Jimmy Banquet Chef was waiting for them in the chef’s office. They drank beer and talked, the two Jimmys mostly and mostly in Greek. Bill heard the word Caesar mentioned a few times, each time followed with a laugh or a snicker or both. That could only be good for him, he thought.
“Listen,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said, “I didn’t put you on any banquets for tomorrow or Saturday. I have work if you want to work. I figured you two are gonna be plenty busy over there. Don’t want to kill you in your first week.”
“I can work,” Bill said.
“Good. That’s what I was hoping.”
“What you got?”
“Nothing big. Just a whole load of small parties until next week. Next week we have some big banquets, one political one, I don’t remember who, but it’s for a few thousand for some senator. I’m not sure yet, but it’s a luncheon. Fund raiser. We get them all the time.”
“Okay for me,” Bill said. “I want to learn all I can.”
“That’s my man,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said. “Come in around eleven tomorrow. We’ll work together on some prep. I’ll start showing you how to run the different stations.”
“Okay,” Bill said.
“Jimmy says you had a great night over there again. And he says you handled it really well.”
“Yesterday and today were busy,” Bill said to the banquet chef. “It’s almost at capacity, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said. “You can only turn the tables a certain amount of times. And you’re getting there. The waitresses are making good money, much more than we are.”
“At least they can handle their end.”
“They’ve been there a long time. But it’s never been this busy.”
“Lucky me.”
“Lucky them. But don’t get your head all swelled. It’s not you. We were so slow there, the chef advertised. First time ever. And now we’re seeing what it brought in.”
“How many cooks you go through?”
“We had a good one. He left a while ago. Then we had a few who worked a couple of days and left. They didn’t like the room or the work or Caesar. Whatever.”
“Not hard not to like Caesar.”
“It’s not just Caesar,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said. “If the waitresses don’t like you they can make it miserable for you.”
“I don’t have that problem,” Bill said.
“You got it the other way,” the banquet chef said. He and Jimmy G laughed.
Jimmy G launched off in Greek again talking to his cousin. They went back and forth enthusiastically, Bill thought. Then they both turned to him.
“My aunt said she heard them talking. They didn’t know she was listening, or if they did, they didn’t care.” Jimmy Banquet Chef stopped there.
“Well don’t leave me hanging,” Bill said.
“They said you were the best cook they’ve ever had there. They said a lot of things.”
“So you aren’t telling me,” Bill said.
“She told my cousin over here that we shouldn’t tell you.”
“And you’re gonna listen?”
“Well, mostly anyway.”
“That ain’t right,” Bill said.
“Who’s that banquet waitress you were talking to?”
“Who?” Bill said.
“You know who,” the banquet chef said.
“Nobody,” Bill said.
Jimmy G said something to his cousin in Greek again and again they both laughed.
“He said looks like your dance card’s gonna be busy,” the banquet chef said.
“I’m a married man,” Bill said. He got up from his seat. “That’s it for me,” he said. “See you in the morning.”
“Ya,” Jimmy G said.
Bill was starting to know his way around now and found his way to the locker room quickly and easily. He thought about Millie when he tossed his uniform to the bottom of his locker. He thought about their time together off to the side behind the clothes rack, thought about how she felt and what they’d done, thought about how similar she was to Marie, so much the same yet quite different. Then he thought about Beverly, the banquet waitress he wouldn’t talk about with the two Jimmys.
Ain’t it funny how the night moves.
By Peter Weiss
So my second all-time favorite movie is From Here To Eternity. It’s from a James Jones novel. It’s a World War II movie, or that’s the setting, really the vehicle by which the movie operates. It encompasses Pearl Harbor, set in Hawaii. It’s about justice, right and wrong, and so much more. The book is even better. Montgomery Clift, Burt Lancaster, Ernest Borgnine, Donna Reed and Deborah Kerr are the stars.
Oh! And how could I forget — no I didn’t forget — Frank Sinatra. If you’ve ever seen The Godfather, this is the movie Johnnie Fontane wants the Godfather to get him in, you know, where the Hollywood producer finds the horse’s head in bed with him…
Most memorable line: just because you love something doesn’t mean it has to love you back.
Ain’t that the truth!
Okay. So I’m a softy. Yes. I cry in the movies. I cry at home watching movies. I cry in my real life, not weeping-crying but choked-up crying. My wife, who never cries at movies, laughs at me.
Movies used to, and some still do, teach us things. Nowadays, more often than not, maybe, they teach us by presenting negative lessons. Hollywood surely is leading us in some directions we could do without, we would be better off not going in.
A few other key movies should be mentioned, movies that mean something whether they are good movies or not. Make no mistake, From Here To Eternity and Here Comes Mr. Jordan are great movies.
One movie that should be mentioned is Passenger 57. It’s one of those pass-the-time, get-lost-in-the-movies, movies. It stars Wesley Snipes, whom I kind of like as an actor for what he does, but that doesn’t matter at all. The movie matters because something happens in it that breaks with convention and starts us down a new path, not one of good things or good directions.
Passenger 57 is your standard movie in which a ruthless killer/terrorist and his terrorist gang hijack an airplane and onboard, low and behold, is your lone good-guy, save-the-day bad-ass who happens to have just been hired as the airline’s new head of security.
There’s one scene where to prove his point of being serious, the ruthless terrorist-killer confronts the lone save-the-world good guy. He asks a passenger his name, asks him if he has any kids. The passenger says yes, two children. The terrorist tells the good guy that because of him those kids won’t be seeing their father anymore and shoots the passenger in the head.
This was a new low in our sense of morality. It was meant purely for shock value, and it did just that. But now, many years later, seeing something like this is ho-hum. If you see that movie a second time and you know what’s going to happen, you’re not shocked. Well, that’s how we are now. Another shooting after 9/11, another terrorist act, ho-hum, another day.
Hollywood! Its people would have us believe that they have a real sense of what our morality should be. They tell us this all the time in their political statements, which are mostly, if not always, leftist viewpoints. They tell us we should be doing this or that, then like the big politicians (like Al Gore), they are the old-school parents who say do as I say, not as I do.
In fact, that is very much the key motto of our politicians. They want, at least the leftists do, to dictate morality and direction to us. But they have no sense of what we, the people, want or need or care about. And they don’t practice what they preach and don’t even pretend to.
Anyway… Why mention this? Well, just in general we should take a cold, hard look at what people are trying to sell us, at where we’ve been and where we seem to be going and if we should be going that way.
Another movie next time!
By Peter Weiss
Bill had seen this done in the workhouse, and it was a technique he’d learned/was continually learning. When people were not nice to you, when they were just plain continually obnoxious and it was clear they were not, maybe not ever, going to leave you alone, first kill them with kindness and second set them up every chance you can. Having more information than they did so you could set them up to look like an idiot was key.
Jimmy Banquet Chef had cooked and had sent over the food. Bill and all the Greeks had eaten happily and Bill had put away the leftovers for his girls. The girls were discovering that any and every time Bill could feed them something special he would, and unlike most other cooks, he didn’t ask for anything in return.
All in due time…
It was only a matter of time until this ran its course. Bill figured sometime tomorrow Caesar would speak to the chef. The chef would either come first to Bill about it or maybe, if he took time to think about it, he’d speak first to the banquet chef, ask him if he sent anything over. That, of course, would be borne out and would be the end of it.
Case closed.
Except Caesar would look petty and stupid.
Voila.
Turns out that Bill was not at all responsible for the increased business. Turns out that in the absence of a regular cook other than Jimmy G business had fallen off markedly such that the chef, in coordination with the food and beverage manager, had advertised. They had taken out a half-page ad in the Cleveland paper and run it three days straight. They had not done it because Bill was coming. Timing of the ad was purely coincidental. Fortunately or unfortunately, Bill had started work just after the ad had run.
Since they’d never advertised before, no one had any clue as to what would happen. The only thing that worked out really well was that they were fortunate enough to get a cook who could handle the business they brought in. Lucky.
Thursday was another new record with the room. They did two hundred-two the night before, a record, and two-thirty-six this night, another new record.
“Jesus,” Edelgarde said when finally most of the tables had been served and she and Rosie could take a short break to eat. “What you got for us?” She asked.
“Come back in about three minutes,” Bill said.
Fixing the tenderloin tips for two was exactly the same as doing it for one. Bill did it exactly as he’d done for Jo Ann, made them the same exact plates as Jo Anne’s was. He set the plates up under the warmer lights and went about his work. He saw Caesar pass by to see what he was fixing Rosie and Edelgarde, made a mental note not to say anything to him no matter what he said. But Caesar didn’t say anything. He stood a little off to the side where Bill figured he figured Bill could see what he was doing. Standing there, he took out a little pocket notebook and wrote himself a note.
Words are the best weapons, Bill thought as he saw Caesar writing. But there was nothing Caesar could be writing in that book that could be bad for Bill. Bill knew what Caesar didn’t and he hadn’t done anything wrong.
Rosie and Edelgarde came for their dinners together. They both saw Caesar standing where he was so they didn’t say anything other than to ask if the meals were for them. Bill told them they were and the girls, rapidly becoming his girls, all three of them were, went off to have their dinners.
Together, he and Jimmy ran out the rest of the board and when nothing else was working, Bill left the kitchen and went off the rest room. When he came back they had espresso and started doing what they could in advance to begin closing up.
By Peter Weiss
I love movies. I always have. When I was a kid we had no electronics and TV was still relatively new in the scope of things (only about twenty-five years in the actual commercial market) so there were only a few stations. Movies were the bomb.
As a kid in his young teens I went to the movies more to make out with a girl than to watch the movie. There were only two genders then, male and female, boy and girl, so it was easy. Back then, in my world, if it quacked like a duck…
Anyway, in New York where I grew up on Channel 9, WOR TV, they had a show called Million Dollar Movie. Every week the station ran a movie, the same movie, twice a day for the week. That’s when I met my all-time favorite movie: Here Comes Mr. Jordan. I literally watched it eleven times and I cried every time. I was a little kid then. My mother was still alive (she wouldn’t be for much longer but we didn’t/couldn’t know that at the time) and my world was pretty normally abnormal like every kid’s was, like every family’s was. Because we didn’t have electronics and because all of the “information” we have today was limited back then, we didn’t think about normality. What we were as a family was like what every family in my neighborhood was. Simply, it was and we were.
Here Comes Mr. Jordan was in black and white. It starred Claude Rains, Robert Montgomery and Evelyn Keyes. It’s about a fighter destined to become a champion who is pulled by an inexperienced angel from his plummeting airplane before it crashes so that his soul is pulled from his body just before he dies. He’s not supposed to die yet and the rest of the movie is about him finding another body so he can go on and meet his destiny.
Wonderful, wonderful movie about fate and destiny and true love, about mind and body, about our souls which make us tick and more. It’s been remade several times, at least two that I know of offhand.
I didn’t have a computer until I was forty.
I didn’t have a cell phone until I was in my fifties.
Life was so much better.
As a kid with no electronics, every day after school all the boys on my block met to play ball. We played touch football on the street during football season. We played punch ball and stick ball on the street during baseball season, and we played basketball and softball in the schoolyards where we met up with all the other kids and chose up sides.
The schoolyards were integrated but we didn’t think of them that way. We chose teams by the best pick (best players picked first) not by the color of their skin. We remembered kids by what they did, not by the color of their skin. So when Alfonso Grimes hit a ground ball to anywhere but second base everyone knew not to bother to try to throw him out because he was just too fast. Alfonso Grimes was always first pick, no matter who the captain was.
Those days the only thing that mattered was winning the game. No one had a thought, ever, about everyone being a winner or letting the other side win. Playing to win all the time made us better, gave us inspiration and determination, gave us incentive and purpose.
It was a different time.
In general, now some half-century later, the loonies on the left will destroy us if we let them. They are completely unhinged. In movie terms they are akin to Dr. Frankenstein or the mad scientists. They have perverted and misrepresented what they are about and portend to know what we are about. They are misguided and they are wrong.
Our government in general, in movie terms, well, they’ll be the ones in the gated cities whether those cities are up in the sky like in many movies or in their own protected spaces like in The Hunger Games. We’re the zombies, the masses, the controlled labor forces supporting them.
Question: how does one live with crazed leaders?
By Peter Weiss
They worked. Jimmy G and Bill worked straight through from five-fifteen when the first order came in until nearly nine o’clock when there was a lull for the first time. The board was not completely empty but only a couple of tables were working so that’s when Bill told Jimmy G to head on off to the men’s room and to come back quickly.
While Jimmy was gone more orders came in. Jo Ann was still taking tables and told Bill it looked like she might have to work the whole night. But she was clearly not unhappy. To the contrary, she, Rosie and Edelgarde were quite happy because they were making a lot of money.
By the time Jimmy came back, and at least he came back with two double espressos, the board was near-full again. Bill had started everything. He was able to tell Jimmy exactly what he needed to do and in what order too. Bill was already pushing out orders and he was getting ready to be able to pick up all the orders working without any of them being untimely. Quick in and quick out, that was the way Bill worked, the way he was used to working.
The girls were now, on this Bill’s fourth night in the room, learning just how long to hold orders before turning them in. But Bill did not like that and he told them, once as a group and each individually, not to hold orders. He told them to turn them in and let him know when they did about needing them held. He told them it was a matter of trust and that they needed to trust him because they could only see what they could see but he could see the whole picture.
From five to eleven, Bill did not leave the kitchen once. He and Jimmy, except for that one lull, worked the entire time putting up orders, and then, almost as if it were suddenly, the board emptied out and no orders came in.
“Damn I have to pee,” Bill said to Jimmy G. But he only did so after he’d picked up everything from the grill so it was empty. Jimmy had a few little things, appetizers, he was working, and he told Bill to go ahead.
“Be right back,” he said.
He pretty much ran to the nearest staff bathroom and then he ran back so that he was only gone a moment. When he got back the only thing he had to do was fix Jo Ann’s dinner. She’d ordered a piece of fish but Bill called her over and told her he had some braised tenderloin tips if she wanted them. She was happy to hear that.
She stood by the open server window while Bill warmed the meat up for her. It was easy enough to do in a small sauté pan. Jo Ann watched, watched him not only warm the meat in the sauce but fix the sauce too so it was as he wanted it.
“What did you do?” Jo Ann asked. “You tell all your friends you were working here and to come in for dinner?”
“I just moved up here,” Bill said. “I don’t have any friends.”
“Well I hope it stays like this.”
“It will be what it will be. All we can do is be good at what we do.”
Jo Ann watched carefully as Bill plated her dinner. He made it really nice, made it pretty, gave her scalloped potatoes and mixed vegetables as the sides.
“I’m gonna enjoy this,” she said.
As she was picking up her plate, Caesar came by. He looked at her dinner, looked at Bill.
“Why is she eating steak?” he asked.
“It’s her dinner,” Bill said.
“They can’t eat steak.”
“Talk to the chef,” Bill said.
“Don’t think I won’t,” Caesar said.
Bill laughed to himself. He knew what Caesar didn’t, that Jimmy Banquet Chef had sent it over for them. It’s what they were all eating this night.
By Peter Weiss
Jimmy G and Bill sat down out by Kalista to enjoy a leisurely dinner. Kalista’s salad was enough for anyone for an entire meal, but Jimmy Banquet Chef had sent over braised tenderloin tips for their dinner. Victor came by to join them as did Jimmy Banquet Chef. So they all sat around by Kalista, the Greeks talking rapidly and happily in their native tongue.
Bill listened. He didn’t understand anything, but he was starting to get some of the words, and every so often one of them would stop to tell Bill what they were talking about, particularly if and when it involved him.
The banquet chef was not shy about telling his family about the plans he and the executive chef were making for Bill. First and foremost Bill would stay head-cook-in-charge in The Falstaff Room. That would be his first responsibility. But then he would work all the banquets he wanted whenever he wanted. Jimmy Banquet Chef would keep working Bill in the schedule on a two-week basis, meaning every two weeks he and Bill would be sitting down together to arrange Bill’s work schedule. Bill would get all Sundays off, except if there were banquets, and then he would work every one he wanted.
“You’re gonna work a lot and make a lot of money,” the banquet chef told Bill in the midst of the conversation with his cousins and aunt.
“Good,” Bill said. “I’ll work as much as I can.”
“Good,” Victor said. “The more we can keep it in the family the better for us.”
That’s what it was really about. It was about the banquet chef and his family making money and having a really reliable helping hand there as well.
Banquet cooks were just that. They didn’t work all the time in the hotel. They worked their shifts according to the banquet schedule and so they had no responsibility except to show up. One of the biggest rubs was keeping a crew who showed up all the times they were needed.
The executive chef came by while they all sat eating. He wished them a good meal and went on through the double doors and into the kitchen of The Falstaff Room. Bill gestured to get up and go after him, but Jimmy Banquet Chef bid him stay where he was.
“Let him check everything out,” the banquet chef said. “He’ll probably talk with Caesar too. I think that’s really why he came by.”
So a moment after the executive chef went into the room, the girls came out, first Rosie, then Edelgarde and then Jo Ann. They walked around where the cooks were eating and took coffee for themselves, stood leaning against the wall, drank their coffee and talked among themselves.
“Chef and Caesar talking?” Jimmy Banquet Chef asked them.
“Boy are they talking,” Jo Ann said. “Caesar’s fit to be tied. I thought for a moment he was gonna quit.”
The banquet chef looked at the three waitresses, each set snugly in their French Maid uniform, black today with white apron. They each had white stockings and black shoes on.
“He’ll never quit,” the banquet chef said in his nasal voice. “He’s got it too good and he makes too much money. There’s not another job like his in the city.”
“Well he sure hates Bill,” Edelgarde said.
“Bill is in charge of the food operation now, not him. What Bill says goes. If there’s a dispute with food, you follow what Bill says.” Jimmy Banquet Chef was emphatic in the way he said what he said.
“So that’s what it’s about,” Jo Ann said. “It’s a pissing contest.”
“No,” Victor said in his deep bass voice. “It’s not a contest. Bill here didn’t ask for it and doesn’t even want it, not really. The chef wants it.”
“Ya,” Jimmy G said.
Bill didn’t say anything. He ate every bit of the salad Kalista had made for him and cleaned his plate with a freshly warmed roll.
By Peter Weiss
Jimmy Banquet Chef slid a Heineken toward Bill and then one toward his cousin, Jimmy G. The two Greeks spoke together in their native tongue for a moment and then the banquet chef looked at Bill and said, “Sorry, family stuff.”
“It’s okay,” said Bill. “I’m getting used to it.”
“Caesar’s pissed,” the banquet chef said. “He wants you to fail so he can have full control of the room again. What he doesn’t know is now that it’s like this, with you having final say over the food decisions, no matter who’s in your position, it’s not going back to the way it was.”
“I don’t want to be in charge,” said Bill.
“Sure you do,” the banquet chef said.
“Yeah? Why?”
“Because as soon as your probation is over you’re getting a raise. A good one too. As long as there’s no sous chef, the exec’s gonna be depending upon you more and more. He spoke to someone where you used to work, some manager named Tommy Stevens. He said you were an ace and you can handle responsibility.”
“What about your cousin here?”
“He’s here,” the banquet chef said.
Jimmy G laughed. “I work here, that’s all. Don’t ask me for anything.”
“See? He’s happy too. Any problem, he’ll pass it right along to you.”
Bill sipped his beer. He didn’t say anything.
“So two things,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said. “First, be careful around Caesar. Like I said, you can mess with the girls all you want. Or not. But don’t do anything you shouldn’t do near Caesar. And be polite too. The chef’s already put him in his place and he’s got your back. So be nice.”
“Okay,” Bill said. “And second?”
“Here’s your banquet schedule.” Jimmy Banquet Chef slid a piece of paper across the desk toward Bill. “Let me know if it’s okay.”
Bill took up the paper and gave it a look. He saw that there were no more breakfasts, at least for the next two weeks, which was what the time on the schedule was. But because they were coming into a somewhat busy season leading up to Christmas, they had multiple parties and banquets almost every day and Sundays too. So Bill was scheduled to work every day starting at ten in the morning, meaning four extra overtime hours a day. He was also scheduled to work the next two Sundays, which meant he would be working three weeks straight through.
“Sunday’s double time and a half for you since it’s Sunday and straight overtime.”
“I can do this,” Bill said.
“Good,” the banquet Chef said. “I want you to. And I’ll teach you everything I can.”
“Ya,” Jimmy G said. “Good.”
“He’ll be here too,” the banquet chef said. “He’s my cousin.”
While they were in the chef’s office Jimmy Banquet Chef saw Caesar come by the office. When Caesar saw the three of them in there, he veered off and headed in a different direction.
“Don’t look,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said, “but your boy’s here looking for the exec.”
“Big whoop,” Bill said.
“I’m telling you,” the banquet chef said, “be careful around him.”
They sat then and finished their beers. The banquet chef asked if they wanted another, but neither Bill nor Jimmy G said yes. It was getting time for them to load the truck with the last items needed and head off to work.
First thing they did back in the room was unload the truck. While Bill double checked everything, made sure they had everything they needed, that everything was proper, ready to go and set in order the way he wanted it, Jimmy G parked the truck off to the side in the back corridor and left it there for later. When he returned to the kitchen, everything was done and they were ready.
By Peter Weiss
Jimmy G and Bill were fast and efficient in their rounds. Jimmy G made fresh Hollandaise Sauce while Bill loaded up the truck. He was still making the sauce when Bill was ready to make his first run to the room so Bill went alone. Fourth day, experienced cook, he had it down and knew what he had to do. It was no big deal. Biggest deal was wondering if anyone was going to find out about him and Beverly or him and Millie or both.
They were both in his thoughts as he took the long trip through the passageways and then finally up that last corridor which ended at Kalista’s station and the double doors to the room. Because the room was closed and empty except for Caesar, he took the truck through the double doors and left it in the aisle right by the entrance to the kitchen.
Here in this hotel the steam table was already built. The night cleaners came in every night and scrubbed down everything. Then, when everything was cleaned and ready, they rebuilt the steam table by setting in the dividers and the bottom inserts. All Bill had to do was turn on the water, fill up the steam table and turn on the heat. It was simple and easy. He didn’t even have to scrub the broiler or brush the grills and he never found the grease drawer not having been emptied.
An overflowing grease drawer was what had started that fire at Suburban the day Alvin had run out into the parking lot.
“Shit, I’m a cook, I ain’t no fireman,” he’d said when Bill and Robert confronted him. That was the day that Alfreda had first come on to Bill.
Something about the heat made them hot. Something about the hard work and pressured atmosphere, about the absolute dependency, about the power position of being a cook (though Alfreda and Mary were cooks too), about being together so much in close proximity most of the time, sweating together, brushing up against each other…
Later in his life, Bill would learn that fooling around, fooling around at work, was everywhere all the time. Maybe it was more in restaurants than elsewhere, maybe not, and if it was more frequent, maybe that was because to most of the people working it was just a job, a job most people didn’t want and wouldn’t take if it was handed to them, and these jobs, if you were experienced, were plentiful.
Or, there was little to lose career-wise and even ethically since in reality seven in ten married people cheated. Maybe another factor was that almost everyone was young.
Not Jo Ann. She was early girl like always. She was in at three. By then Jimmy G and Bill were already ninety percent set up. They had one last trip to the main kitchen to make, just for the final things for the night. It was an easy and unrushed trip so they planned to sit with Jimmy Banquet Chef in the executive chef’s office for a beer and a chat. The executive chef at this time of day was usually nowhere to be found.
“Bet we’re going to be busy,” Jo Ann said. Being older, a career waitress and mother of two college-age children, she was all business. She didn’t mess around and wasn’t interested in the drama. All she was interested in was making money.
“I hope so,” Bill said. “I don’t like sitting around.”
Jo Ann took a moment to stand face-to-face with Bill and smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re our cook,” she said. “I hope you’re planning to stay a while.”
By Peter Weiss
Half the winter is gone. January was a gentle month this year. I remember back. Two of the first three years we’ve been in the northeast had brutal winters, one of them with record snowfalls and accumulations over 115 inches.
Beautiful, but brutal.
We had to get rid of a nice, relatively new two-wheel drive car for a four-wheel drive. That two-wheel drive car, with our hilly driveway, was a nine month car.
Global warming? Climate change? No. I’m not a naysayer, but really, they’re all winging it and they’re winging it according to their own agendas. It’s just the weather. They haven’t been tracking the climate long enough to know anything other than that we should be careful and do what we can. Those crazy predictions are just that, crazy, crazy proposals to effectively destroy our economy.
For personal gain and power?
Al Gore? A politician scorned. He turned his ire into a quarter of a million dollar climate change empire. Does he do anything for the environment? Personally? Like in his sacrifices regarding home living and travel?
No! That’s for us commoners, of course. It’s not for them, for him.
That tremendous bastion of truth, EW, Elizabeth Warren, her latest craziness is to say we can do something about the Coronavirus by re-joining the Paris Accord.
My God!
Oops. Forgot. Not supposed to use that word because believing in God, invoking Him, even in a totally non-religious context, upsets some people’s sensibilities.
So I said last time that my father was Big Red One. Go Army! Later in his life he was fond of saying that our country was going down the tubes, that if we didn’t change our attitudes toward certain things, we’d just go down that much faster. All that he’d fought and sacrificed for would then be in vain.
So I think that if Martin Luther King Jr. were alive today and saw that he was replaced by Al Sharpton as the civil rights leader, he would simply have a heart attack and die, this time of natural causes. Where he is, he must be spinning in his grave. And up there, he must be thinking that, and maybe he talks to God about it, this free choice stuff ain’t so great. Human kind’s free choice has become one based upon personal self-interest. Money, money, money.
So did you ever wonder? I do.
How come all those Despicable Democrats who are pushing the socialist agenda are capitalists? And the ones pushing the environmental stuff are the most egregious abusers of the very environmental agenda they’re trying to shove down our throats.
Interesting. At least I think so. I relate this to The Hunger Games scenario, to the Resident Evil scenario. We’re the zombies and all those Despicable Dems, Hillary and all her cronies, and Nancy and all hers, will be safe in the gated city.
It’s not by mistake that Hollywood and the uber-rich media people push socialism. Whoopi is worth about 45 million. Joy about 12 million. Hillary about a quarter of a billion. Even the big O, Obama, is now worth about 70 million. Not bad since he was barely a millionaire when he entered the White House.
So it’s what my father-in-law used to say. Man is by nature selfish and greedy.
And just about everything being pushed at us and thrust upon us by our leaders, most noticeably these days by the Despicable Democrats, is a load of propaganda aimed at suiting only them and their rich media friends, Pravda USA.
