30 April 2012
Dear Dr. Bones
I fear Rear-Colonel Hanson-Blimp may be one of those goodvolks who, with a little address, can be funded into thinkin’ they think pretty well anythin’ a Venerable Funder might happen to want thought.
In the present case, the reasons why the CCUSA, an’ the Zenith (OH) Chambermaids of Commerce, an’ the Hoovervillains of Palo Alto, an’ the Hoovervillains of K Street, an’ the Moguls of the backwater media, an’ ... so on favor the public preachin’ of Destructive ©®eationism™  are not mysterious. Once Televisionland an’ the electorate have been AstroTurf™-bagged into witless wads of Tee Putty who would never dream of contradictin’ the dogmas of D©®™, why, pretty well anythin’ their Freelordships do next can be defended as thoroughly pious. An’ ¡not the least bit like baloney either!
Not just ‘defended’, but maybe even ‘acclaimed’. Should some individual waddess or wad feel that the ‘Destructive’ aspect predominates over the creationivistic aspect in her/his own immediate vicinity, yet the Consolations of AEIdeology (Pat. Pend.) will be read at hand, prepackaged an’ shrinkwrapped. "Two caplets an’ a glass of whine" will take care of most whightaches.
As a newcomer amongst the dogmatic mythologies of Western Civ., D©®™ does not (or anyway, should not) venture up onto the very loftiest wind-swept heights of self-grandeur. "Though Big Management slay me, yet shall I trust in Them" might be thought a little tasteless even by a go-getter like Wallace Horatio Alger Wombschool, who has no doubts about the Chicagonomic neoteachin’s in the abstract. You and I have agreed that Big Management is goin’ta be needin’ lots an’ lots of uncritical support in the dark days to come.
The dark days already come upon us since the Crawford Crash. For their Freelordships have already wrought great things in the D©®™ line, might works of wreckage that respectable cloth-coat Republicanines, their so-called Party base an’ vile, are not (yet) so utterly besotted as to be pleased about. The need to further besot the kiddiecons is plain.
What I fail to comprehend, though, is why their Firstlordships call on poor old Blimp-Hanson to do their Class’s dirty work. I had thought VDB-H about the least suitable exponent of Destructive ©®eationism™ on all of G*re’s green earth. ¡An ex-perfesser of Laffer an’ Grief, for Pete’s sake! Don Victorito is contaminated ex officio, as it were, with the bunkiest bits of our Ms. Clio’s collection, bits so musty-dusty (an’ ¡e-lightist to boot!) that even you and Paddy and I can sorta see why tossin’ ’em summarily in a trashbag might seem a rosy dawn to the less expensively educated.
To be sure, if their Firstlorships could trot out Hanson-Blimp lookin’ like the ‘after’ photograph of Winston Smith
to edify us with a little salutary selfcriticism: "Yes, neocomrades, it is all true. I DID yoosta think the Peloponnesian War was a very big deal. But that was then an’ this is now. Now I love nothin’ big save Big Management alone, an’ I suggest you love Them too . . . if you know what’s good for you . . . you must . . . know that Big Management an’ Destructive ©®ea™ionism are good for everybody. Q. E. D. _¡Arriba Romney!_ Thank you for your kind attention."
 "Present-day and future America ... is changin[’] by the hour ... makin[’] obsolete all the old big [biggies]."
The neometaphysics of a "future America" that alters continually in advance of actually existing would be fun to look into, were it not so likely that VDB-H is pretty much keystrokin’ at random. Like most of the D©®™ clown troupe, his freelordship dare not go into any petty detail about mañana, lest we suspect that he scabs for Funders who believe in icky plannin’. As you must recall, the late Freiherr Freddy showed that the die funkionierende Planung is the very shortest route down the slippery slope to die Knechtschaft.
Whether the blimp-fundin’ Class act as they do out of intellectual deference to a viennasausage freelord is more than questionable, but fortunately on this point, at least, the Firstlords of Freedumb hardly required any far-fetched tutorin’. Our homebrew Scrooges an’ Warbucks an’ Frères Koch (&c. &c.) would be singin’ "My bank / factory / plantation / franchise to mee a Kingdome is" had von Hayek never been hatched. And everybooby whighteous knows that in the Kindgome of Mee, only Eye do the functional plannin’. Should somebooby else attempt to usurp that rôle, well, that contingency is basically what the Rotweilers an’ the stormtroopers are for. Plus naturally the Legal Department, though shysters tend to do more to pick up after trespasses have happened than to forfend an’ preëmpt.
27 April 2012
Dear Dr. Bones,
His here freelordship drones on, and On, and ON, auditionin’ to become the next Isaac Gingrich  of the Stupid Party. In particular, he has rediscovered that the race of scabs and the race of strikers overlap. I believe crossbreedin’ is technically possible, though his freelordship is too decorous a Daughter of Virtue / Son of Wisdom to expatiate on that angle.
When his freelordship has finally staggered down almost to the bottom line, though, it turns out the Lake Woebegone Epiphany has been but half drooled out. His freeelordhip dumps the rest of his Tee Putty Peruna with commendable dispatch:
|The only way to maldistribute wealth is to maldistribute power. And the only entity capable of that is government (( emphasis stricken ))|
That’s all there is, there ain’t no more. You may fit that on a postcard, Dr. Bones, should the fit take you. As to the usual refugium of such pious viennasausages , the bumper sticker of a murder vehicle, Eye thought of that medium at once myself and wondered if the Word of Walter might not be abbreviated by leavin’ out the second clause.
It can not. Take that away, and the remainin’ string would not just be ‘untuned,’ as the One-Percent Bard sang, it would be a loose cannon on deck, an ideological accident waitin’ to happen. Admit, even suggest by omission for reasons of space, that Lady Fairembalance can be ripped untimely from the embraces of Lord Mammon by any agancy of the Secret Sector, and you have laid the ’intellectual foundation" for pretty well everything that the little lady drools of.
To consider a safely dead example, had St. Elisabeth of Warrenbuffert been with us in the 1880’s, she might well have wanted to poke her boney nose into the affairs of Standard Oil (and a lott of smaller fry) looking for Maldistributed Power. St. John Geckefeller made plenty of enemies in the course of his ascent of Mount Capitalism who would have been willin’ to betray secret-sector solidarity to get their own (¡hah!) back from the S. O. Bastard, had there been anybody to complain to.
His freelordship’s second clause is indispensable because it cuts the intellectual foundation out from that Bolshevik sedition at once. It ain’t "maldistributed power" unless the Gummint maldone it. Period. Full stop. "There is nothing to see here, Senator Warren. I’ll have to ask you to move on quiet, ma’am."
Now by Stupid Party standards, judged against the weekly standarizin’s an’ Classy neocriteria of Foxcuckooland, maybe Walter of Woebegone really deserves to be acclaimed Einstein of the Month. That’s up to the selfservative kiddies alone. If they asked Paddy and Eye, though, we should recommend that they wait until the Neohudsonian Epiphany has actually cornered the market.
At the moment it still reeks a little of its extraterrestrial origins. On Planet Dilbert, as you know, sir, there is no need to prove that the Evil State can work nothin’ whighteous.. That would be as superfluous as proving that water is wet would be on the cranberry-infested shores of the Massachusetts Bay. I suspect in their native tongue the term is ‘Evilstate’, all one word, probably eroded into somethin’ not immediately etymologizable like ‘Eelsteight’ by whole millennia an’ æons of sturdy freeyeopersons,
guided, of course, by learned Kiddiemasters an’ potent Freelords, who make sure that any slightest revival of eelstatism is noticed at once and salubriously extirpated, "strangled in midstream," as it were. 
For the fame of Walter of Woebegone to be *permanently* established, a good first step, it seems to us, would be for Freelord Dr. Paul of TX to become POTUS of us all. This seems a little unlikely just at the moment, maybe, but we shall see.
Meanwhile, viewed from the steps of the Eng. Lit. Dept, his freelordship gives rise to a sort of S.A.T. analogy,
|Ratzinger : Augustinus :: W. X. Hudson : Alexander Pope|
I mean that his freelordship wrecks a Goode Olde Thinge with tasteless modern tartin’s up, some of which the wreckers themselves may with subjective sincerity account ‘restorations’.
Freelord Pope’s ever-immortal "¡Whatever Is, Is Whight!" is not improved as literature / rhetoric / agitprop by tackin’ on "Unless, of course, the Evil State did it, in which case kindly disregard this notice."
 "Then Newton came, an’ all was WHIGHT." (Eye quotes from memory)
 "Thank you, Massa Speaka"
 Some neocomradologists have speculated that on Planet Dilbert to say "the State is a good" is self-evidently not quight whight, that it somehow involves a more than verbal self-contradiction, though one that eludes translation into human languages. Paddy and Eye have never been able to imagine what this ‘somehow’ would be like, and so we content ourselves with the less heroic notion that Messrs. les libertariennes et libertariens weed their dogmatic gardens constantly. Like those famous can’t-fly bumblebees from M.I.T., the Dilbertarian kudzu an’ ragweed an’ dandelions seem unaware that to be a weed is to contradict oneself.
23 April 2012
Lullaby for Skipper ‘Spengler’
(and all who go down to Seemight in kitsching utensils)
22 April 1433-2012-5772
(and all who go down to Seemight in kitsching utensils)
22 April 1433-2012-5772
Beautiful Civ., so rich, so whight, Obnoxious to Natives as to Night, Civ. of the Ev’nin’land, Beautiful Civ.! Beautiful Civ., the Black an’ the Tan An’ Bad Poor, who resent what thy meshes deman’, Are delighted to sift to the rear to make room For the cap’n an’ crew of the ‘Wunnerful Civ.’!
Sieve of the Ev’nin’land, ¡Wunnerful, WUNNERFUL, Civ.!
22 April 2012
Dear Dr. Bones,
Cum flamengibus non disputandum, as/like Mr. Carberry the Classical master always used to mutter. That is to say, "America’s gain is the loss of Northwestern Sieve." 
I speak only qualitatively, to be sure. If you mechanically count rubbable noses, the Boreal Neojumblies
Stranger things than that have happened, though perhaps not too many. A thousand years hence, lovers of beautiful letters may look back on Petrarch and Laura as only a warm-up for laurel-crowned Dave an’ Janey of the . . . .
Well, the Muses and yourself, sir, have as much business as Eye do fixing on l’epithète juste for her freeladyship, now at large in Mrs. Windsor’s Other Country, where she shall scatter fresh hope an’ radiate neoglory upon all around her in the igloo. Though if Eye were Lizzie, I’d be maybe a little miffed at the way the immigrant freedame suggests that there is not quite a lot for a gentleperson of pædagogy to feel ‘aghast’ about south of the border.
Her freeladyship moans about "the level of illiteracy, the stunted vocabularies, near-complete absence of historical knowledge, and above all the extraordinary apathy of many English majors" up around the North Pole. Speaking of "historical knowldge," you might ask our Miss Clio, sure, whether the true interpretation of this lamentable self-sorrowin’ be not that here in the Heimatland G*ttes, that sector of Posterity would never dream of goin’ anywhere near the Eng. Lit. Dept. When Wally Wombschool an’ Cindy from Wasilla have *that* much mush in their dittopans, naturally they take a pre-jobcreation course.
You might say I siuspect her freeladyship of bein’ a sort of Frances Trollope redux, much happier to get over to the far side of Viagra Falls precisely because everythin’ there is at least a little behind the times.
Her freeladyship further resembles Mrs. Trollope in wanting to teach lessons to us HolyHomeland™ers from a safe distance, as of course does his freelordship the "Canadian poet, educational theorist, travel writer and literary critic of [impeccable] descent." Everywhere you look lately, the Daughters of Virtue & Sons of Wisdom (L.L.C.) are up to this ab externo _shtyk_. As I pointed out to you yesterday, sir, the Master of Seamus is runnin’ for President of the United States as if our poor MA, the only place his firstlordship ever did any politics, were a foreign country. Or extraterrestrial altogether.
By the way, ¿was it not the late Father of Lies, Neocomrade Senator Prof. Dr. D. P. Moynihan of H*rv*rd and NY who observed that the single best correlating facttor with public educational excellence in our holy Homeland™ is proximity to Her Northern border? Freedame Fiamengo’s heart-rendin’ moans an’ groans must raise some doubts about that proposition. Though I suppose it is possible that everything gets better and better as one approaches the Falls, and then suddenly . . . _¡facilis descensus Averno!_
Her freeladyship goes on to notice that her own little heads full of maple leaves an’ blubber do not like bein’ told the truth about their cultural condition. This pathos reminds Paddy and Eye of the co-ed in Mr. De Vries who insisted that she was entitled to admire the "cheerful pastoral atmosphere" of Mr. Coleridges’s Ancient Mariner if that is how she felt. "¿Who are you to tell me I can’t [be a literary critic]?" 
An’ then there is grade inflation, which, as you know, is now proceeding rather faster than the Hubble expansion. Definitely behind the cuttin’ edge is Freedame Fiamengo. Though of course we ought not generalise on that basis about the province or provinces to which her freeladyship has run away from Home.
The present keyboard happens to have heard all this miserable litany from the schoolmarmy self-whighteous, better expressed, in the single month of February, _anno religionismi_ 1392-1972-5732. In retrospect what happened is obvious: after a lovely spell of comparative lucidity between (say) the inauguiration of FDR and the nomination of Hubert Horatio Hornblower at Chicago thirty-six years later, but then the holy Homeland™ did indeed suddenly
"shoot Viagara." The "permanent high plateau" came to a sudden end, an’ we all relapsed to that Hardin’-Coolidge-Atwater-Rove-Babbitt-Solway-Shteyn-Horowitz-Fiamengo level which appears to be all w Homeland™ers can sustain for the really long haul.
¿Ain’t exceptionalism wunnerful? 
Happy days. --JHM
 Paddy tells me that over on the Stinks side, subtraction of a negative quantity was regarded as tantamount to addition.
 With those ground rules, perhaps you, O Bones, might undertake to admire the cogency and nonpartisan charm of the freeladylike scribble? Avaialble at ¡no extra charge!
In the opposite direction, you might wonder a llittle whether the same passage does not owe enough --"Most believed themselves more than competent"--to the stout Cortez of Lake Woebegone to make it advisable that the freedame have a word or two with her solicitor.
 Fairembalance, the Fox Goddess, has asked me to point out that we did at least manage to write our own Bozarty epitaph. ’Twas a fine updatnding Middle American, after all, a certain Mr. Eliot of St. Louis, who sang of "their only monument a thousand lost golf balls." In addition to the golf balls, we have now lost Janice Freedame Fiamengo. All very sad, but I betcha we do not die of it on the spot.
21 April 2012
Dear Dr. Bones,
Bozo here, that is to say M. le baron de Poujade-Driscoll, is a strong argument for one sort of ultimate optimism. You, sir, are a little too inclined to take the goodvolks at WhightGuard G.H.Q. for clever as well as malignant. Reflect that we have to do with a Class that actually wastes part of its AstroTurf™ budget on fundin’ the Drool of Driscoll (Pat. Pend.)
It requires a certain quantity of nous, I guess, for his freelordship (by courtesy) to be able to con his masters, the alone authentic £©®D$ of True Freedumb, out of whatever he gets, but this is (A) his, Driscoll’s, clevernesss, not Their Firstlordships’, and (B) not exactly worthy of Mephistopheles or Eddie Burke, qualitywise, and (C) thus rather a reason to minimize than exaggerate the collective I. Q. of the Class that would make War. A spoofster might turn that to "Their Firstlordships ‘would’ indeed make war--if only they were a good deal bestembrighter than Father Zeus wants ’em to be."
Meanwhile, back at G.H.Q.,
M. de Poujade-Driscoll hitchin’ his hobbyhorse to our old pal Rear-Col. V. D. Blimp-Hanson speaks eloquently for itself. "Deep calls to deep, freedumbell rings to freedumbell." One may hope, but not seriously expect, that Messers les Frères Koch _et al._ got the package as a two-for-the-price-of-one deal, possibly on 1 April. 
More fun though the ad homunculum is, Paddy and Eye feel we ought to say at least a little bit about the substance of le neopoujadisme driscollien. As follows: PettyBiz, the usual dupes an’ marks are to understand, is not like the Goldman Saxons at all. Why, ¡PettyBiz reveres its customer base an’ would never dream of thinkin’ of ’em as cartoon characters!
Once a month PettyBiz assembles for dinner an’, though Big Tom Bloomer & the Chambermaids of Commerce may on occasion perform some worthy classic like the Dance of the Seven Invisible Veils, yet most of the thoroughly decorous shindig will be devoted to solemnly worryin’ ’bout how to be better at jobcreatin’ whight here in Pajama River City, located, as you know, not far from Cincinnati.
China, from the PettyBiz (which is also the cloth-coat Republicanine) perspective, is to be sought "somewhere yon side of Asheville."  At General Electric they may know how to find outlandish dens of Evil and Opium but, ¡G*re sei Dank!, nobooby at PJC knows that sort of knowledge!
It’s a Self-Wunnerful Life, PettyBiz is -- an’ the Warrior Class is not goin’ to wreck it. ¡Not if PettyBiz can stop ’em! 
 It is at least equally (pardon my French) possible that that their Firstlordships were jollied into buyin’ their Class two scabs for the price of five. Up to a (not very remote) point, the Malefactor Class proper can be diddled by ‘conservative’ ‘intellectual’ señoritoes like Hanson-Blimp an’ Driscoll de Poujade. This is, I think, at bottom the same brain disease that causes-- that *forces*, almost--their Firstlordships to pretend to like Bach and Boccherini and Die Verfassung der Knechtschaft. Maleficence their Freelordships need no lessons in, of course, but they aspire to look like, as well as be, Warrior Classmates, a self-vanity which hands ’em over, up to a point, to Tank Thinkers an’ frenchified dancin’ masters an’ all the practitioners of the Higher Interior Decoration.
 ¡Thank you, Comrade Cash!
 Mr. Mencken spoke of "a conspirtacy of kittens to overturn the Washington Monument."
13 April 2012
Dear Dr. Bones,
To celebrate Friday the 13th, perhaps, the Squire of Simon Pajama has graciously deigned to vouchsafe us harmless drudges of Beautiful Letters a little more fodder for our deplorably skimpy dossier on the YaleoDra™a product, which is, as everybooby cultivated knows, his freelordship’s great claim to neofame. We learn, I think, that coolth (as it used to be cool to call it back when Hector had a pulpit) is a key value for YD™ aficiandos. So make a memorandumb of this one, please, sir, and append a note to it reminding Paddy and Eye to work back through all the other papers some rainy day soon in quest of the quality in question.
Meanwhile, the scribble before us could easily be taken to imply only that the goodvolks at Neohaven CT, and/or Pajama Junction NJ, dialectically pronounce ‘coolth’ to rhyme with ‘youth’. But ¡Surely there is more to it than that!
And so there is, kinda. His freelordship announces that Lieberals and Demoncrats were not *really* cool even when they were young. Bein’ a pervert himself, I daresay the Squire must know all about it from the inside when he barks censoriously against "cowardly also-rans of the sixties and seventies ... who stood by and watched ..., too cautious to join in but admiring (to some degree at least) [the in-joiners]." Nobooby can reasonably complain, of course, that his freelordship is not a gung-ho in-joiner nowadays, whatever may have been his case before scramblin’ up the lofty heights of Middle Age.
I digress, alas, from the strictly literary-critical path. The ad homunculum should be no concern of ours, at least not in and for itself. Imagine the Muses and yourself and Paddy and Eye standing up on that mountaintop with Caspar David Friedrich as he painted the back of the Unknown Citizen, who is looking out allegorically over vast and partially cloud-shrouded Vistas of Coolth. Vistas of somethin’ wunnerful, at any rate, for that ‘allegorically’ is how the picture people take the picture without exception known to me.
Let us think of Roger, zeroth Freelord of Simon Pajama in the neopeerage--an’ ¡World’s Premier YaleDrama™ist!--, as bein’ that well-frockcoated citizen, and conduct ourselves accordingly, please. Should you decide that you have probable cause to suspect that the Man with the Back is wearing a Groucho Marx fake moustache and Lizzie Warren eyeglasses, kindly keep it to yourself until we climb down home. Or at least climb down out of earshot. The Unknown Citizen does not, after all, block so much of your own view, sir, as to make it worth your while to pull a zimmermann about it. 
I fear that las note went on so long that I am getting weary. So let me hasten whight to the bottom line, namely ¿Do you suppose the Squire secretly relishes the funny side of appealin’ to pajamaclad kiddiecons reclined obesely upon their potatoe couches with all his stirrin’ viennasauasage about heroic joiners-in as opposed to "the cowardly also-rans of" our own Age of Breitbartius here an’ now? ¡De Narcisso Dextro fabula narratur!
Eye would guess his freelordship is 1000% serious, an’ has no more sense of how he looks from outside the money house than ... well, than a literal monkey would.
But I’d be pleased to rumble with you if you disagree.
 Rio Limbaugh’s héros du jour is worth considering in conjunction with YaleDrama™ic notions of coolth. ¡A gung-ho joiner-in is their George, that’s for sure!
Neohaven is not simply identical with Rio Limbaugh, though, most of the time, so Eye inclines to doubt that Party Neocomrade (ninth grade) G. M. Zimmerman can be transferred from real life to the YaleoDrama™ic stage on anything like an "as is" basis. Unless Eye have misread the Squire altogether, his freelordship is not likely to think the whole stand-one’s-ground juridical fandangoe edifyin’. Florida requires that her heroes believe themselves to stand in imminent peril of a forced passin’, or at least of severe body damage, before they may shoot first. On the pre-Yaleo stage, at any rate, that rule would depreciate entertainment values seriously. The Macbeth couple, for instance, or Signore Othello, would not have been able to get started on those terms.
Or consult his freelordship’s own secret-sector lexicon of coolth an’ courage: "often horrifically violent, individuals[, who a]t least ... did something ... [like] drop acid." Perhaps you will disagree, Dr. Bones, but Eye can only think that his freelordship wants a Real Hero to be far more unilateral and preëmptive than PNC-9 G. M. Zimmerman is alleged to have been. Even the late Master Shakespeare could not have made it very plausible that Iago (or whatever villain you prefer from the Bardic corpus) carried a flask of vitriol with him everywhere he went, in case he suddenly had to stand his ground by throwing it in the face of his assailant.
I am not 100% sure that the Squire did not original-intent "drop acid" to signify iingestion of lysergic acid diethylamide rather than vitriol-hurlin’. ’Twould be a critical shame if such a comparative tameness as that were a sample of the personal freelordly, let alone the general YaleoDrama™ic, conception of "horrific violence." I certain old-fashioned brand of moralizer would find an LSD habit ‘horrific’ enough, but even she would have trouble making out any sort of case for ‘violent’.
But Bradley knows best about pre-Yaleo stage villains.
09 April 2012
Dear Dr. Bones,
Here is a prime slice of pious baroney for you, sir:
|Can Romney Show Voters That Obama Is Out of Date?|
By Michael Barone
(( ... )) There is a huge tension between the personalize-your-own-world ethos of the iPod/Facebook generation and the command-and-control, mid-20th-century welfare state programs of the Obama Democrats.
The young are stuck with disproportionate insurance premiums by Obamacare and with student loan debt that can't be discharged in bankruptcy. Some hope. Some change.
Romney needs to make the case that current policy -- what Obama has fallen back on -- is leading to a crash in which government will fail to keep its promises.
He needs to argue that his "opportunity society" means vibrant economic growth that can provide, in ways that can't be precisely predicted, opportunities in which young people can find work that draws on their special talents and interests.
Obama's policies, in contrast, treat individuals as just one cog in a very large machine, designed by supposed experts who don't seem to know what they're doing (see Obamacare, Solyndra). Their supposedly cutting-edge technology (electric cars, passenger rail) is more than a century old.
Romney, potentially strong with the affluent, needs to figure out how to get through to the young.
For once, I don't think I need to ask you to read the whole scribble: his freelordship’s beginnin' is not worth half a second of anybooby's time.
As tothe savin' remnant,
(( snip here ))
‘Mittens’ probably really *is* a _Zukunftspolitiker_, "tomorrow's hack pol today," though not for the reasons suggested. The Mass. Miracle does not actually see American D*CL*NE comin', I betcha, yet because there can be no doubt Mittens an' his Classmates will be in the best position to cope when it hits. "A good Lord Mayor of Birmingham in a lean year" (( http://j.mp/HpNvBX )) applies pretty well.
(( fold here ))
Kiddiemaster Barone might be criticized on the grounds that the Gov. is *verbally* about the most reactionary statesperson our holy Homeland™ has yet produced, unable to open his silver-spooned mouth without proposin' to go back to this, or revive that, or regalvanize the other. But this does not do a lot of harm, I don't think, if we assume that Mittens will--would, D.V.-- in fact be presidin' over a sort of Greater Chamberlainville.
The Kiddiemaster assumes, very properly, that the kiddies are bound to be the last man standin' sooner or later under pretty well any imaginable scenario. Being almost a tautology, that insight unfortunately does not allow one to guess what sort of substantive _Zukunft_ Michael, zeroth Freelord Barone in the peerage of Foxcuckooland, is lookin' forward to, above all on the economic side. His freelordship has swerved hard whight himself, I believe, but there would be careerism excuses for wantin' to be a Classmate even if his freelordship secretly expects a "permanently high platesu" as from next Wednesday afternoon.
Still, I think the fairembalanced critic might subtract a few points on account of his freelordship's glossin' over the low electoral turn-out amongst juveniles, a point of which the _Almanach_ guy, of all whightists, cannot be sincerely oblivious.
Moreover, it would not hurt to point out explicitly that the proposed Baronean League of the rich an' the young is bound to be outnumbered for decades by the Bad Poor and us geezers combined. Maybe even by each component separately during the next degeneration, though not after that.
06 April 2012
Dear Dr. Bones,
A couple of Wall Street Jingoes have figured it all out an’ boiled it down for apprehension by the meanest intelligence:
|Growth in income inequality is largely the result of three dynamics:|
1) Changes in the way Americans pay taxes and manage their investments, which were a direct result of reductions in marginal tax rates.
2) A dynamic shift in the labor-capital ratio, resulting from the adoption of market-based economies around the world.
3) The flourishing of economic freedom and technological advances in the Reagan era, which were the product of lower tax rates, a reduced regulatory burden, and an improved business climate. These changes have not only raised the measured income of the top 1%, they benefited the nation and the world.
(( Paddy would not want to get lured into an attempt to gloss Holy Writ, but the fact that their freelordships found it advisable to take on that second sentence to Oracle III suggests to me that not everybooby is assumed to have seen the benefits already. Indeed, that a few recalcitrants may not see them even with the freelordly an’ kiddiamgisterial pointin’ out garciously provided. ))
04 April 2012
01 April 2012
Dear Dr. Bones,
¡Feliz neosábado, Señor el Doctor!
¿Did you hear the news, sir? Wally Wombschool, the one over there on the potatoe couch in his pajamas, makin’ eyes at Mizz Cindy, who is down visitin’ from Wasilla, has ... ta-DA ... ¡a perfectly clear conscience!
Of course with a terrific-sounding deal like that there has to be a catch, and so there is. Master Wally says "IF the [holy Homeland™ goes down the tube for the third time next November] all because Mitt Romney isn’t ‘perfect’, THEN [Master Wally’s] conscience will be clear."
The are enough loopholes ithere to garage all of Mittens’s murder vehicles an’ then some. IF, for example, His Mass. Excellency’s slight shortcomin’s prove to be only partially responsible for his firstlordship's non-election (and thus for our collective non-secession from Modern Times), why, in that case Master Wally will maybe do a little self-criticism.
Interestingly enough, the scribble our neoconscientious youngker was ignorin’ in his autosynteroscopy  was built upon precisely such a proposition, namely that Mittens may actually fail to buy his way to the top of the greasy pole. This would certainly be a grave setback to the core values  of the extended Grant-Hoover-Atwater-Goldwater[-Breitbart ] family, though I suppose a real top-drawer G.O.P. Genius would not too alarmed by one vote as long as it was not unmistakably clear that You-Know-Who beat Mittens at Mittens’ own game. And this will almost certainly not be the case, for, as we learned from the last issue, 5 April 2012, of Baincapper /_Finanzkapital_ community wants Mittens badly. That would be Wall Street’s slightly specialized perspective on wantin’ a POTUS "that looks like America," ¿don’t you know?
The way we appear to be headed at the moment, Mittens may indeed triumph, but if he does, he’ll owe it mostly to "a small band of willful" godzillionaire cranks, goodvolks who have little to do with their mainstream Classmates, an’ less than that to do with their Class Party.
Freiherr von Bähr is, I fear, well behind the cuttin’ edge of societal degeneration. A teller could hardly tell from his freelordship’s here whinin’ that such a thing as "Citizens United" ever happened. One cannot reasonably expect pajamaclad warmers of potatoe couches to allow for such a humanoid event, or even necessarily to have heard about it, but his freelordship is blurbed as "co-founder and chief political correspondent for The American Thinker, which suggest that he ought to be only the slightest little teeny-weenie bit inferior to Eddie Burke or Dizzy D’Israëli quâ ‘conservative’ ‘intellectual’.
In the real world, I fear Von Bähr would fit in without detectable seam over to The Louisedayhicksville Herald. Or maybe someplace more provincial still than LDHV. ’Tis only a couple of versts by MBTA from whightest Southie to the Banecappers’ GHQ , after all.
 ¡Peregrinus expectavi pedes tuos in palmis!
 "gazing, rapt, upon one’s own ethical navel."
 The plural is dubious, "Purity of greed is to crave ONE thing," but I believe conventional.
 "This is the dawning of the Age of Breitbartius, Age-of-Breightbartius, ¡Bright BAAAAAR Tee Yuss!"
¡Never a truer word was keyboarded too often than that one! However the chances that this McTerminology will be adopted by the court historians of Princess Posterity are not great.
 You’ll be wanting the fortieth floor, I believe, sir. Tell ’em Paddy and Eye sent you.