One of those “events” took place every Christmas in my early years on the south side of Chicago.

The routine was always the same.  On a cold and dark December night,  my dad would load us into the car and drive to the Christmas tree “lot.”  With the aroma of pine needles heavy in the air, we’d walk through the aisles of trees until we found a Douglas Fir we all liked.  Tied to the roof, we’d bring that tree home and wait for my mother’s approval.   (One year we didn’t get that approval, and it was a very quiet ride back to the “lot.”  But that’s another story.)

When it was finally in its stand, my mother took over and directed the placement of the lights, the tinsel, the ornaments, and finally the “icicles.”  Everything placed on the tree was from the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that, and I found great comfort in rediscovering those old, family decorations that had been stored away for the past 12 months.

I remember Christmas being the best time of the year, in a home that didn’t produce many great memories.  Even the year the fully decorated tree tipped over and crashed onto the living room floor, was more an “event” than a disaster, in a family that also had it’s share of disasters.

But what I remember most, was when the Christmas tree lights were ceremoniously plugged in.

With the rest of the house lights turned off, the lighting of the Christmas tree was a magical moment as the living room walls became a palate of red, green, blue, yellow and white colors.   The sense of peace and wonder that it created in my heart surprised me each and every year.

It still does.

Even though I’m the one who has been untangling the lights for years, and grumbling as I try to wind them perfectly around the tree,  I’m still surprised how the lighting of the Christmas tree moves my heart.

It’s like seeing my boys after a long absence.  When they walk into view, the love in my heart swells just like it did on the day each of them was born.  You’d think that when you know something so well, and it’s so familiar,  that you wouldn’t be surprised.  But I am.

Some months ago, I had another surprise.  A big one.

Working at Consolidated Edison’s headquarters in Manhattan, I was supervising an off-hours construction project on the executive floor.

As the carpenters and painters worked into the night, I took time to walk around the halls and looked at the artwork on the walls and the plexiglass display cases which contained artifacts from the founder’s early days in New York City.

Of course the founder was Thomas Alva Edison who invented the electric light bulb and  developed the first electric generating station in the country, in New York City in 1882, serving – are you ready? – 52 customers.

But it was the very last display case that stopped me in my tracks, and took me back to those first Christmases in Chicago.

Inside the last display were some of the first electric light bulbs ever made, and my eyes moved from one odd-shaped bulb to another until I saw one final item.

Bunched in the back of the display, almost as an afterthought, was an old cloth encased electric wire (remember those?) with a dozen or more clear, marble sized light bulbs connected to it.  Not realizing what I was looking at, I read the description placed next to it.

“The first string of electric lights used to illuminate a Christmas tree.  Edward Johnson, an Edison inventor, lighted up a Christmas tree in New York City with eighty small electric light bulbs in 1882.”

Further reading told me that Johnson’s “Christmas Lights” started being mass produced in 1890 and he later became the Vice President of Edison’s electric company.

I couldn’t move.

128 years after they were first invented, there I was, standing in a vacant hallway, in an anonymous building, on a hot August night in New York City, looking at a treasure only a few have been privileged to see;  the very first Christmas tree lights.

As I stood there silently, my heart and mind raced, and memories took me back to those magical moments I experienced every year as a young boy, when the tree was trimmed, the room was darkened, and the walls glowed in colors of red and green and blue and yellow and white.  When those Christmas tree lights created a sense of peace and wonder that filled my heart.

Like they still do today, more than a half century later.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Like his competitors, Frank’s quest was to complete his collection of love, because as all collector’s believed, only then would they be free to realize their dreams.

Frank liked to say,

“It ain’t easy being me.” 

Not only was his competition fierce, his father had been known as one of the most successful collectors in the world.  Though rarely seen, his collection of love was thought to be the most comprehensive ever assembled, and had freed him to realize his dreams and achieve great success in other areas of his life, before he died when Frank was just a young boy.

As Frank sat looking at his own collection, he felt hopeless.

Though his display shelves were filled with the love he’d collected over the years, he felt no freer now than he had when he’d started.  To make matters worse, off to the side were other shelves full of his dreams and desires, but which he hadn’t paid attention to in years.

Looking back over his objects of love, he gazed at the last piece he’d obtained and remembered how it had filled him with an incredible sense of excitement and passion.

“This will surely finish my collection,” he remembered thinking, “Now, like my father,  I’ll be free to pursue the life I’ve always wanted!”    

But it wasn’t long before the collectible lost its special glow, like all the others that surrounded it.   As he sat staring at his accumulation of love, he also noticed empty spots on the shelves, where important pieces had disappeared, leaving only circles of dust to remind him of where they had once been proudly displayed.

Like prized balloons in a child’s tiny hand, love from Frank William’s collection slipped away when he wasn’t paying attention, and disappeared forever.

Xmas 7 by Steve Burnett ⓒ 2011

“I HAVE to find other pieces to replace them.” he thought, “Until I collect all the love I need,  I will never be happy.”  

Desperate for help, Frank decided to visit his father’s revered collection for the very first time.  Only the bravest souls had ever ventured into the room where it was displayed.  His father had made it available to everyone, but most believed the collection was so comprehensive that they were afraid to see it, thinking that it would forever intimidate them from completing their own.

When he turned the handle on his father’s display room door, it opened easily, much to Frank’s surprise.

“This collection is invaluable,” he thought.  “Why didn’t my father protect it with security locks and alarms?” 

When the door swung open,  the room that held his father’s world famous collection was revealed.

It was a simple room.  There were no expensive shelves or spotlights highlighting the display.

Instead, on a simple wooden table, only one piece of love was displayed.  Frank stood silently as it gleamed and sparkled and emanated a loving force that warmed his heart more than any other collection he had ever seen, including his own.

Walking closer, Frank saw a handwritten sign his father had placed on the table for all to read.

“My entire “offering” of love can be found on this table, along with the story of how I discovered it.”   

“His entire offering?” Frank thought as he looked at the single piece displayed.  “This can’t be his entire collection,” and he picked up a copy of his father’s story, and began to read.

“As a young man, I felt the unrelenting anxiety of discontent, which I greatly desired to be free of.   Observing the possessions of those around me who seemed successful and happy, I commenced the collection of things which I believed would bring me similar happiness.  

Over time I became an expert collector, amassing college degrees, jobs, money, exotic vacations, and things to adorn my home.  While I won the admiration of many, and experienced periods of brief respite from my discomfort, the anxious feeling of emptiness always reappeared and was my constant companion.

Noticing my unhappiness, a friend suggested that my approach to collecting was flawed.  

“You’re collecting “things,” he stated, “when it’s love that soothes the human heart.”  

Knowing he was right, I began collecting love.  For years I dedicated myself to this pursuit until my inventory of love was larger than any collection I’d assembled before.

With every piece acquired, came the expectation of my long-awaited satisfaction.

But nothing was ever enough, and my emptiness was never filled.

One day, feeling that serenity would never be mine,  I stumbled upon the greatest love a person can know, and which would forever rid me of the emotional emptiness I carried within.

On my way to an appointment, I mistakenly, or perhaps not, walked into a nursery school full of parents and their gaggle of young children, who were crawling excitedly on the floor.

As the adults watched anxiously, their children moved confidently, exploring all that was around them.  While the parents kept a safe and cautious distance from each other, their babies had no fear of the other children that crawled along with them.  

Then I experienced the most incredible thing! 

As these children approached each other, with love and happiness beaming from their faces, it made no difference to them if their love was accepted or not!  They simply crawled from one child to another, sharing their love, their happiness still intact.  

These children weren’t “collecting” love, they were “giving” it away!   

 “Where did they find a love so complete, and so perfect?” I wondered, knowing they were too young to have collected it.   

There was only one answer.

They were born with it.   And I realized, I had been born with it too.

Later that day, piece by piece, I dismantled my collection of love, the largest ever gathered from other people, until only one piece remained; “the love I have for myself – which had not been collected – but which had been given to me as a gift on the day I was born.”   

As I carefully removed the dust that covered it, and it began to glow, I remembered how I’d lost my connection to this special gift.    

As a young child, like the babies I’d seen earlier, love and life were all I knew, and all I needed.   However as I got older, people, schools and religions began to teach me that my love and my life weren’t good enough.  I had to love and live their way.  I was rewarded when they decided I was good, and punished when they decided I wasn’t.   Before long, the love I’d been born with was forgotten, and I began my life long quest of seeking “things,” and then the approval and love of others, so I could once again feel whole.   Until I saw those children.

From that day on, I placed the love of self on this table for all to see and where in my daily sight, I would remember to appreciate it, and take care of it, so it would never be hidden from me again. 

With every passing day, I found my self-love glowing brighter and stronger, and my need to “collect” the love of others fading, until that need finally disappeared.   

Love is not to be “collected” and displayed for all to see like trophies.  It is to be offered and given freely to others.  Until you can truly love yourself, you will never be able to fully love someone else.

The pieces of love that accompany my self-love are the most important treasures in my life.  I place them here to respect them, and to openly acknowledge how they have enhanced my life.   These treasure were not “collected” like possessions.  I don’t own them.  They were gifts given to me freely and I honor them in the same way I honor my love of self.  

Frank looked at the pieces of love that surrounded his father’s self love, and they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen.  One piece of love had his own name beneath it, while others had the names of his sister, his mother and his two uncles.   Several unnamed “pieces” completed the “collection” and they glowed as brightly as the others around them.

Only one other item sat on the table.  Next to his father’s “collection” rested a worn but sturdy feather duster, with another sign in front of it.

“Our self love, and the love we receive from others must be nurtured and cared for.  I acknowledge this love and maintain it daily so I will always love myself, and others, and to ensure that my “collection,” as others like to call it, remains complete.   After reading this note, please take a moment to care for my offering of love, which is my gift to you.”

Frank picked up the feather duster and carefully brushed away a few bits of dust from his father’s love.  Then, leaving the room, he walked directly to his own collection and unlocked the door that protected all the love he’d ever collected.

As his father had done before him, he moved down the rows of shelves until he came to the first piece that had ever been displayed.   After years of neglect, its shape and characteristics were almost entirely obscured by dust.

Frank picked it up gently and carried it to the front of his collection.  Lovingly, he began to remove the dust that covered it until it began to radiate a warm glow.  That’s when he noticed a sign that was attached to the bottom, which he took in his hand and read.

“On the day of his birth, this gift of love was given to Frank Williams, which will live in him forever, and which can always make him free.”

Frank closed is eyes and knew his “collection” was complete, and that it had been since the first day of his life.

Over the next few hours, and for the rest of his days, Frank cared for his self-love.  His daily routine honored his love, ensured its maintenance, and made him feel “complete” forever.

Before Frank Williams left his “collection” room that day, he gave his “self love” one more dusting and then left to pursue his dreams and aspirations, leaving the door, and his heart, open to anyone who wanted to enter.

Things have changed.  Today, everyone seems to be minding everyone’s business but their own.

The President of The United States believes it’s his business to tell you how much money you should make.

Politicians of both parties believe it’s their business to force you to pay more taxes, so they have more to waste.

The Occupy Wall Street fanatics, those non-contributing spoiled brats who feel the world owes them something, believe it’s their business to complain about you or anyone else who provides jobs, feeds the economy and keeps this country running.

Finally, if you give money to charity, there are people who believe it’s their business to decide that you haven’t given enough.

Yes, times have changed.  Even for me.

I was running for President until one important event changed my life; I was offered a temporary job as a construction laborer, leaving me only enough time to mind my own business.   Just how I like it.

Instead of figuring out how to fix this nation, I was getting up in the dark so I could start work at the crack of dawn.  Instead of developing foreign and domestic policy, I hauled tons of building material every day for the sub-contractors, and cleaned up after them.

While the politicians were dividing the nation by spewing messages of hate, I was lugging steel garbage containers down to the street, emptying them into garbage trucks, then wheeling them back and filling them again.

While the Congressional “Super Committee” failed in their job to cut $1.2 trillion dollars in spending over 10 years, and the Congress refused to balance the budget, I finished my days covered in dirt and sweat, knowing I’d worked as hard as I could to keep a temporary job, pay my own way, and maintain the self respect that comes from hard work.

The politicians, protesters, media and all the other “celebrities” in this country ( which is exactly how they see themselves) who don’t produce a thing – make me sick – and that’s why I was running for President.

But now I’m now focused on the business of personal survival, and sadly must leave the future of this great country to others.

Those who supported my campaign, know why I was running.

This country is collapsing.  The fault is ours for repeatedly electing self serving, corrupt and morally bankrupt politicians who believe they are better than everyone else, and who believe that gives them the right to mind, not only our business, but the world’s.

As I described in an earlier post, Airship America is going down, the oxygen masks have appeared and it’s imperative that we take care of ourselves first.

In other words: We need to MIND OUR OWN BUSINESS, which would have been the guiding principle of my Presidency.  For those of you who waited patiently to learn my foreign and domestic policies, briefly, here are a few of them.

I would have cut the federal government and its wasteful programs by at least 50%.  

How we live our daily lives is not the business of the federal government.  It has no right to tell us what we can, or can’t, do.  Nor should we allow the cost of their inefficient and corrupt programs to restrict our liberty any longer.  The American people believe the government wastes 50% of every tax dollar.   They are, without a doubt, right.   If I was President, the politicians would have to run the government on the half they don’t waste, because that’s all they’d get.

The smell would be horrific.

Most of them would be shitting their pants because they would no longer have our tax dollars to pay off their friends, buy votes for their re-election, or line their own pockets.

I would abolish all lobbying efforts.

Lobbyists bribe politicians to get preferential treatment for the industries they represent.  They’ve corrupted the political process and they would be stopped.   In my administration, any politician who consorted with a lobbyist would be removed from office immediately.

I would also abolish all “pork” or “earmark” spending.   Politicians hide billions of tax payer dollars in the federal budget each year to pay for pet projects for the states they represent.  Those projects are nothing more than political payback to those who got the politicians elected in the first place.  “Pork” or “earmarks” is nothing more than stealing from the tax payers.  The politicians know it’s wrong and so does the American public.

That bullshit would end the minute I took office.

I would abolish the U.S. tax code and replace it with a flat tax of 10% for every person and business.

The current tax code is more than 72,000 pages long, and the IRS employs more than 200,000 people.   No one understands the code, the IRS is inefficient, and the entire process is nothing more than a scam for politicians and lawyers to steal our money. Everyone should be a part of the American process and pay their fair share to promote the general welfare of this country.

If you made $100, you’d pay $10 dollars in tax.   If you made $1 million dollars, you’d pay $100,000 in taxes.   No one would be exempt, and no tax deductions would be allowed.  This way, everyone would actually pay “their fair share” Mr. President!   So shut the fuck up and quit pitting American’s against each by spewing your class warfare bullshit.

“How do you expect the Federal government to survive on just 10%?”  I hear some moaning.

The same way I’ve survived during two years of unemployment.  I stopped spending.  I cut back.  I did without.   20 million unemployed, or under employed, Americans have severely tightened their belts, and still may not survive.   So why shouldn’t our smarmy, crooked politicians have to do the same?

I would cut all foreign aid.  

Most of the world wants us to quit interfering in their business, and our efforts rarely result in anything good, or lasting, anyway.  So, no one would get another dime of the U.S. taxpayers money, except those countries who have proven they are true friends and allies, and only when they absolutely need it.

I would cut all military aid. 

Again, we will support our true allies and friends, but no one else.  For those countries and terrorists who are smiling because they think I’m making the U.S. an easy target, think again.

Defending our shores is one of the few things the Federal Government is supposed to do.  The billions of dollars given away to countries who hate us, will now be used to defend the United States.   We won’t send troops, tanks and arms to countries that makes us nervous.  Instead, we will use those billions of dollars to increase our ability to strike surgically and quickly.  In addition, like Israel, which is under constant threat of annihilation, we will eliminate any threat to our borders by destroying the military capabilities of any country that is clearly a danger to us.

Those who aren’t, have nothing to fear.   Those who are, should make sure their life insurance policies are paid up, and their next of kin are notified.   Because you won’t hear us coming.   I promise.

“But what do we do with all the military equipment and soldiers that we’re no longer going to ship around the world?” I hear some ask as they grind their teeth.

Ever hear of the Mexican border?

I love people, and welcome anyone into this country who wants to become a legal citizen.  For those who don’t, and the drug dealers who terrorize our border states, the U.S. military gets bored easily, and will be “itching” to put its training to use.

Can you say, goodbye illegal immigration?

But let’s be honest.  Would any of these policies ever be instituted?

No.   And there’s a good chance that “Airship America” may go down.

There’s too much money involved, too many people being paid off, and too many people getting rich.  Enact my policies and a hell of a lot of powerful people are going to be really pissed off.  And pissed off people become dangerous people.  They assassinate, they blackmail, and do anything to keep the “cash cow” alive.

“Then what do we do?”  I hear my supporters whining.

The answer is easy.

Stand up and start taking responsibility for your own lives.

Quit relying on politicians who promise to “fix” your problems, when they’ve proven they couldn’t fix a flat tire with a garage full of mechanics.

Quit supporting political parties which promote ignorant herd mentality, and take away your ability to think for yourself.

Show a little personal dignity, and respect for the U.S. Constitution.  Quit electing politicians who rob and steal from you, and who undermine the principles of this great country to increase their own personal power.

You want to know what to do?

Go to the polls next year and throw every one of those bastard politicians out of office!   And do it every election until people who truly care about this country start running again.

Send those liars, thieves and power hungry mother fuckers a message!    ”Do the job you were elected to do,  and until we tell you otherwise  …

… Mind Your Own Damned Business!

I have two boys who love me, as much as I love them.

I have friends and family who care for me, as much as I care for them.

I’m blessed that there are those who have become part of the fabric of my life, and who always will be until the day I die.

I’m grateful for the people who supported me, or gave me work, during the two most difficult years of my life, when unemployment was a never-ending foe.

I’m grateful for the trust I’ve learned to have in a power greater than myself, which has allowed me to have more good days than bad during those same two years.

I’m thankful I have a car that still runs, a roof over my head, and clean socks.

I’m grateful that my sons and a dog named Pepper will all be home for the Christmas holidays.

I’m grateful I have a Thanksgiving dinner to go to today, when many have nowhere to go at all.

Lastly, I am thankful for the call that finally came, offering me a four-month job in the industry where my career experienced some of its greatest highlights.  I am truly blessed to have another chance to work, and to prove I can contribute, when millions face nothing more than a bleak and hopeless tomorrow.

Every day, we all have much to be thankful for, if we could only stop for a moment to realize it.   On this Thanksgiving Day, I certainly know

that I am …

… One grateful man.

I know you’re small thinkers, and limited when seeing the big picture.  But if you’re going to do this protest thing, why not do it all the way?  If you’re so damned passionate about your beliefs, then do it right!

(Careful though.  You don’t want to become successful at it, and perhaps become one of those Obama-millionaires who make over $200,000 per year.) 

You think you have Wall Street covered?   Ok fine.  The Stock Market is there, but that’s about all.   The investment bankers left that area years ago.  But I understand.  It’s a symbol.  Good for you.   Close down those greedy bastards once and for all.   Who cares if hundreds of thousands lose their jobs.   So what if the “99%” who work for the banks aren’t rich.  Tough luck for them, right?

But if you’re going to do it, Go Big or Go Home!

Go after the entertainment business as well.   Those greedy, uncreative communists demand millions of dollars for every lousy movie, or CD, they make.   Close them down too.   So what if hundreds of thousands lose their jobs.  Who cares if 99% of those who work in the entertainment business aren’t rich.   Go ahead!  Bring down Sean Penn, Michael Moore, Steven Spielberg, Robert Redford, the Chili Peppers, Lady GaGa and Adam Sandler.  The brain dead rich elite have “enough” anyway, right?   Bring them all to their knees!

But if you’re going to do it, Go Big or Go Home!

Go after the sports industry too!   Those pea brained ball players make millions of dollars dribbling, throwing, spiking a ball and making fools of themselves.  Screw them all.   So what if 99% of those who work for the sports industry aren’t rich.  Too damned bad.  If you’re going to work for the rich, you’re going to suffer like the rich.  Close down the ball parks, the football stadiums, the basket ball arenas and the golf courses.  Picket Tiger Woods, send Michael Vick back to dog fighting, and let’s make life a living hell for Michael Jordan and Peyton Manning!

But if you’re going to do it, Go Big or Go Home!

You certainly can’t protest the rich without including the politicians, so why aren’t you protesting in front of the White House and The Senate?  And you hardly ever mention the “democrats.”  (Does the name Kennedy come to mind when you think “rich?”)  Why don’t you go after them?  Come on!  Get tough!  Go big!   It’s easy to shout at people you envy and hate.  Politicians have been playing that class warfare game waaaaayyyyyy before you were born into your “gimme, gimme, gimme” entitled little worlds.   LOL.  (That’s computer talk for “laugh out loud” for you few protestors who aren’t carrying around a thousand dollar Mac laptop with wi-fi capabilities.)

You think shouting at the Wall Street rich is going to work?  What about those greedy Republican and Democratic parasites who take our money, line their pockets, buy votes, and get away with crimes you and I would spend years in jail for if we committed them.  Take them down too!   Go after Gore, Carter, Clinton, Reed, Bush, Bloomberg, Cuomo, Romney, Pelosi and Perry, and all the other pretty boys and “botoxed” girls who call themselves servants of “the people.”

And if you really want to be taken seriously, and not just viewed as some left wing spoiled brats, TAKE DOWN OBAMA FIRST!   Quit thinking small, and do it right!   Show that you’re bi-partisan!  Prove your metal!  Hell, he’s in the upper 1 or 2%.  Call him out.   Challenge him personally.  Demand an accounting for the billions of  dollars HE’S robbed from the taxpayers to give to HIS rich friends.   Bring that smug, neighborhood organizer to his knees!   Do it!   Show some integrity.   I dare you!

OR GO HOME!

Listen, I don’t mean to yell at you.  I know you’re not the brightest bulbs in the ceiling.  But did you ever stop to think that there are successful people in every industry in this country, and in this world.  (That’s why they’re rich you morons!  I didn’t say that.  Honest.)  Why don’t you go after them too?   Ask mom and dad, or the labor unions, or George Soros, or whoever is paying and organizing you (because someone is, and maybe the reporters should be looking into THAT!)  to send you as missionaries to countries like Iran, or Russia, or Afghanistan or China.  Those are your favorite governments anyway, and they have rich people too.   So why not go there?  (Oh, that’s right.  Damn, I forgot.  They don’t allow freedom of speech in those countries.  But still, aren’t those Muslim and Socialist governments just great?)

The bottom line – to use a Wall Street term – is that you can’t pick and choose your enemy.  Either ALL the rich are at fault, or NONE of them are.

Most importantly, remember this.  If everyone has to be mediocre, like you, or failures like  your role models, you’d have no rich!   You’d have no 1% to pay most of the taxes!   You’d have no one to pay for your government handouts!   Your health care would vanish, your roads would crumble, your schools would close, and you’d have no one left to protest against, leaving you with absolutely nothing to do for the rest of your lives!

So if you insist on doing this, at least take the high road and go after ALL the rich, including Obama.  That’ll teach them.  (Well not really.  They’ll still have a lot of money tucked away.  But it will sure make you feel good about yourselves won’t it?)

P.S.  One more thing.

If you don’t have anything more than bumper sticker quotes to chant, or can’t hold up your side of an intelligent debate to support your ideology, and if you’ve got nothing better to do than leave your pampered little nests to come to NYC to SHIT IN THE STREETS THAT I CALL HOME, then …

… I’m going to have my friend “Joey from Brooklyn” give you a call and say his three favorite words …

… GO FUCK YOURSELVES!

(God, you people are pushy!)  Don’t worry!  I’ll publish my ideas on foreign and domestic policy soon enough.  However I’ve been doing something more important.

I’ve been working.

It’s not the fulfilling or creative work I’d prefer.  In fact, it’s physically and emotionally exhausting.  There are no benefits, pension plans or vacations.  And there certainly is no promise of long-term employment.

Still, I’m grateful to have the job, because I believe that taking care of myself is the most important thing in life.

Nature itself agrees!

Inherently, without thinking, or worrying about being politically correct, creatures in the wild naturally strive to be self-sufficient.

When baby birds are born, one of their earliest instincts, encouraged by their parents, is to leave the nest as soon as possible.  It’s away from the nest where they learn to feed themselves, where they learn to fly, and where they have the best chance of survival. Only after learning to “fend for themselves,” are they FREE to soar as high as they choose to fly, for as long as they possibly can.

(Hey!  It’s not just birds!   All loving parents, even human parents, naturally want that for their children.)

There are, however, those baby birds which can’t be coaxed to leave the nest.  Never learning to be self-sufficient, they often starve, or are the victims of predators who take advantage of their immobility.  (Forgive the pun, but they’re like “sitting ducks.”)

That is why I’m running for President.

I care about all birds – I mean people – and I hate predators.   And politicians are nothing but predators.

They want to keep you in “the nest” of government, where you’re easy prey.  They offer programs which may sound good, but which are only intended to keep you in the nest.  They don’t want you to be self-sufficient, because then you wouldn’t need them, or depend on them to take care of you.

There are other predators who are just like politicians.  They’re called drug dealers.

Like politicians, they want you in “the nest” of addiction, where you’re easy prey.  They offer drugs which may sound good, but which are only intended to keep you addicted.  They don’t want you “straight,” because then you wouldn’t need them, or depend on them for your next “fix.”

Whether it’s big government or drugs, they’re both addictive and rob us of our freedom and self-esteem.

During this presidential campaign,  I’m reminded of a well-known, common-sense belief that most people agree with.

“GIVE a man a fish, and you’ve fed him for a day.  TEACH a man to fish, and you’ve fed him for a lifetime.” 

In the next presidential election, Americans will make a choice.  (and forgive me for mixing my metaphors)

Will they vote for a predator who wants to keep them in “the nest,” addicted to a government which promises them their daily fix – I mean “fish.”

Or will they vote for me who, like creatures in the wild, and loving parents everywhere, wants to help people get “out of the nest,” where they can learn “to fish” for themselves, and where they will find a freedom and self-respect that lasts “for a lifetime.”

Who would you vote for?

… The Predator, or Me?

No, I’m talking “emotional ugly,” like “when-friends-and-family-argue-ugly.”

Now THAT’S ugly.

Unfortunately, that kind of “ugly” showed up the other night.

Three friends had invited me out for dinner, and I joined them at the end of the meal for coffee.  They know I’m unemployed and can’t afford restaurants, but they still like to be with me.   (At least they did.)  When we’re together our conversations are usually lively, fun and void of controversy.

Usually,

Unfortunately, this night, my friend David began ranting about how the “greedy rich” have ruined America.  Normally I would have just smiled and said, “Hey, that’s why America’s great.  You get to have your opinion.”   But now that I was running for President, I felt an obligation to become more active in the political debate.

I told them the problem wasn’t the rich, the poor, the Republicans or the Democrats.  The problem was the politicians from both parties who steal and misspend our tax dollars, then use class warfare to divide us and divert our attention from their thievery and incompetence.

My friends’ reaction was not surprising, because it’s a reaction that happens across this country.  They didn’t want to hear my opinion, and were shaking their heads in disagreement before I’d even finished.  I always smile when my more liberal friends do that (which often pisses them off).  It simply amuses me how they expect me to be tolerant of their ideology, (and I am) when they have no tolerance for anyone else’s.

“No,” David almost shouted in response to my premise, “It’s the rich and the rich corporations who are at fault.  They need to pay more!” 

“I totally agree,” my friend Jill said in disgust.  “This country is screwed up, which is why I’ve been here for 10 years and have never become a citizen.”  (Jill’s husband Keith, who was with her, is another friend of mine, and IS a citizen.)

Usually, I would have let a conversation like that die, looked at my watch and explained that I needed to go.   That would have been the smart thing to do.

But noooooooo, I’m running for President, and I decided to play “devil’s advocate.”  (Never a wise choice to make.)

I looked at David, “the ranter,” whose family business had for decades serviced the wealthiest families in New York City, and said,

“Some people,” (see how I cleverly extracted myself from making it personal?)  “would say you’re crazy.     Without the rich, you wouldn’t have a successful business that employees a dozen people!    If you tax the rich more, tax their businesses more, and threaten to put a cap on their salaries, they’re going to spend even less!  

“Your business is already down 25% over the past couple of years.  And it’s going to go down more because your clients – who pay your bills, but who you think are greedy – are going to further cut back their spending until the next Presidential election is decided.   

David just stared at me, his face purple with rage.

“Well, The President’s right,” he blurted.   “At some point the millionaires and billionaires have made enough money, and they should give the rest to the government and to the poor.”

“Really?” I questioned,  “And who gets to determine how much is enough?   The politicians?”   Al Sharpton?   Michael Moore?   Or maybe we’ll get those brain surgeons from the reality TV show, Jersey Shore to do it!”

By now the devil’s advocate was in high gear and I was thinking about where David lived, his resort house in Florida, and his cabin in the mountains.

“People who can’t afford a home, and barely have a pot to piss in, might say that YOU have enough homes, and that YOU should give some of them to the government and to the poor.   Do you want a politician to decide how many houses is enough, and force you to give one or two away?” 

Dave bolted from the table.  As he began to walk out, I couldn’t help myself.

“Hey!  How’s that Mercedes you’re leasing?”  He knew I was driving a 12-year-old car, and hopefully understood I was just trying to make a point.

“Don’t you think that at some point a person has spent enough for a car, and that they should be forced to lease something cheaper and give the money they save to the government … or to me!”

As my friend (at least I hope he still is) walked out the door, his ears were so red that I’m not even sure he heard me.

Turning back to the table, Jill and Keith just stared at me, and I said to Jill,

“When ARE you going to become a citizen?”

 “I’ll become a citizen when your lousy government gives me free universal health care!” she spat through gritted teeth.  (Very unbecoming, and not like Jill at all.)

I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t resist, and said,

“Some people might say it’s not the rich OR the politicians that are the problem.  But that it’s YOU!   That you’re just another ungrateful foreigner, who doesn’t want to be a citizen, but who wants something for nothing and believes it’s the U.S. government’s obligation to give it to you!   Honestly!  Some might say that,”  and I laughed.

“Why do we invite you to join us?” she shook her head, then turned to Keith who was laughing and said to him, “We’re outta here.”

As they walked to the exit, I called out to her,

“Jilly!  You invite me because you love me!   And did I tell you I’m running for President and that I’d appreciate your vote?”

The door closed behind them, and as they walked down the sidewalk, Jill saw me through the restaurant’s front window, playfully gave me “the finger,” and then shook her head as if I was a lunatic.

Thankfully the bill had been paid and the waitress, who had seen us there many times before, rolled her eyes and said,

“Now, THAT was ugly.”   

I just shrugged my shoulders, thought about the next Presidential election, and said,

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.   It’s going to get uglier …

.. Way Uglier.”