Just like Dr. Frankenstein, President Barack Obama labored behind closed doors, night after long night, experimenting with how he could bring to life the creature that would ensure his legacy.
There were many setbacks along the way, but at long last, by shredding the Constitution and repudiating the will of the American people, Obamacare now lives.
America used to be a representative republic. We would elect a president, senators, and members of Congress, and they would represent us in Washington. By virtue of their desire to be re-elected, they would, for the most part, do at least a passable job of expressing the will of their constituents.
That was back in the old days, when we had government of the people, by the people, and for the people.
Now we are in the Obama era, and Chicago-style thug politics have come to Washington. Now it is government taking from the people and sticking it to the people. Political bribery and strong-arm tactics now decide the course of legislation. One congressman was even accosted in the House gymnasium shower room by a naked White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emmanuel. That is the Chicago way.
Could anyone over the age of 40, who has some historical perspective and memory of how our democratic institutions used to function, ever have imagined, before last Sunday, that a piece of legislation that was so loudly and bitterly opposed by two-thirds of the voters could become the law of the land?
The American people have fought against this bill for over a year. Public support for this government health-care takeover has steadily declined, especially in the past six months. We the people have spoken, loudly and clearly.
Even the voters in ultra-liberal Massachusetts elected a Republican, Scott Brown, to the Senate earlier this year because he promised to oppose Obamacare. The members of Congress know full well that we do not want this. So what was the response of our elected representatives to the will of "we the people"?
Basically, the Democrats in Congress have just flipped us the bird.
Call me crazy, but I doubt that this is the kind of democracy that Thomas Jefferson or James Madison had in mind. This is the trashing of the whole concept of majority rule. This is the will of the American people being overthrown by the secretive plotting of a small political elite.
This is a coup.
It is now clear that there is NOTHING that will stop the socialists in our Congress from trampling on our liberties. They do not intend to represent us. They intend to rule us.
We are no longer citizens in a free society. We are now subjects being dictated to by a government that does not care what we think.
So King Obama, despite the desires of his subjects, shoved and cajoled and threatened and wheeled and dealed until at last, in yet another long weekend marathon legislative session, he managed to ram through a government takeover of the American health care system. And just to rub salt in our wounds, he also took over the student loan program at the same time.
It's all in the fine print, you know -- and there is a LOT of fine print in the thousands of pages of this bill that no one has really had time to read. As Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the House (and third in line for the Presidency) so eloquently put it recently, "We have to pass the bill so that you can find out what is in it."
Nancy Pelosi is the poster child for what is wrong with America in 2010. When asked a few months ago if the provisions in the health care proposals that required people to purchase insurance were constitutional, Speaker Pelsoi responded incredulously, "You're kidding, right? Let's have a serious question."
When the Speaker of the House does not consider the constitutionality of proposed legislation to be a serious question, the future of our republic is in serious danger. The powers that be no longer even pretend to care about the Constitution.
A lot of Americans got fooled in the last election by a smooth-talking snake-oil salesman who wanted to be president so he could "transform" America. Well, we've been transformed. Do you feel better now?
We need to be angry. We need to stay angry. We need to focus like a laser on taking back control of our country from the charlatans who sweet-talked us into voting for "hope and change" in 2008.
We have one chance to save this country, for ourselves and for our children. There is an election looming this November. (Unless, of course, King Obama can persuade Congress that elections are no longer necessary, since he has the country under such benevolent control.)
Our only hope is to replace the members of Congress who voted for this abomination, and elect conservative representatives who actually respect the rule of law, and believe in the ideals of our Constitution. If we allow this regime to stay in control after the way they have flipped us off, then democracy in America is lost forever.
If we do not stand up, loudly and forcefully, and repudiate this coup at the ballot box this November, I do not believe there will be anything in the future that can stop the socialists who control Washington from doing anything they desire. As long as these people are in power, our liberties are in constant jeopardy.
The fulfillment of the socialist dream for America is at hand. Unless we reverse course, soon we will all be truly equal: equally poor, equally powerless, and equally enslaved by our government.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Pitching For America
Pat Buchanan takes an objective look at the brouhaha that erupted recently when Senator Bunning, Republican from Kentucky, had the integrity to insist that Congress adhere to the newly-passed "Pay-Go" budget rule. He was crucified in the press for his trouble.
"If we cannot pay for a bill that all 100 senators support," Senator Bunning asked, "how can we tell the American people with a straight face that we will ever pay for anything?" READ MORE
"If we cannot pay for a bill that all 100 senators support," Senator Bunning asked, "how can we tell the American people with a straight face that we will ever pay for anything?" READ MORE
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Obama Should Thank George Bush
As a public service to the millions of world wide readers of this blog, I will begin today to post occasional links to news and commentary that I deem worthy of your consideration. Hopefully you will agree. Today's link goes to an excellent editorial from the Washington Times. READ MORE
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Can Common Sense Survive A Lawsuit?
Indiana Democrats are at it again. They are still squawking about Indiana's Voter ID law.
Even after being defeated two years ago in a 6-3 decision from the United States Supreme Court, they just can't stop whining about having to play fair at election time. Now they are taking a different approach, trying to pick apart the law as violating the Indiana Constitution.
The League of Women Voters' latest attack on the law finally made it to the Indiana Supreme Court two weeks ago. It is anyone's guess how long the court will take to decide on the issue. The lawsuit alleges that the two exemptions from the photo ID rule -- for absentee ballots and residents of nursing homes -- violate the Indiana Constitution's "Equal Privileges and Immunities Clause."
In essence, the lawsuit feigns concern that it is unfair to the rest of us if Indiana makes an exception for grandma so she doesn't have to leave the nursing home to obtain a picture ID from the BMV.
Please, give me oxygen.
Let's put on our grown-up pants and consider this situation with a little common sense.
You have to show ID to get your food stamps. You have to show ID to buy cigarettes and alcohol. You have to show ID at the pharmacy, or to cash a check. It is not unreasonable for any government agency or private business to require valid identification in the course of a transaction.
If someone does not have a driver's license, and is not willing to make the nominal effort required to obtain their FREE state government ID, I can't help but conclude that they don't consider voting a high priority. And if they are that apathetic, they shouldn't be in a voting booth anyway.
Voting is the most important transaction any of us will ever make. The integrity of elections is crucial to maintaining our constitutional government. Elections have serious consequences. Just ask the people who voted for Barack Obama on a whim in the last election!
Nobody is denying anybody the right to vote. This is not a matter of discrimination, this is a matter of safeguarding the foundation of our republic -- free and fair elections. I am amazed that a Voter ID law wasn't passed years ago.
The tales of election fraud, especially in Democratic strongholds in northwestern Indiana, are legion. There have been instances of a precinct's total vote count exceeding the total number of voters registered in that precinct -- an especially amazing statistic when you consider that voter turnout normally averages below 50%.
Just as in other states, many of our deceased citizens have been known to cast ballots, so dedicated are they to their civic duties. Other election hi-jinks, such as homeless people being transported from precinct to precinct, their multiple votes having been bought with cigarettes, have been an open secret for years.
Politics can be a dirty business. The allure of power, and the money that comes with it, often bring out the worst in human nature. Voter fraud contaminates our political system, and steals from us the right to choose who will decide our future.
The only way to protect ourselves from election fraud is a strong Voter ID law. Without it, it is too easy for crooks to steal elections. If we want to keep the foxes out of the hen-house, we had better make sure that the foxes only get one vote apiece.
Call me crazy, but the fact that our state Democratic Party refuses to let this issue rest makes me wonder: Are Indiana Democrats just afraid that they can't win in an honest election?
Even after being defeated two years ago in a 6-3 decision from the United States Supreme Court, they just can't stop whining about having to play fair at election time. Now they are taking a different approach, trying to pick apart the law as violating the Indiana Constitution.
The League of Women Voters' latest attack on the law finally made it to the Indiana Supreme Court two weeks ago. It is anyone's guess how long the court will take to decide on the issue. The lawsuit alleges that the two exemptions from the photo ID rule -- for absentee ballots and residents of nursing homes -- violate the Indiana Constitution's "Equal Privileges and Immunities Clause."
In essence, the lawsuit feigns concern that it is unfair to the rest of us if Indiana makes an exception for grandma so she doesn't have to leave the nursing home to obtain a picture ID from the BMV.
Please, give me oxygen.
Let's put on our grown-up pants and consider this situation with a little common sense.
You have to show ID to get your food stamps. You have to show ID to buy cigarettes and alcohol. You have to show ID at the pharmacy, or to cash a check. It is not unreasonable for any government agency or private business to require valid identification in the course of a transaction.
If someone does not have a driver's license, and is not willing to make the nominal effort required to obtain their FREE state government ID, I can't help but conclude that they don't consider voting a high priority. And if they are that apathetic, they shouldn't be in a voting booth anyway.
Voting is the most important transaction any of us will ever make. The integrity of elections is crucial to maintaining our constitutional government. Elections have serious consequences. Just ask the people who voted for Barack Obama on a whim in the last election!
Nobody is denying anybody the right to vote. This is not a matter of discrimination, this is a matter of safeguarding the foundation of our republic -- free and fair elections. I am amazed that a Voter ID law wasn't passed years ago.
The tales of election fraud, especially in Democratic strongholds in northwestern Indiana, are legion. There have been instances of a precinct's total vote count exceeding the total number of voters registered in that precinct -- an especially amazing statistic when you consider that voter turnout normally averages below 50%.
Just as in other states, many of our deceased citizens have been known to cast ballots, so dedicated are they to their civic duties. Other election hi-jinks, such as homeless people being transported from precinct to precinct, their multiple votes having been bought with cigarettes, have been an open secret for years.
Politics can be a dirty business. The allure of power, and the money that comes with it, often bring out the worst in human nature. Voter fraud contaminates our political system, and steals from us the right to choose who will decide our future.
The only way to protect ourselves from election fraud is a strong Voter ID law. Without it, it is too easy for crooks to steal elections. If we want to keep the foxes out of the hen-house, we had better make sure that the foxes only get one vote apiece.
Call me crazy, but the fact that our state Democratic Party refuses to let this issue rest makes me wonder: Are Indiana Democrats just afraid that they can't win in an honest election?
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Tales From The High Road
You learn something new every day.
I learned today that I should not drive on the interstate while under the influence of extra strength Vicodin. Like Clint Eastwood used to say, "A man's got to know his limitations."
Yesterday's visit to my friendly neighborhood oral surgeon left me with a painfully swollen jaw, so he provided me with a prescription for antibiotics and Vicodin. The Vicodin bottle instructed me to take one pill every three to four hours "as needed for pain."
Oh yeah, they were definitely needed. I was in a bad way. But thanks to modern chemistry, the throbbing faded away about 30 minutes after the first pill. Sitting around the house last night, I didn't realize just how loopy I really was. I felt confident that I could handle this medication without missing a day of work.
The fact that it took me 25 minutes this morning to make toast and coffee should have been a clue. But by the time I spent 30 minutes getting dressed, I had forgotten how long it took me to make breakfast.
Needless to say, I was late leaving for work. Then I realized I had another problem: It is so hard to drive when the road keeps weaving back and forth in front of you. I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box, but I finally realized it was time to turn around and go home. How was I going to explain to my boss that I was just too high to make it into work today?
The final score: Vicodin 1, Dave 0.
When I finally got home, it felt wonderful to crash out on the couch for 3 or 4 hours. When I woke up, my jaw was throbbing again, and it was time for another pill. Now that I was home, I could medicate myself in safety. The worst thing that could happen would be falling off the couch.
All of this drug-induced haziness reminded me of my last stay in the hospital.
It was back in 1994, and I was in Saint Francis for heart surgery. The doctor performed an angioplasty procedure (you know, the "balloon surgery") and afterward, when I came to, I found myself strapped to a wooden board in a cold recovery room.
The nurse told me that I had to continue to lay very still, on my back, for several more hours so that the wound, where the surgeon had entered my Femoral artery with the catheter, would have time to clot and seal up. You might think laying still would be an easy thing, but it drives you crazy when you can't move around or stretch, and after a while your back really begins to ache and stiffen up.
No one is in a good mood after surgery anyway, and with the anesthesia wearing off, the aching back, and the stress and general discomfort of being violated, it can make a person a little cranky. Okay, I was more than a little cranky. I was downright whiny.
The nurse took pity on me after a while and asked if I wanted anything for the pain.
Well, duh!
"I'll take whatever you've got," I groaned.
What she had was morphine. It burned a little when she gave me the shot, but within 60 seconds I was skipping down the Licorice Trail towards the Gumdrop Mountains. My pain vanished, my heart-rate slowed, my stiff muscles relaxed, and my aching back turned into warm jello.
Before I knew it, I was jamming with Jerry Garcia and Jimi Hendrix in an impromptu rendition of Purple Haze. Janis Joplin joined in on vocals. Life was beautiful. I was the happiest camper in the hospital for the rest of the afternoon.
Now I totally understand why morphine is a controlled substance. A person could get hooked on something like that in no time. It would be a great drug to have around if it were not for all those pesky side-effects like brain damage, liver failure, addiction and the inability to function in the real world.
A few months later I was back in the hospital for a second angioplasty procedure. (1994 was not a good year in The Life and Times of Dave.) I'm always looking for a silver lining, so I had consoled myself with the knowledge that, after all the discomfort of heart surgery, I could once again spend the afternoon visiting Candyland.
However, I made a terrible mistake in the recovery room. Again I was laying on that board, in pain and discomfort, and again the attending nurse asked me if I wanted anything for the pain. Instead of just moaning and acting pitiful, I said, "Yeah, I'm ready for my morphine now."
She arched her eyebrow and looked at me suspiciously. "I'll see what I can do," she replied coolly. I have since wondered, did she think that I just faked a heart attack every few months so I could come back to the recovery room after surgery for my fix?
At any rate, a few minutes later she gave me a shot of something, but it sure wasn't morphine. For all I know, she just poked me with a toothpick hoping I would experience the placebo effect. No trip to Candyland for this hop-head today! Jimi and Jerry would have to jam without me.
Whatever she gave me knocked the edge off of my pain, but it certainly was a disappointment compared to the morphine that I could have had if I had just shut up and moaned a little more. Once again my grandpa was proven right: He always told me that I talked too much.
I learned today that I should not drive on the interstate while under the influence of extra strength Vicodin. Like Clint Eastwood used to say, "A man's got to know his limitations."
Yesterday's visit to my friendly neighborhood oral surgeon left me with a painfully swollen jaw, so he provided me with a prescription for antibiotics and Vicodin. The Vicodin bottle instructed me to take one pill every three to four hours "as needed for pain."
Oh yeah, they were definitely needed. I was in a bad way. But thanks to modern chemistry, the throbbing faded away about 30 minutes after the first pill. Sitting around the house last night, I didn't realize just how loopy I really was. I felt confident that I could handle this medication without missing a day of work.
The fact that it took me 25 minutes this morning to make toast and coffee should have been a clue. But by the time I spent 30 minutes getting dressed, I had forgotten how long it took me to make breakfast.
Needless to say, I was late leaving for work. Then I realized I had another problem: It is so hard to drive when the road keeps weaving back and forth in front of you. I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box, but I finally realized it was time to turn around and go home. How was I going to explain to my boss that I was just too high to make it into work today?
The final score: Vicodin 1, Dave 0.
When I finally got home, it felt wonderful to crash out on the couch for 3 or 4 hours. When I woke up, my jaw was throbbing again, and it was time for another pill. Now that I was home, I could medicate myself in safety. The worst thing that could happen would be falling off the couch.
All of this drug-induced haziness reminded me of my last stay in the hospital.
It was back in 1994, and I was in Saint Francis for heart surgery. The doctor performed an angioplasty procedure (you know, the "balloon surgery") and afterward, when I came to, I found myself strapped to a wooden board in a cold recovery room.
The nurse told me that I had to continue to lay very still, on my back, for several more hours so that the wound, where the surgeon had entered my Femoral artery with the catheter, would have time to clot and seal up. You might think laying still would be an easy thing, but it drives you crazy when you can't move around or stretch, and after a while your back really begins to ache and stiffen up.
No one is in a good mood after surgery anyway, and with the anesthesia wearing off, the aching back, and the stress and general discomfort of being violated, it can make a person a little cranky. Okay, I was more than a little cranky. I was downright whiny.
The nurse took pity on me after a while and asked if I wanted anything for the pain.
Well, duh!
"I'll take whatever you've got," I groaned.
What she had was morphine. It burned a little when she gave me the shot, but within 60 seconds I was skipping down the Licorice Trail towards the Gumdrop Mountains. My pain vanished, my heart-rate slowed, my stiff muscles relaxed, and my aching back turned into warm jello.
Before I knew it, I was jamming with Jerry Garcia and Jimi Hendrix in an impromptu rendition of Purple Haze. Janis Joplin joined in on vocals. Life was beautiful. I was the happiest camper in the hospital for the rest of the afternoon.
Now I totally understand why morphine is a controlled substance. A person could get hooked on something like that in no time. It would be a great drug to have around if it were not for all those pesky side-effects like brain damage, liver failure, addiction and the inability to function in the real world.
A few months later I was back in the hospital for a second angioplasty procedure. (1994 was not a good year in The Life and Times of Dave.) I'm always looking for a silver lining, so I had consoled myself with the knowledge that, after all the discomfort of heart surgery, I could once again spend the afternoon visiting Candyland.
However, I made a terrible mistake in the recovery room. Again I was laying on that board, in pain and discomfort, and again the attending nurse asked me if I wanted anything for the pain. Instead of just moaning and acting pitiful, I said, "Yeah, I'm ready for my morphine now."
She arched her eyebrow and looked at me suspiciously. "I'll see what I can do," she replied coolly. I have since wondered, did she think that I just faked a heart attack every few months so I could come back to the recovery room after surgery for my fix?
At any rate, a few minutes later she gave me a shot of something, but it sure wasn't morphine. For all I know, she just poked me with a toothpick hoping I would experience the placebo effect. No trip to Candyland for this hop-head today! Jimi and Jerry would have to jam without me.
Whatever she gave me knocked the edge off of my pain, but it certainly was a disappointment compared to the morphine that I could have had if I had just shut up and moaned a little more. Once again my grandpa was proven right: He always told me that I talked too much.
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