So which shoes do you wear? Are you one of those people who see things on social media and don’t bother to check them out? Do you then take them and repost them on your social media outlets? Are you one of those people who actually believe any of the ridiculous things that come from either the left or the right?
Or are you one of those people who checks out everything? Are you one of those people who understands that facts are facts and facts are incontrovertible? There may be different facts formulated by different outlets, so when that’s the case are you one of those people who checks out all the sets of facts and attempts at least to determine which ones are real and which ones are fabricated?
Are you one of those people who believe in suppression? Or are you one of those people who believe in free expression and the exercise of free rights? Are you one of those people who sees beyond the hypocrisy of both the left and the right? Or are you one of those people who subscribe to one side’s hypocrisy?
Well, some of these are pretty hard questions. They’re pretty hard because we all wear different shoes. They’re hard because we all feel different ways about ourselves and each of us have different reasoning capacities and different senses of self-gratification.
Do you really think that putting President Trump’s Supreme Court pick onto the court will really kill millions of women? Do you really believe that the second he’s put on the Supreme Court Roe v Wade will be immediately overturned? Or are you capable of seeing that these are hyperbole and not even responsible hyperbole? In one fell swoop the lefties have gone from pushing grandma over the cliff in a wheelchair, what they’ve accused the Republicans of in the past, to having their Supreme Court nominee kill millions of women. No matter which shoes you wear, it just doesn’t make sense. Furthermore, it’s irresponsible to advance such divisive rhetoric.
It goes on and on and it gets worse and worse. No matter who is put on the Supreme Court, it won’t be the end of the world, as the lefties have already said. Not only will it not be the end of the world, but it won’t be the end of the Constitution or the Republic or the democracy. Those who insist that it will be any of this and do it with a straight face have really jumped off the deep end along with a whole host of the lefties.
That’s not to say that the righties are always right or right about everything or right even most of the time. But they’re not always wrong about everything or maybe even most things. The righties simply wear a different pair of shoes and have their own personal interests.
So the real issue is always what we really want for our country. Do we want a country that suppresses people’s rights in the name of advancing people’s rights? Do we want a country that does not ascribe to its own laws? Do we want a country whose government spends most of its time arguing back and forth on political terms rather than looking for the realities of what’s going on in this country and then looking for solutions to the problems at hand?
These are really hard questions too. They’re hardest because we all wear different shoes. However, no matter which shoes you do wear, we ought to be critical of and ashamed of the Congress we’ve elected. And we ought to check out our minds about how we elect our officials. And we surely ought to be asking ourselves if this is the best we can do.
By Peter Weiss
Jimmy Banquet Chef filled a pint soda bottle with whiskey and closed it with the cork from a wine bottle. He also put a six-pack of imported beer on the kitchen truck.
The chef, maybe all chefs did, kept a box on his desk with all kinds of things to close bottles. Inside that box were twist caps, corks and some plastic stoppers that would fit various-sized bottles. The most commonly used closure item was a cork.
The second trip out for Bill and Jimmy G was all about food supplies. They carried the first of the hams and turkeys as well as the prime rib. They carried the sauces for each item, a gravy for the turkey, a sweet-glaze sauce for the ham, au jus for the prime rib. They carried a pan of vegetables and a backup pan, a pan of stuffing and pans of potatoes, one mashed the other yams.
They had laid in all the regular menu items on that first trip and the only things left were to check and replenish all the condiments and decorative items. Today there was no room for error, or at least that’s what Bill surmised from what they had told him about Christmas days past.
Before they unloaded the truck, Jimmy G gave his aunt the little whiskey bottle and two beers. She did not hide these or make any pretense to do so. She simply put the whiskey in her kitchen drawer and the beer in her underneath reach-in cooler. One thing about Kalista, she didn’t care if Caesar saw her doing anything she did. She didn’t care about anyone seeing her do whatever she did. In and of herself, she was not only an icon there, but she was also the matriarch of much of the main kitchen help there.
Before the boys headed out on their last trip to and from the main kitchen, they stopped by Kalista. Kalista had prepared espresso for them all only she had made a lot of it and put the black liquid into coffee mugs. She handed them to her two boys with a big smile and when Bill went to put the coffee to his lips he understood why. Kalista had laced the espresso with whiskey.
“Health,” she said.
“To a good day,” Bill said.
“Ya,” Jimmy G said.
They stayed a moment all together and drank their coffee. Then Bill looked at the clock and saw it was time to start making that last trip. The one thing he did not want to do this day was not be ready at the start. Starting behind pretty much meant running behind the whole way if it was busy. If it was non stop, like they all said it would be, starting behind meant, or could certainly mean, running behind all day.
Once the truck was fully loaded, they stopped into the chef’s office. The banquet chef was sitting in the chef’s chair with his feet up on the chef’s desk. He was looking mighty comfortable there.
“What’s up boys?” he asked. “You ready?”
Bill and Jimmy G both sat down in the arm chairs facing the desk.
“Good to go,” Bill said.
“Have another drink and another beer before you head out,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said. “I’ll be running the food with Victor. Personally. We have everything all set up and will be able to get anything you need to you at a moment’s notice.”
“Ya,” Jimmy G said. “You know what to do.”
Bill and Jimmy G both got up. Jimmy G poured the drinks. Bill went to the window where the curtain was drawn. He peeked through a corner of the curtain and saw Victor coming into the office. Not many people were at the buffet table, he saw. The room service cooks were tending to the food. Bill could see they were not replenishing items because very shortly now they would be switching out the breakfast fare for lunch foods and the day’s specials. As a courtesy to the staff, all of whom were stuck away from their families to work one of the biggest of family holidays, the kitchen was offering unlimited, free, holiday fare.
By Peter Weiss
America is more divided than ever before. We hear this statement made over and over. Actually we hear a lot of things nowadays, especially with 24/7 cable news channels which not only say a lot of things, but say them over and over and over. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe it isn’t. Regardless, it is a fact of our life.
I wonder: are we more divided than we were during the Civil War times? Than during the Viet Nam War times? What do they mean by divided? Do they, whoever they are, mean divided politically? Racially? By religion? Culture? By economics?
Which station(s) do you watch? Which newspapers do you read? Do you get your news from social media? Do you pay any attention to the news at all? I mean, one of my friends recently said that now that marijuana was legal in his state he was just gonna chill out for the rest of his life and not pay any attention to this ridiculous stuff.
Your answers to the questions above tend to define which shoes you wear, especially if you subscribe exclusively to one grouping of any of them. Our shoes are determined, very often, by where we’re born, to whom we’re born, our parents’ experiences and beliefs and their socio-economic status.
No matter which shoes you wear, however, on some level what’s going on in this country is ridiculous, even in the realm of the absurd. Actually it’s in the realm of the theater of the absurd. But on another level it is very real, especially if the effects of what’s going on impact your income, benefits, taxes, services or education.
Once again, as said before, this is tough stuff. Remember, about fifty per cent of the American population doesn’t pay taxes and many of these people get money back from the government. They wear one set of shoes. Those who pay taxes wear a different set of shoes. Those people who have children benefit from free public education. Those with no children who pay taxes pay for the public education of people with children. These groups wear different sets of shoes. In America, such groupings are numerous and varied. Some people in America aren’t here legally and still get money and benefits from the government, this despite what the government would have you believe. These people wear a different set of shoes. If you’ve been waiting to immigrate here legally and have tried to do it the right way, you wear one pair of shoes. If you’re the illegal collecting benefits, you wear a different set.
Different points of view, depending upon which shoes you wear is a characteristic trademark of America. It is one of our greatest strengths. It can also be one of our greatest weaknesses, especially when we let the priorities our country was founded upon deteriorate into ridiculousness. For example, in certain states one can be fined, even put in jail for using the wrong pronoun. Imagine that! For another example, during the Obama administration if one’s findings on climate change contradicted theirs, one could be prosecuted. Imagine that! When our rights are suppressed because of the shoes we wear, our country’s values have been diminished and we as a free country are in peril.
Which shoes do you wear? Maybe you wear many different shoes. Maybe not. Whichever shoes you wear though, you should be free to wear them without fear of being suppressed for wearing them.
By Peter Weiss
The girls, Rosie, Edelgarde and Jo Ann had Christmas uniforms. They were more modest, cut higher and fuller on top so as not to show much bosom and cut lower and longer on bottom so as not to show anything there. They still bore resemblance to French Maids’ uniforms, just not the general “man” idea of French Maid uniform. They were green and red in design, all Christmas with the traditional Christmas ornament decorative pattern one might see on Christmas wrapping paper.
No one looked happy. Bill and Jimmy G were more happy than the others out there, or so it seemed. They had taken another shot of whiskey and carted a beer apiece on their kitchen truck. First thing they did inside their little kitchen was open their beer bottles and take a drink.
Instead of quiet as one might have thought it would be, The Falstaff Room was bustling. The girls were busy making sure everything was set and that they had not only back-ups for everything but back-ups for the back-ups. Caesar was overseeing everything, and while he had not come to the kitchen yet, he was visible at most times. Bill saw he was in his usual tux but that he had a Christmas bow tie.
Jimmy G and Bill worked steadily to unload their truck. The routine was a touch different, not much. Since they had different menu items, the steam table needed some adjustment. The ham, turkey, two types of potatoes and stuffing all needed to go there as did the sauces for them. Technically, for the turkey it was gravy. Gravy was still a sauce.
When they were done unloading they finished their beer and headed out. Because Caesar was on their cases, the girls had not come by at all. Bill was glad for that. He was hoping to be able to keep up a little buzz, which he had now, and simply work through the day. That was the plan. Since they had all warned him about how busy it was going to be, he was hoping the day would speed by and be gone.
Kalista was busy at her work as Bill and Jimmy G came out to make the trip back to the main kitchen. They could see she was not a happy camper. It was written all over her face. It was obvious in her body language. Seeing her boys, she launched into a monologue, a heated monologue, in Greek. Jimmy did not say anything until she was done. When she was finished, he turned to Bill and told him that she said some things he couldn’t repeat, but that the gist of what she was saying was that she did not want to be there. She wanted to be home, and she would have been, so she said as Jimmy translated it, if her great niece, the banquet chef’s daughter, would have worked. After all, her father was working and she could have spent the day with him.
“Ya,” was all Jimmy G said. Then he asked her if she wanted a beer, and she said definitely yes and some whiskey too. Then she turned to Bill.
“I make you an espresso,” she said. “And then later when we have time, I tell you what your friend Caesar did to that waitress. It’s your Christmas present.”
Her boys started down the ramp. She watched them and then behind them they heard something crash so they parked the truck and headed back up. Kalista was standing outside her serving area. On the floor was small stack of broken dishes.
“They fell,” she said. She had a big smirk on her face and as she stood there she was looking down at her legs to make sure she had not gotten cut by splashing dishware.
“You okay?” Bill asked.
“I feel much better,” she said after looking around to see they were alone.
Didn’t take long for everyone to come out of the dining room. Rosie was first, then Edelgarde and Jo Ann. Caesar came out last.
By Peter Weiss
As the morning wore on the aroma of the hams filled the kitchen more than anything else. Great stuff was cooking, really great stuff.
The hams emitted that honey, maple, sugary scent, a smell that at first was so tempting you felt like you could eat a whole ham but which after awhile became so overbearing you couldn’t stand it in your nostrils.
Later in his career, when he worked in New York and was one of the top sauciers in the city, Bill would have to make fifteen gallons of curry sauce at least once every week, sometimes twice. On top of that, at least once every two weeks, and usually more because it also came up on banquets, he would have to make Cream Senegalese.
It didn’t happen all at once, but after awhile Bill couldn’t stomach the smell of the curry. No matter how much he washed his hands and how long he showered and shampooed his hair when he got home, he couldn’t get away from the smell.
Forget about eating curry. Ever!
So when he was a kid Bill had a friend named Alan whose father was part owner in Barricini Candy. His friend went on to marry his high school sweetheart, invent a deodorant and then some. But he had to work in one of the candy stores and lots of times Bill went with him, to work and to hang out.
Alan’s father also owned a piece of a movie theater, the RKO Keith’s in Flushing. Alan got free passes to the theater all the time and so Bill and Alan and Alan’s girlfriend and her friend, who went with Bill because they were young and had to be on double-dates, went to the movies a lot and sat up in the last rows of the balcony making out.
Bill was thinking about the candy store experience the more the ham smell got to him. At first it was a swell smell, really swell. They would stop the rotary and baste the hams, pans of them, and then start the rotary again.
The ham smell getting near-nauseating as the day wore on caused Bill to remember everything, especially those times in the movie theater. Under The Boardwalk.
The hams were beautiful too. Golden, then maple, then a light maple-brown. The cooks glazed each one with a brown-sugar glaze that made it shine.
By comparison, the turkeys, which were also beautiful, golden and succulent, were almost non-smelling, not because they didn’t have their own aroma but because the ham aroma smothered them.
To the people who came to the buffet in the kitchen, the people who just caught the whiffs, ate and cut out, that ham smelled swell. It was swell because as the morning wore on it was put out on the buffet to eat. To Bill and Jimmy G, who both had to serve it all day, it was something they wouldn’t really choose from the selection.
Turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and yams, that was one fare they were preparing. Ham and choice of stuffing or potato was a second fare they were preparing. But they were running the regular menu too, just a little modified. Steaks and chops were all being served, as was the fish. Only things not being served were the lobster tails and frog legs. The idea was to limit the sauté so that both Bill and Jimmy G could concentrate on the specials.
Basic idea, from past experience, was to turn over the room as many times as possible. Many hotel guests had called down to make reservations and they already had multiple turns of the room. This meant, and they all knew this, it was going to be a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am day and the goal was to make sure the food put out was not just good, but Falstaff Room great.
About ten-thirty, almost everything was done. Bill and Jimmy G were already loading up their truck for the first trip out. The room was opening for dinner at noon.
By Peter Weiss
Toward the end of the Trump administration, the wife one of my cousins de-friended me on facebook because she did not agree with my political positions.
That’s well and good, really. That’s America, the ability to disagree.
Wasn’t good enough to de-friend me. She had make a big pronouncement of it, a public spectacle of it, if you will.
Her choice. Still America.
Bottom line of what she did, and maybe she doesn’t care, is that I probably won’t ever speak to my cousin again. He’s old, I’m getting old. We probably will have no more actual interplay on this earth.
I’m saddened. What I feel is a deep sadness.
I’m a writer. I write fiction and non-fiction. You can like or not like my fiction. You can agree with or disagree with my opinion pieces. As you wish. That’s America.
I’m also a researcher. Researchers learn to only cite peer-reviewed and accepted sources, those that are based upon scholarly study. They also learn to check out all sources to examine their veracity. They are taught that when one study is paid for by an entity who then determines it’s veracity — well then something smells funny.
You know like all the environmental studies our government relies upon, that our government has paid for and continues to pay for and whose funding depends upon results that support our government’s position. Stinks a little bit.
Researches also learn that when censorship comes into play, which is why 90% of the American people don’t believe the mainstream media anymore and less than 20% approve of our Senators and Congressmen — well then something smells funny and something is fishy.
As a free and curious person, that which they don’t want me to know is precisely what I want to know.
I don’t sit at an electronic device and press “like” then indiscriminately re-post other people’s opinions. I certainly don’t re-post without checking the veracity of what’s being said.
Of course I feel that my personal opinion is right. It’s my opinion. But I don’t criticize, threaten, hate or call names at people who don’t agree with me.
Such vitriol is well…deeply saddening.
Yesterday I happened to see a remark on facebook by a different cousin, same family. It was so filled with venom that I wondered how such ugliness came to be. My uncle, the father of this cousin, was the sweetest man in the whole world. My mother and he deeply loved each other as siblings. Of all the siblings, he was the most sensitively emotional and wonderfully sweet and caring.
I’m shocked that such a public display could come from a child of his. I’m further shocked that some of the “family” could simply like and/or approve of such a public display.
Where and when did we come to believe that such a tantrum could and should be publicly displayed?
It’s this publicly expressed and then the herd-like approval of such ugliness that makes me feel deeply sad.
All together, I fear we’ve lost what matters most within ourselves.
By Peter Weiss
Chloe and Millie were at the buffet table when Bill as the others came out of the chef’s office. They were standing alone together off to the side, each with their own plate of food. They had settled by a kitchen truck where they could put their coffee cups down and eat comfortably.
Bill was not very hungry but he absolutely loved the breakfast sausage and bacon, so he took a generous helping of each on a plate with some scrambled eggs and home fries. As he took it, he knew he would not finish it. But that didn’t matter to him. He went over to where Chloe and Millie were, set his plate down on the kitchen truck and went off to get himself a coffee.
“The chef tells me you’re a really good cook,” Chloe said when Bill returned.
“That’s nice to know,” said Bill.
“Your probation is up at the end of January. I checked.”
“Just a formality now,” Bill said. “You must know Caesar doesn’t like me and was trying to 86 me. Not being on probation will protect me against that. Otherwise, it doesn’t mean much. I won’t be changing behaviors or anything like that.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” said Chloe.
Bill set his coffee on the cart and took up his plate. Before he could take anything from it to eat, Millie reached in and took herself a sausage link.
Bill watched the whole thing, saw her slim, svelte, what-he-thought-were-gorgeous fingers wrap around that link. He noted the fingernails, meticulously painted, and wanted to suck them right there. Then he saw her seductively slip that sausage between her lips and bite on it.
No sooner had Millie done that than Chloe did exactly the same thing. Her fingers were nice too, long, thin and nicely tapered with fingernails painted same color as Millie’s. She reached to his plate, took a sausage link and slid it between her lips. As she did so, she looked at Bill and winked.
“New Year’s day will be very busy here,” said Chloe. “The banquet chef tells me you have parties too and you’ll be here all day. “No rest for the wicked.”
Bill smiled. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard this saying recently. He didn’t have much rest now and he wouldn’t have much rest until the banquet season was completely over and The Falstaff Room business quieted down. Bu this was a good thing because he could remember — he would always remember — being broke, down and out and having to borrow rent money from his brother every month.
“Idle hands make the devils ’workshop,” he responded.
“Seems to me we’re in the devil’s workshop here. I know just about everything and I have spies everywhere.”
Chloe slipped the rest of the sausage between her lips. “I’m looking forward to really meeting you,” she said.
Soon as she said it, she turned to Millie. Millie reached into Bill’s plate and helped herself to a rasp of bacon. “She means it,” she said.
Bill knew she meant it but just what it meant was the uncertainty. He had a pretty good idea. Not only did he have a pretty good idea, but he had a good idea of the time frame too.
“I think I’ll come out to eat in The Falstaff Room tonight,” said Chloe. “The ham looks good. So does the turkey. And I hear you’re really good on the grill.”
“Tell the girls to let me know it’s you. I’ll make it special.”
“I may bring Millie with me.”
“Even better,” Bill said. “What kind of spies?” he asked.
“All different kinds,” Chloe said. She winked at Bill again. “So I know you do all the work out there, or just about. And I know all your extracurricular activities too. And I know the Greek mafia has adopted you and the chef likes you. Millie does too.”
“I’m standing right here,” Millie said.
“I know, darling,” Chloe replied to her.
By Peter Weiss
Jimmy G, Victor and the banquet chef were still there. They weren’t doing anything, just sitting around and conversing in Greek.
Bill went straight to his locker and changed into a clean uniform. His uniforms were always sharp, always starched and bright-white. The only other kitchen help that had uniforms of this quality were the chefs.
“His girlfriend keeps him sharp,” the banquet chef said.
“She keeps him hot,” Jimmy G. said.
They all laughed. While they laughed and had a good time at Bill’s expense, Victor took a bottle of whiskey and some Dixie cups from his locker. He spread the cups out on the bench before the lockers and poured a good double shot into each of them. Done pouring, he capped the bottle and left it out on the bench. Jimmy Banquet Chef, because he was the boss, handed a cup to each of them.
“Cheers boys,” he said.
“Merry Christmas,” Victor said.
Jimmy G did not say anything. He drank quickly and reached for the bottle.
Bill said, “Cheers,” and drank his down.
“Good stuff,” Victor said.
“Good stuff,” the banquet chef said.
“All we need is a beer chaser,” Bill said.
“I have beer,” the banquet chef said. “Upstairs.”
“I could go for a nice cold one,” Bill said.
“Me too,” said Victor. “Let’s have another shot.”
Jimmy G already held the bottle. He waited for everyone to set their cup down and then poured. He filled the cups higher than Victor had.
“Happy days,” the banquet chef said.
“This one’s gonna be happy,” Bill said. He was already feeling the buzz and it surely wasn’t unpleasant.
“I think it is,” the banquet chef said. “No chef, just me. So boys, we’ll go up and have a beer or two and then get everything ready for The Falstaff Room. We’ll get something to eat too.
Bill made sure his street clothes were hung up properly and that everything was in place inside his locker. He took his knives that were set in a towel roll, slammed the metal door closed and clicked the lock shut. Jimmy G and Victor did the same.
They walked in pairs to the main kitchen, Jimmy Banquet Chef with Bill and Victor and Jimmy G together. For the most part, the entire place was deserted. Altogether, the hotel was set to run on a skeleton crew. Security was there but limited. Housekeeping was there, maids on every floor but half the crew that normally worked on any given day shift. Maintenance was present, especially those that tended to the heat, electricity and plumbing. Room service and one breakfast dining room were open, but the dining room this morning was buffet style. The room service cooks were working hard for a change, keeping the guest buffet stocked and the kitchen buffet set.
The four of them went into the chef’s office after Jimmy Banquet Chef opened it with his key. Through the glass window they could see all the help that was in the kitchen, a good deal of people, most of them congregating and chatting, all of them with plates that they were eating from.
“Get something to eat, boys,” the banquet chef said.
“Where’s the beer?” Bill asked.
Jimmy Banquet Chef pointed to a large half refrigerator in the corner of the office. Bill went over and opened it, found it full of expensive, imported beer. He pulled out four bottles and set them on the chef’s desk.
The banquet chef laughed. “While the cat’s away,” he said.
Jimmy G handed Bill the chef’s chef’s knife and smiled. It was funny because no one ever touched the chef’s knives.
Carefully, much more carefully than if it were one of the kitchen’s knives, he used the back of the blade end and his fingers to open the beers. When they were all opened he set the knife back in its place.
“Cheers boys,” the banquet chef said.
They drank their beer happily and when they were ready they headed out together to get some breakfast from the buffet table.
By Peter Weiss
The Sound of Silence
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light, I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
“Fools”, said I, “You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you”
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls”
And whispered in the sound of silence
How stupid are we?
Talking about America, there seems to be no limit to the depth of our stupidity, the depth of the pit of stupidity we have fallen into. It’s rather amazing actually. Think about it. When the Soviet Union collapsed and the Berlin wall came down, the United States was the only world power. In the thirty years since then we have allowed Russia to regain its world-power status and we have allowed China to become a world power. China’s economy has overtaken ours and just recently, for the first time ever, the dollar is no longer the world currency.
So how stupid are we? Well, how stupid can you be?
The war on poverty has been going on for fifty-two years, since 1965. We’ve poured twenty-three billion dollars into it. That’s 23,000,000,000. For that money there has been no real noticeable change in the poverty rate and no real change in the demographics of the people in poverty. Yet we continue down the same road. Stupid?
As regards education, we spend more per capita than any other country and yet we rank a whopping twenty-seventh in the world in education. Now that’s a big bang for the buck. Furthermore, segregation was outlawed in 1954 and yet our schools are becoming more and more segregated. The rate at which segregation is occurring continues to increase.
Stupid?
It gets better. There are those who fought against segregation who now insist they have a right to their own spaces, or they insist that whites not be allowed into certain spaces. Well then…
Stupid? You bet
Just as stupid and actually most dangerous to our society is the disregard shown for logic and facts. Replacing logic and facts are feelings and subjectivity. The gender identity laws exemplify this. But that raises a controversial issue and God forbid that should happen. So let’s put it this way. Mr. X doesn’t have any cash and can’t buy that five-dollar super mochaccino he wants because he left his wallet in his Porsche. He feels poor. He identifies with poor people at that moment. In accordance with the gender identity rules, he is poor. He identifies himself as poor, ergo, by the new rules, he is poor. If that happened on April 15th, Mr. X should be eligible for not paying taxes and even getting an earned income credit.
Stupid? Beyond stupid. How stupid can we be?
Let’s see. Remember “you have to sign it to see what’s in it?” Stupid? Well, what’s even more stupid is that she’s still in office and the head of her party. She’s not stupid. She didn’t have to read it because she doesn’t have to deal with it. She and her cronies voted themselves an exception so they could stay on the government congressional plan. That’s the Cadillac of Cadillacs plan.
Stupid? Not them! Us. More than half of them are millionaires And they way their positions work, they don’t really have to pay for anything. Our tax dollars pay for everything. Or, they’re having a great, self-enriching time on our dime. So how stupid can we be?
Russia. Russia’s goal is to create chaos here in America. Well, look at what our media has been pushing for the last four years and more. Look at what the party of opposition, now leadership and in control, has done. How stupid are we as a people and as a nation? Haven’t we played right into Putin’s hands? China’s hands? Stupid.
Well, aren’t we stupid for allowing all this to go on? Aren’t we more stupid for continuing to fund it?
Finally, as the liberals push left toward the welfare state and socialism, history tells us that capitalism and the free market pay for the bulk of all charity work done throughout the world. It also tells us that no socialist government thus far has ever managed to succeed. Why would we push toward that which we know will fail?
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Really, how stupid are we? Pretty damn stupid.
