Neanderpundit

My dear friend, sometime commenter, and involuntary beast of burden Jenny comments in the piece below (about atlas shrugged)

“Just once I’d like to see mankind reach up instead of pull down.”

That’s a perfect goddamned statement for today.

I especially want to reach up and put my hands around the necks of certian black robed morons who answer to no one. What can be done about this? Mr Porretto suggests one method, which works well at the final moment of the conflict, bascially, but the long drawn out process of tax forfeiture which will be forced upon you (first, they don;t tell you how much the taxes are. Then,they won’t let you pay them. Then, you can’t make any contact with anyone, then your property is sold to the highest bidder, in a closed auction to which you have no access.) This is how Dickey Daley has been appropriating property for years. SCOTUS basically just gave him, and others like him, complete free reign.

Maybe we need to reach up to washington. The Nation of Riflemen march. If a couple million of us showed up in the Ellipse, armed, and all locked&loaded at exactly the same time, do you think the Supreme court would hear it?

Yeah, Jenny, I know that’s not exactly what you meant, and I do understand what you meant, but this has got to STOP.

I have FINALLY trudged my way through this book, despite the unwavering willingness to slit my wrists to make it stop, dear god, just please make it stop.

I NEVER take more than two or three days to read a big book, and anything under four hundred pages is gone in a day.

For the uninitiated, here’s the cliffs notes of the cliffs notes of Atlas Shrugged:

Liberalisim at it’s core is a desire to drag everyone down to the level of the lowest of the low, to take away from those who work hard for their success and give to layabouts. About racheting down the freedom of the individual until the gummint must decide everything for everyone. It’s true on a corporate level and on an individual level. The end result of all this robin hooded stupidity is that everyone’s lives turn to shit, fairly quickly.

Well, duh.

Okay, okay, I get that it’s written in a different time, a time when people couldn’t believe this sort of thing could happen, but shit, if you don’t understand the truth if this, you really never will. And no 57 page speeches by a fictional character are gonna make you believe it.

Under “over the top” in the dictionary, they should show this book.

man, I have had to read Count of Monte Cristo twice to clear my head. And therin lies my feelings about the matter; nemo me impune lacessit. Edmond Dantes was my perfect hero. Mess with his family? he’ll ruin yours. Annoy him? he’ll duel with you and kill you. A renaissance man with the education and the cash to do his will and enforce it on others at will. Give me Edmond Dantes over John Galt anyday. Who the fuck IS john galt.

I stopped smoking almost four years ago, now. Anyone who has, will tell you of the Dream; the cold sweat in the middle of the night, the rude awakening to the fact that you’ve blown it, oh, shit, all that work down the tubes and I smoked, I did it, I smoked, damit dammit DAMMIT!!!!!

Then you realize it was a dream and drift back to troubled sleep, and the night is ruined.

I stopped smoking- not for health reasons, but because of my inner miser, being completely unwilling to cut loose 50 bucks for a carton of name brand smokes. Yeah, I rolled a while, got good at rolling out a thin butt with one hand while driving and closing the little cloth bag of Drum with my teeth and the other hand. Finally, had to give it all up. The withdrawal lasted, all told, around 4 months, and on the other side, I’d had The Dream nearly a dozen times. These days, it’s not common, but I had one last night. A mess. I worked from 8 Am to after midnight, getting a system past runoff and into production, and no sooner than my head hit the pillow I was dreaming. Thankfully, it wasn’t the one with the goat and the accordion player this time but the smoking dream will fuck you up. Heart racing, I sit up in bed, m lips still stuck to the imaginary cigarette, my fingers sill warm, taste still in my mouth. I exhale and I can practicaly smell the smoke. There is the sense of having made connection with an old friend (I loved smoking, and I always will) and then the betrayal of the work I’ve done.

Actually the dream with the goat and the accordion player is probably less troubling, all in all.