instinctively brushed away the bearded man's arms, pushing him back.
"What are you talking about?"
The bearded man setting one hand on the partition leaned in strong. With teeth clenched and trying not to raise his voice said,
"You told your father!"
A dark cloud covered Dietrich's face. His dad...? He wondered why he had expected anything different. But he always did.
The bearded man stepped back and closing in on a whisper, words in quick succession, the tension never leaving his voice said,
"You're lucky. I shouldn't even be here. Keep south and turn onto the first gravel road on your right. After some miles you'll see a sign shaped like a steer with a farmers access road in front of it. Take it! It will take you to a small stand of trees. On the other side turn right through the field towards the river. You should be able to drive right through there. The border is several hundred yards beyond."
He raised his finger to Dietrich's face and said,
"Wait here till you hear me leave."
Walking away he stopped at the door and without turning back said,
"If you make it to the river they'll probably give up."
And he was gone.
Dietrich stood silent. The sound of a kick and a motorcycle throttling up came from behind the canteen. He listened as the bike sped off to the north, then stepped out of the men's room.
Support little and far between, and ultimately rejection was nothing new to Dietrich. He was in his natural element. Shoulders bent, head ever so slightly raised, holding something just short of a smile, he came around the corner exuding an odd confidence. Depositing the key at the service window, making his way towards the pickup, he spied a man on the phone on the near side of the canteen.
He noticed the utility room door slightly open, a broken lock resting on the ground. Leaning on the wall, staring down, the man on the phone looked up as if in response to Dietrich's own stare. A cold breeze drifted through the thick humid air. A chill and a shiver shot up the man's spine, but Dietrich smiled coolly. Never missing stride he walked calmly to the pickup.
Hopping in, fumbling with the keys to the pickup, his hand shook uncontrollably. With a deep breath and one swift motion he slid the key into the ignition and turned. There was a grumbled rumble and Dietrich dropped the engine into gear, gently pulling out onto the country highway.
Checking his rear view mirror, no one followed. The highway with its gentle rises and hollows ran due south through an endless sea of farms. The ride grew long and Dietrich pondered with the idea that he had missed the road, but couldn't see how. Then off in the distance, atop a far off rise in the road he saw them. A small column of military vehicles was heading their direction.
Dietrich's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, his breathing shallow. As the column disappeared behind a rise he sped up quickly, hoping to God he had not missed the turn. Anticipating their reappearance he slowed, waiting for his next opportunity, trying not to draw their attentions. After the third sighting he saw the gravel road at the bottom of a hollow and sped forward. Breaking at the last moment, nearly squealing to a stop, he turned. Slowly proceeding down the gravel road, not to kick up an unusual amount of dust, he let himself breath.
Cresting a small hill, leaving the highway out of sight without any apparent pursuit, they felt safe for the moment. After driving past countless fields of crops and patches of woods they saw the sign a mile or so in the distance. Dietrich had been keeping a generic speed, as if they belonged, but now their speed grew as the distance shortened.
Turning onto the dirt access road the pickup rocked softly forward and back, side to side. The stand of trees, stretching in a long line, was closer than he imagined.
Plop. Plop. Splat!
An ear of corn seemed to vaporize above the road before them. Dietrich turned and leaned out the window. Looking back down the gravel road he saw large dark clouds of dust rushing towards them. A well equipped jeep and military transports, loaded with soldiers at the ready leaning over the sides, were racing after them. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, the river flooded his thoughts.
Plop. Splat. Plop. Plop.
Warning shots sprinkled the road in front of them.
Eyes set forward Dietrich crushed the accelerator to the floor. A stutter and shudder exploded into a fierce roar as the carburetor snapped full open.
"Four! - Fifty! - Four!" shot through his head in word and spirit, bringing a moment of hope and a grin, as they were pressed hard against the back of the seat. The heap of a pickup lunged and leaped powerfully over the well rutted dirt road.
The gunfire grew into a steady din, ever closing as they made the shelter of the trees. Instantly the trees broke into chaos. Leaves rustling, boughs tossed to and fro in disbelief that they were not torn from their trunks, as two military helicopters crossed swiftly overhead.
The pickup burst out the other side of the stand of trees. Slipping and sliding, fishtailing over the field as Dietrich fought to keep control. Ripping through row upon row of corn he managed to point the pickup towards the river. It shook and trembled, cutting over the furrowed field. The stalks smashed and slid under and over the pickup with the sound of a tempest pouring down a tin roof.
The pickup steadied as it hit a rhythm with the field. The river was quickly approaching as the sound of something like a freight train, a freight train that had left its tracks, boomed in the background.
Dietrich looked over at his baby girl. A dazed blank look covered her face. As their gazes met, her eyes brightened and twinkled. She broke out into a big toothless smile and he couldn't help but smile back as tears welled up. Looking to his wife, that one encouragement with that look that he would make everything alright, the hood shattered the windshield. Engine exploding, wheels shredded as fifty caliber machine gun shells ripped through the front of the pickup driving it hard into the ground, blowing off the drivers door. Rockets exploding all around, their vehicle lifted into the air.
Floating free Dietrich instinctively stretch his arm forward, his fingertips ever so slightly brushing the top of the cab as the pickup spun out of reach. Pieces of canvas, pictures, clothing, shredded vegetation, earth and fire filled the air. Gases and dust filtering the light giving the entire atmosphere a strange unearthly hue. overcome with shock everything seemed as a dream, a foreign landscape upon some other world.
But this was no nightmare Dietrich could shatter with force of will. His face terror struck, eyes fixed intensely on the pickup with longing and dread, he stained to catch even a glimpse into the cab, the pickup spinning on end round and round in almost a blur. A life that could have been flashed before his eyes. In what felt like an eternity but less than seconds, the truck smashing to the ground upside down, flames saturating the surrounding cropland.
Tossed and tumbled, Dietrich rolled up on all fours. His eyes ached pushed deep into their sockets, lids clenched closed. Blood and sweat streamed from his body, tears pour down his face. The air whirling around him as the second helicopter had instantly moved in overhead.
"Why, why, why God why?"
Dietrich lamented, as his guts wrenched, every muscle in his body stressed tight. Betrayed by his country. Betrayed by his family. Betrayed by himself, for how could he think of going on? He wanted to die. Collapse, sink into the earth and be no more, but surrender was something he had never given anyone.
Overcome with the shock and horror his mind went blank. One hand squeezed the mud that had been parched earth moments before as his other hand, without conscience awareness, reached slowly back. His fingers feeling for the shells in his pocket, a tingle shot up his arm at their touch, as the first helicopter hovered into position, returning from its strafing run.
Raising his head he saw just yards before him his loaded twelve gauge. Beginning with a crawl and then jumping to his feet Dietrich ran for his gun. He tried to scream but the bursts of air from the helicopter rotors halted his breath. Every inch of his body cried with pain, clinging to his skin like rain drenched clothing. Gasping for air through clenched teeth, amidst muffled sounds of shouts and the click of machine gun bolts, he let out a low growl, grabbing up his shot gun and turning towards the river.
Snapping the safety off he looked skyward towards his foe. Suspended beyond the doors of the pair of helicopters were two gun man, faces hidden behind visors, barrels pointed straight down, just letting loose their thirty calibers.
Ducking his head with elbows raised and knees lifting high to shield himself, earth, stone and burning metal splashed and slashed upon impact of a hail of gunfire, as he ran and spun, the ground rippling under his feet. Shooting blind the smooth slide action of his shotgun kept continuous motion as round after round of triball buckshot flew woefully into the air. Like spit in the wind in the face of overwhelming firepower.
Spit that hit its mark.
Havoc broke out on one of the helicopters, almost sending it into the other, before both veered off in opposite directions, settling far afield into a steady deliberate rotation around his position.
In a half run half stagger he made his way towards the river. Eyes scanning the shallows, he found himself amidts a sudden calm. But inside he had no calm. He longed to turn around, to look back, no longer knowing why, his heart aching at the thought.
As his foot sank into the softness of the river bank, Dietrich paused. He set his eye upon the horizon. Looking upon that vision of freedom he would give anything to share. Not knowing exactly where it started he knew it was there. An empty smile burst briefly across his face, a quiver over his cheek.
A bright flash from beyond the trees on the far side of the field lit up the corner of Dietrich's eye. The sound to arrive later. but not before the inevitable impact... as his eye came to rest upon that Lone Star State.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Term Limits? ..... No!
As we deal with an out of touch Congress, defying the will of the people and burying us all in legislation that they don't even understand, many have propounded term limits as the solution. If it were such a great idea our founders would have put it into the Constitution. They, like us today, wanted Congress to be made up of common men. They implemented this desire through age requirements.
Twenty-five years is the minimal requirement for elected office in the Constitution. And where was the average twenty-five year old in the 18th century? He was most likely married with his own family established. Already a businessman, artisan or professional of some type and known in his community for his own individual accomplishments.
And where is an average twenty-five year old today? He may very well still be living with his parents. He has most likely applied for his first job, but not necessarily. If he is one seeking higher education, he (or she) could still be in school, and if seeking a career in academia will remain there.
And how different is an academic career from a political career? Right out of school one can work for a political machine. A government subsidized position requiring, obvious when you look at what is passing for legislation these days, only the ability to move ones mouth. Many of those that can claim private sector experience had token positions, gained through the influence of money and family. Put into a holding pattern until the opportunity for them to run for office presented itself.
Yes, some have true private sector experience, but is any industry free from political/big government ties these days? Some use their military service as a platform. And a few, from whatever background, are just truly good people. But for the most part our nation is sufferring from politics as a profession. Where serving politics trumps common sense experience as a requirement. We could blame the media again, for they powerfully influence what the public considers a legitimate requirement or not, but they don't vote for us.
Looking at this life expectancy chart one can see that the average life span from 1850 to present has doubled. And for those who reached the age of thirty, they are expected to live some thirteen years longer today than those in 1850's. One may easily claim that the life of a twenty-five year old in past centuries would be equivalent to the position one finds himself in at thirty-five in our present era. I'm not sure if many even run for congress at twenty-five.
There is clear justification to raise the current age limits for elected office. As it stands one must be twenty-five to run for the House of Representatives, and thirty-five for the Senate and the Presidency. I would suggest raising the age requirement by ten years, fifteen for the President.
OK.... in this modern age that will help, but wont weed out the career politicians. But term limits would only push them out of their seat and into a lobbiest position which is nearly the same thing.
So how does one get a grip on Congress? Maybe the grip was lost when we put term limits on the Presidency? The balance of power, so wisely designed by our forefathers, being disrupted. Having Presidents labeled lame ducks for large portions of their Presidency. Having a political positioning frenzy on both sides when no incumbant with clear policies and direction can challenge. Having a Congress that can wait out a President, and/or the back and forth sways of power, to push through their control building agendas. And an important check and balance is being compromised.
Yes, end the term limits for the President and increase the age requirements through a Constitutional Amendment. And maybe we need to pull back some of the extension of the executive branch such as the EPA. (those Czars are already outside the Presidents powers as far as I understand)
We can say that the scale of the federal government shields our representatives from being held accountable in elections, unlike our local politicians, but that accountability factor doesn't exist for the President. The one position that people take seriously and look to hold accountable, that's the position we put limits on?!
I know this plays into the liberal desires for President Obama to hold office for life, but the reality is we would all be better off. And only corruption, successfully implemented on a scale never before seen, could keep him in office. And if that exists only revolt will save us.
Twenty-five years is the minimal requirement for elected office in the Constitution. And where was the average twenty-five year old in the 18th century? He was most likely married with his own family established. Already a businessman, artisan or professional of some type and known in his community for his own individual accomplishments.
And where is an average twenty-five year old today? He may very well still be living with his parents. He has most likely applied for his first job, but not necessarily. If he is one seeking higher education, he (or she) could still be in school, and if seeking a career in academia will remain there.
And how different is an academic career from a political career? Right out of school one can work for a political machine. A government subsidized position requiring, obvious when you look at what is passing for legislation these days, only the ability to move ones mouth. Many of those that can claim private sector experience had token positions, gained through the influence of money and family. Put into a holding pattern until the opportunity for them to run for office presented itself.
Yes, some have true private sector experience, but is any industry free from political/big government ties these days? Some use their military service as a platform. And a few, from whatever background, are just truly good people. But for the most part our nation is sufferring from politics as a profession. Where serving politics trumps common sense experience as a requirement. We could blame the media again, for they powerfully influence what the public considers a legitimate requirement or not, but they don't vote for us.
Looking at this life expectancy chart one can see that the average life span from 1850 to present has doubled. And for those who reached the age of thirty, they are expected to live some thirteen years longer today than those in 1850's. One may easily claim that the life of a twenty-five year old in past centuries would be equivalent to the position one finds himself in at thirty-five in our present era. I'm not sure if many even run for congress at twenty-five.
There is clear justification to raise the current age limits for elected office. As it stands one must be twenty-five to run for the House of Representatives, and thirty-five for the Senate and the Presidency. I would suggest raising the age requirement by ten years, fifteen for the President.
OK.... in this modern age that will help, but wont weed out the career politicians. But term limits would only push them out of their seat and into a lobbiest position which is nearly the same thing.
So how does one get a grip on Congress? Maybe the grip was lost when we put term limits on the Presidency? The balance of power, so wisely designed by our forefathers, being disrupted. Having Presidents labeled lame ducks for large portions of their Presidency. Having a political positioning frenzy on both sides when no incumbant with clear policies and direction can challenge. Having a Congress that can wait out a President, and/or the back and forth sways of power, to push through their control building agendas. And an important check and balance is being compromised.
Yes, end the term limits for the President and increase the age requirements through a Constitutional Amendment. And maybe we need to pull back some of the extension of the executive branch such as the EPA. (those Czars are already outside the Presidents powers as far as I understand)
We can say that the scale of the federal government shields our representatives from being held accountable in elections, unlike our local politicians, but that accountability factor doesn't exist for the President. The one position that people take seriously and look to hold accountable, that's the position we put limits on?!
I know this plays into the liberal desires for President Obama to hold office for life, but the reality is we would all be better off. And only corruption, successfully implemented on a scale never before seen, could keep him in office. And if that exists only revolt will save us.
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