Today I went into Culo de Pecos to get provisions--lighter fluid, Varsol, rosemary for the upwind stakes--for Rancho de Rio Grande and saw a man lying in the gutter, surrounded by empty Mad Dog bottles. He hadn't washed in weeks, and his clothes were fouled by his own waste.

This was Sam. I knew him from high school. He had a bright future, and everyone thought he'd do best of all of us. They of course forgot about me and lots of people have had time to regret that decision. But let's talk about Sam now. For a second.

Sam is not a member of the Oppressor Class. That is, he's not a white, heterosexual male. That makes him one of the Oppressed. And since all the Oppressed are just alike in that they are Oppressed by the Oppressors, it doesn't matter how he's Oppressed.

And so Sam took to drink, unable to deal with his life. Once, some years ago I saw Sam sitting on a park bench with a bottle in a paper sack, taking swigs from time to time.

"Sam! Sam! It's Theocritus! What's the matter with you, Sam? What happened?"

He focused his bleary eyes on me and when he recognized me, started crying. "Theocritus! It <i>is</i> you. How I've longed for a sympathetic and kind face," he had been drinking heavily, "in this vale of tears. It's been so hard, Theocritus, so hard for me these last few years..."

~

"Sam," I whispered, "tell me what's wrong."

"Well, Theo, it was like this. I was enrolled in pre-med in Austin College, as you know, and I was going to be the first great Oppressed doctor. But when I got into a bio chem. class, the professor told me that I failed!"

"Sam! What happened?"

"I don't know. I felt really really <i>good</i> about my answers. I don't know why I failed. I told the professor that and he said, 'I don't care how you feel about it. If you're wrong, the patient dies.'"

"And then, Theocritus, I knew that the Man was against me. And that there was no hope for me. And I am now as you see me, a broken man."

Obviously he'd been abandoned by society.

I drove to WalMart, and en route passed by house after house with late-model cars in the yards and with screens hanging from the windows and doors off the hinges, the only plants in the yards African roo and nettles. Through the open doors I could see four-hundred-pound men and women watching Maury Povich on wide-screen television while their children, dirty, some without pants, played in the street.

They had been abandoned by society.

While in the WalMart parking lot I saw some young men in bondage pants spray-painting the side of the building with street art. It is our fault that we did not provide them with the proper artistic materials--not that I would of course say that there's anything wrong with street art--but who knows that Rembrandt or da Vinci we have lost because these young men didn't have the materials.

They have been abandoned by society.

Comrades, now that the new age of Enlightenment is here, and we are to be lead by the Sonorous Unctuous Vacuity into the Progressive World of Next Tuesday, I call for increased public spending on all the members of America who have been abandoned by society. And I get to say who gets what and how much of it I will keep.

For I won't let society abandon me. I'm a good progressive.

I must apply for a government grant to buy all the tissues I will need to wipe up all the tears that I am shedding at this sad, sad story. Imagine a society so cruel it would not allow a person to become a doctor simply because he can't do chemistry or physics or math or biology or... well, but I'm sure he has a good heart! Doesn't that count for something? And what about the children? Who is watching them while their parents are watching Maury Povich? And who is Maury Povich watching? Why can't we all watch each other? Our mission is not complete until the fumble-fingered become surgeons, all dirty Povich-watching children have pants and every idiot with spray paint has a steady supply of walls to deface.

Yes, let's have a steady supply of walls to deface. Even Bill Gates is up for this one--there is a commercial advertising Windows, which is like advertising water to a fish, talking about all the people who use Windows, in a we-are-the-world way. One of the users has an outside office--he's a tagger.

And the breadth and depth of his art. Not even Rembrandt was as good at shadow but then Rembrandt had to make his own paints, and he didn't have DuPont Imron.

Opiate, I quite agree. And under ADA it is illegal to discriminate according to disabilities. Which means that the psychotic cannot be barred from running nuclear power plants.

Nor the House of Representatives. Which is as it should be.

His problem is he's drinking all that wine. Sam needs to broaden his horizons. Everyone I know drinks cocktails. We're all doing just fine. Very successful. Sam needs to switch to drinking cocktails. Nobody that drinks cocktails winds up like that. Really. That would set him straight.

Commissar Theocritus

I was so moved by your beneficence, your compassion that I immediately drove the people's Honda to the local SuperCenter.

Art on the southern back wall:

Titled- Jeremia lamenting the destruction of Jerusalem

Titled -Madonna with the Carnation

Titled -Beware This Man . OMG is painting of Commissar!

Fourtunately I had just purchased artistic materials. I cleaned off the offending title with a can of Varsol.

Poor, oppressed youths. I guess they had to vent on someone.

Dear Rasputin, I am so touched. I too love street artists. Because when they're painting WalMart they're not painting Rancho de Rio Grande.

I very much approve of the exercise of our youths, for that keeps them healthy and fit. In particular they now seem to have very large biceps, or bicep on the hand they use to wield the spray-paint can. If they're good with tire irons and chains they may have big biceps on both arms.

I'm good with a remote....

The Person I shall call Wife was bring me home from the Local elitist place called "the Hospital" Some how my Soldering iron became embedded in my forehead. She stop at the Capitalist Exxon Tigermart, where I too saw persons sitting around the Dumpster drink 40 ounce Saint Ives malt liquor. All smelled very bad. I stepped out of the car and walked over and asked what they were doing sitting around a dumpster drinking Malt liquor. They stated they were waiting for the Obamessiah to call them. That he was going to give them free money, I thought to myself perhaps I should sit around the dumpster and drink malt liquor. The Person call Wife, dragged me back in to the car, I told her I wanted to sit around the dumpster drinking malt liquor, she told me to shut up.

This was not what I wanted to hear...Commissar Theocritus what should I do?

Red Star, in prior times people sold their all and waited on mountaintops. They were called chiliasts. These days the Obamessiah will force other people to sell their things to pay you to sit by a dumpster drinking malt liquor.

Roll with the flow, friend, roll with the flow. But between you and me, I'd start hiding things from the Fairness Police. The Chosen One wants a national police force, did you know that [This is true.]

With this we can make sure that no one is more equal than others. And with proper application of the Fairness Police, the people who were sitting around the dumpster now can sit with you in your house, drinking your malt liquor and molesting your daughter, and peeing on your floors.

Greetings Comrade Theocritus, Such a sorry, sorry tale. I am thankful more and more for my assignment in the peoples packing houses. Obviously they were abandoned by society. I should like to donate my spare shovel to him if you will permit me. As an aside Comrade Commissar, I understand that Che' Chef needs some help in the peoples kitchen to prepare glorious feasts for the glorious Commissar's such as your self. Perhaps a well placed word by you? As you know winter approaches Comrade.

I have been looking for Ché, who is seriously delinquent in the duties of a chef. And heads will roll. Not the head of a seriously good chef, of course, but some other head, <i>pour encourager les autres</i>.

By all means, Radnoskovich, I'll put in a good word for you. And all it will cost you is having to listen to Bruno for a few hours while my ears quit bleeding.

Ahhh. You are very wise and knowledgeable. So regardless of what the person I call wife says I my go sit around the Dumpster drinking Malt Liquor. Problem is these people Smelled very bad; perhaps I will need to find people to sit around and drink Malt liquor with that do not smell quite as bad.

Person I call wife got somewhat pissed, I took your advice and hid all her Swarovski Crystal, and Jewelry. I also attempted to put a tin foil on the cat's head, to protect it from spies attempting to read its mind. Person I call wife, got very angry, as did Cat I call fluffy. I do suspect that Cat I call Fluffy might be working for the Chosen One's national police force already. I noticed he sneaks out at night tries to make you think he is just going and hanging out in the back yard, But I know better and am watching him…

Red Star, your loyalty is impressive. But please note that tin-foil hats <i>are for the reception of LeftThought</i> broadcast from Laika in her Sputnik.

The tin-foil hat concentrates and clarifies Laika's LeftThought using the principal of pyramid power. You get an extra dose of Laika if you make your tin-foil hat into a pyramid instead of a cone. This was discovered by that excellent mathematician of the people, Kolmogorov, which flowed out of his <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kolmogoro ... researches in topology</a>.

Andrey was of course doing pure mathematic research but after it was explained to him that the People needed tin-foil hats, he decided to do the research and managed very well to the end of his days with eight fingers.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:I have been looking for Ché, who is seriously delinquent in the duties of a chef. And heads will roll. Not the head of a seriously good chef, of course, but some other head, <i>pour encourager les autres</i>.

By all means, Radnoskovich, I'll put in a good word for you. And all it will cost you is having to listen to Bruno for a few hours while my ears quit bleeding.

My Vetted Commissar Theocritis

Che' here! Gracias senor, but my excuse is as good as any....I was resurrecting my horse, Rocinante. I do not want to be without transportation..... (unable to abscond rapidly).... as I have been collecting delicacies to impress the Inner Circle and venerated guests with my art, as a Supreme Doctor of Gastronomy......now if you must report me, at least wait until after the purges..Parties....puffs on cigar while carressing his new knife......and you can send the prole, Radnoskovich down to the kitchen now. I was waiting for him to get the bollocks to ask your permission. LOL

your surly, overworked Chef,



Che' Gourmet

"Justice remains the tool of a few powerful interests; legal interpretations will continue to be made to suit the convenience of the oppressor or powers."

Thank you Commissar Theocritus: you are too kind to help me like this taking time from your busy schedule. I shall immediately make my Pyramid shape tin foil hat. And remove the one on the traitorous, Cat I call fluffy. I do not want any secret messages from Laika being leaked out.

One does not know how to repay your kindness Commissar Theocritus, Perhaps I could begin stealing Hummel's and send them to you; Recently, I have been stealing lawn ornaments but I grow bored of Pink Flamingos, bath tub shrines to the Virgin Mary, and stupid Gnome's. Beside the one I call wife simply tosses them all in the trash.

Ché, if you weren't surly I'd figure you were plotting against me. I like surly. Surly goes with socialism, you know--if you can't deserve anything by your work, why not be surly.

Hear and believe: Socialism exists, not to spread wealth, but to spread misery. It exists to destroy the link between actions and consequences, to remove peoples' sense of agency, and to make people surly and miserable.

Viva Socialism! The death of the spirit!

Red Star, if you've been stealing Mary on the Half Shell, why not put it to good purpose? You could go into a business selling Marx on the Half Shell. Or Obama on the Half Shell.

It would of course be a not-for-profit business and the books would not show a profit. They'd show it bleeding red ink and asking for a subsidy. But it's amazing what you can do with expenses, you know.

Report to the Rancho and I'll tell you how one of the Big Eight accounting firms ran expenses through in the 80s, past the Texas Department of Insurance and the rate-payers for life-insurance companies. I'll also tell you how a certain Hall mark of property development ran expenses through his property-syndication deals.

I weep in admiration at the simple larceny. In fact, I don't think that Meow could run as many expenses through at this Hall mark of property development.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:Red Star, if you've been stealing Mary on the Half Shell, why not put it to good purpose? You could go into a business selling Marx on the Half Shell. Or Obama on the Half Shell.

Dear Comrades,

What is this 'stealing'? Particularly of public art? There is no stealing, merely Redistribution. All art belongs to the people anyway, so Red Star merely engaged in a glorious mission of aesthetic redistribution.

Wouldn't Obama on the Half Shell be...naked? Is nakedity acceptable in the People's Art? I worry about the Children ™!

KR

Commissar Theocritus I beam with pride for the Invitation to Rancho de Rio Grande, The person I call wife is wiping the tears of joy from my eyes. I hope I prove worthy. I will look forward to the accounting tips. I have an MBA, and a bachelors in ass kissing (BAK) but I can still learn from a master. With all credit to Chairman Meow, you Commissar are truly are the King of Kings property-syndication, as well as cooking the books. Your feats are legendary.

RedKitty, I will be Redistribution. All art belongs to the people, nakedity is to my knowledge acceptable in the People's Art. But I will need a ruling if magazines like Juggs and Cheri are considered art.


Heyyyyyy Redkitty……..You look like a friend of the cat I call fluffy……..

RedKitty, you are right in that art belongs to the people If you remember that art is what we don't want in our own galleries in our houses. If it's say a Rafael that I like, that's not art. That's a tchotchke because to call it art I'd have to put it on display. And I <i>will not</i> have the proles running their dirty hands over my art as though they were the people in the Malacanang Palace after the overthrow of dear Ferdinand and Imelda.

And yes, Red Star, thank you for your kind words. I have over the years worked in a regulated industry and understand full well that regulation works for the regulated. Just as wealthy people are all Democrats now because they have the money to buy the best houses and cars and it follows that they have the money to buy the best lawyers and representatives, no?

I have been so impressed by your attitude that I will offer you this. If you are good at turning over rows of potatoes, I will make you a, wait for it, <i>potato peeler</i> in the kitchen. And who knows? If you master that, then you can become a <i>beet boiler</i>.

i recall only last year that I had had a prole who had progressed up through the progressive ranks from potato peeler to beet boiler and then to maker of the borscht, and nothing is higher than that. (Although don't tell Ché Gourmet, for whom I have other plans.)

Dear Igor had labored with me and my dynastic commie family for decades, and when he turned 80 his body just gave out--18 hours a day over a hot stove, making borscht.

I had a few minutes and so I visited him and <i>handed</i> him a bowl of borscht. His eyes filled up with tears and he gulped. "Commissar Theocritus. You are so good to me. To give me my own bowl of borscht with your own hands. This is the justification of all my sweating and slaving for the Progressive World of Next Tuesday."

Touched by his humility, my insides caught on fire, and no this is not a gay porn novel, and from behind my back I brought out a sprig of dill and a tablespoon of sour cream, and <i>placed them both in his bowl of borscht</i>.

Happiness flooded out of Igor and his heart, weakened in the service of the People, gave out, but he died, a Peoples' hero, at peace, unfortunately spilling that goddamned borscht on my carpet and turning it bright red.

Ché Gourmet, I pose a question for you in your surliness. Don't get me wrong; I love surliness.

I have a mind to make my own foie gras. I know, I know, I know, we can get it from the Hudson Valley or the Hungarians do a good turn in foie gras these days, but we have all these proles, you know.

The problem is eating enough of the corn. First we have to get the corn from Algore; I swear that man can use up more corn than anyone else I know. Why just the other day I remarked, "Al, you know you really are a corn hog. If you didn't run that entire fleet of Escalades on ethanol, you could feed the entire state of Quintana Roo in Mexico and stop the food riots."

"Huh? Is that you, Commissar Theocritus? I was just talking to those chads over there."

"Al, take it from a friend. Chads can't talk. Chad is a country or the name of some redneck or the name of half the gay porn stars. You can't be talking to Chads, or if you are, I think that Tipper will be very cross with you."

"But Theocritus, all these years I've known that it was the hanging chads that let the Bushitler steal the election from me when Daddy promised me that I'd be president if I just stop wetting the bed."

"Al, I really gotta tell you to stop talking about hanging Chads. I mean, with some of your rally venues, WeHo and other places, the crowd thinks that you're talking about hung Chads and you're just not up for it any more, Al. I mean at one time, considering what you'd do for a vote, well, maybe, if you insisted. But the beard was the beginning of the end, Al, the beginning of the end. And now you look like you <i>ate</i> the Mexicans that you're starving for your cars."

So, Cné, let's talk about the best use of the corn, which certainly isn't feeding hungry people. That's for charities, not socialists, to do.

It's so hard to get people whose livers you want to eat all that corn. They've been raised on Big Macs and other things and corn just isn't that tasty. I know we can't put a funnel in their mouths and force-feed them like they do in France, but I have thought of another way.

Let's make two-ounce packets of corn and label them "Entitlement Corn." That way people will elbow each other aside to get the entitlement corn and stuff it down their throats, and the result? Wonderful foie gras.

Which I expect you to make into a savory mille feuille for me.

I am Speechless Commissar Theocritus…. To think a few days ago I was having my soldering Iron removed from my forehead, and kibitzing with smelly people drinking malt liquor, as well as working for A.I.G. (now you know why I had a Soldering iron in my forehead) and in just one day I get an invitation to go to the prestigious Rancho de Rio Grande and be tutored by the King of Kings, as a bonus I get to flip potatoes with the possibility of a promotion. (Something defiantly not forth coming at A.I.G.)


(Tears in eyes) I kiss the Commissars ring. I will steal a lawn Gnome as a gift for You Commissar Theocritus, not cheesy one ether a good one. Perhaps someday……I can aspire to greatness,

Thank you, thankyaverymuch

God bless every one, Sniff Sniff…


P.S.

Should I bring Wine and Cheetos?

Red Star wrote: God bless every one, Sniff Sniff

Who blesses every one?

WHO?

Welcome to the Collective, Red Star. Now meet the business end of my shovel!

WHACK!

How dare you, Red Star! HOW DARE YOU!!! How dare you come in here and force your hate speech and your intolerance and your--your--your INSANE RAGE down our throats!

Why, I'll bet it was YOU who was overheard yelling, "Kill him!" at that McCain/Palin rally. Don't lie. I know the truth.

And what's this?!? Where did you get this garden gnome? THAT'S MY GARDEN GNOME! You stole it from the flowerbed in my dacha, you--you--oh, you digitally lobotomized, Faux News addicted, knuckle-dragging "Bush is a demigod" 19 percenter, you!

WHACK!
And about this soldering iron--you're about to get it back--and I mean that in the literal sense. Bend over and think warm thoughts--well, maybe the latter won't be necessary.

Now peel yourself up off the ground and--good grief, comrade, wipe your nose; why do you think you have sleeves sewn to your shirt?--and get out of my sight before I whack you again--and never forget--only the Obamessiah has the power to bless us and to heal us. Therefore, I would strongly advise you to find one of his ordained representatives and beg forgiveness and Obama's magnanimous benevolent yada yada that your faith in him, and absolute submission to him, will make you whole again.

As for where you might find one of these ordained representatives, you need look no further than me, for I also lead the Holy Order of the Brides of Obama, or Hussies for short. I will demand an indulgence, of course, before I can hear your confession. Depending on what you gave to the Obama campaign, it could range anywhere from $30-$250 if you want to receive a T-shirt that's been blessed (soaked, actually) in The One's urine. Or maybe it's urine that's been blessed by The One; either way it's holy water and you'll be lucky and honored to have been soaked accordingly.

Oh, and leave the wine, but take the Cheetos. They're no good once they've been demolished into dust.

PLEASE NOTE THE MOON IS FULL!

Comrades,

Comrade Commissar Theocritus has provided communal inspiration: The One shall commence a massive program of building walls that can then be used for underprivileged youth to decorate with the people's tools (i.e., spray paint, dung, etc.) to let their unvoiced voices be voice in visual terms that, as my mail-order degree in cognitive science from Pyongyang U. taught me, visual data goes more quickly and deeper into the reactionary brain, where it festers and grows to eventually take control and cleanse with the scrubbling bubbles of Marxism/Leninism/juche.

Comrades, what is a wall? It is, like capitalism and "freedom," something to be overcome, except when it's for one's own good, as in Berlin. A wall between Mexico and the US will create people's jobs and protect Mexicans from the dying light of AmeriKKKanism; it will inspire American who better identify themselves as World Citizens, to overcome said wall to arrive at International Solidarity.

Imagine walls built around Obama's community organized section of Chicago, to prevent its inhabitants from being further contaminated by outside thought (and contain the most murderous factions of Chicago). Community organizers can help with acquisition of art supplies, selection of wall builders, and aligning walls to gerrymander districts in more effective and lasting ways.

Imagine walls built from lava rocks, creating chia pet green borders that suck up CO2. In every community, a massive chia pet Al Gore statue on a pedestal to remind the masses who raised awareness of global warming by flying all over the world to tell people about it. The statues would be surrounded and protected by walls, adorned with yet more subsidized art by the oppressed. Those who most wish to feel the Goracle would be inspired to overcome their walls, internal and external, to touch the Goracle. A bronze article could be added to each of the Goracle statues so it would be perpetually polished by repeated stroking, keeping it as brilliant and shiny as the Party Truth.

Our intellectuals have created African-American campus houses, Asian-American campus houses, and others where people of their own kind can mingle equally. More walls, comrades, will only ensure greater equality, class-consciousness, and identity awareness.

Recently I read that, after the Spanish united under a tyrant of a king to throw out Napoleon, they rejoiced in the phrase, "Long live chains!" Perhaps no truer and more enlightened words have been uttered en masse. Yet we can, one day soon, say, "Long live walls!"

Yes, we can!

Commissarka Pinkie, have you been selling those piss-soaked tee-shirts again? I've found lots of returns on the ones that I've sold. The piss erases all the printing, and it leaves one hell of a smell. And it's odd--it may be piss but it smells, literally, like shit. Go figure.

And, Commissarka, do not for a second think that I think you have a Garden Gnome. Red Star did not actually mean your garden gnome, which I doubt you have, despite your prolier-than-thou attitude, unless it was advertised in <i>Martha Stewart Living</i>. For I have found your secret vice: your admiration of Martha Stewart. Sister and I have sent in a mole and found that you've hired her staff, the ones not in jail, to design a color scheme for the hovels of the beet diggers. It's so hard to find something that goes with the red of beets--depending on the season it could be crimson, it could be vermillion. I personally think that a green between lime leaves and sage would do but then I'm not Martha Stewart. And so I denounce you for bourgeois capitalist experimentation with soft, decadent fabrics and colors and textures in the stables of your beet diggers. Now if you'd paid <i>me</i> a consulting fee, it would have been value-added to your proles.

Red Star, thank you for the wine and the Cheetos. We, and there is no mouse in my pocket, shall be very pleased to see you here at the Rancho, and will even put you up in the room that Our Many Titted Empress uses when she's here. Do not worry--it's clean. I had to burn down the first ranch house because I just couldn't get it clean after one of her, er, parties with Janet Reno but this one has concrete walls and a concrete floor that slopes toward a drain in the center, and is easily sluiced out with the 500-gallon tanks of Varsol on the roof. You know, the ones I have to keep getting refilled.

The Cheetos will be very useful to give to Bruno. Because when he sticks <i>them</i> up his nose, yes, nose, we don't have to call the doctor.

Comrades,

Considering the above glorious comment's first paragraph, I think I am deserving of a People's Research Grant for run-on sentences. By establishing a dialectical grammar through which ever longer sentences can be constructed to continue with end, it will be possible to develop Truth Dissemination tools that are endless and self-perpetuating.

Supplicants could approach the Goracle on their knees, searching for environmental enlightenment and as they approached the light would get greener and greener and there would be more and more of that goddamned New Age music which sounds like Yoko One getting buggered by a narwhale which is loving it. That, combined with some subsonics, would give the supplicants that essential sense of inferiority to (1) buy the goddamned trinkets, (2) distract them while Meow picks their pockets, and (3) move some of Pinkie's more shriveled potatoes.

Comrade Commissar Theocritus,

Items (1) and (2) are excellent ideas. Regarding (3), let me dare to overcome my own mental walls to propose that said potatoes (Ah, is that a Quaylean plural? You might have fallen behind in your self-criticism sessions.), which, given the description, are clearly organic, be fermented into vodka. I imagine a small fountain that causes a halo of water to form above the Goracle's head. As the water trickles down, the chia is fed and grows. A strategically placed spigot allows the supplicants to purchase shots of vodka and eau du Gore with a faint and politically correct green tint.

Yes, New Age it must be, interspersed with slickly produced World Music that all sounds the same. Diversity is Homogeneity!

Comrades,

Regarding the tear-jerking account of one Comrade Sam, it brings to my right--er, left--mind (and my compassionate proletarian heart) memories of a picture a reactionary former "friend" once showed me. It showed an Oppressed Native American from the stolen Alaskan territory. Said native was passed out, pants unzipped, manhood exposed, trousers directionally moistened, brown-bagged bottle in one hand, contents spilled on shirt and ground. Picture was taken in broad daylight in front of a "Welcome to Juneau" tourist bureau sign, although certainly my memory is mistaken. Surely it must have said "Welcome to Wasilla."

The daylight of the picture was curious, deceptive. The "friend" said it was in fact the Midnight Sun and thus taken about 2 a.m., but due to the friend's disruption of my personal truth of perception, I felt shame. Thus the "friend" is no longer a confidante but a personal traitor.

Comrades, there are traitors and reactionaries everywhere. Be not lax in your reporting of them as I have been.

Comrades,

What is it with Mad Dog? Is not Night Train a more progressive beverage? In the Worker's Utopia, social justice arrives in an unmarked van in the middle of the Night. The Trans-Siberian Railway is a marvelous people's transit system, homage to the Train, which also carries thought criminals to the gulag.

Commissarka Pinkie I admit I went to a McCain/Palin Rally But I did not inhale!!!! I got caught up in the moment and yelled out, bring back Dan Quail. Yes in retrospect this was not a dignified comment. As for your Garden Gnome I did not take yours, I feel I must inform you the cat I call “Fluffy” has been gracing your garden and the Gnome, as it appears he adopted this area as his personal “Sand Box”. “Digitally lobotomized, Faux News addicted, knuckle-dragging "Bush is a demigod" 19 percenter, you!” This was just not fair, The Soldering Iron was not digital, and I watch the truth on MSNBC every night, ok once a week, OK I NEVER WATCH THEM, Overbite and Mathews scare me, they have doo doo faces….

As a peace offering Commissarka Pinkie, I am sending you a bottle of Sutter Home, an Open Bag of Ruffles a Picture of the Messiah I cut out of Newsweek, a half box of Swifter mop refills, also a can of Arid XX antiperspirant.

Someone <i>pretending</i> to be me wrote:

Supplicants could approach the Goracle on their knees, searching for environmental enlightenment and as they approached the light would get greener and greener and there would be more and more of that goddamned New Age music which sounds like Yoko One getting buggered by a narwhale which is loving it. That, combined with some subsonics, would give the supplicants that essential sense of inferiority to (1) buy the goddamned trinkets, (2) distract them while Meow picks their pockets, and (3) move some of Pinkie's more shriveled potatoes.

Comrade Commissar Theocritus,

Items (1) and (2) are excellent ideas. Regarding (3), let me dare to overcome my own mental walls to propose that said potatoes (Ah, is that a Quaylean plural? You might have fallen behind in your self-criticism sessions.), which, given the description, are clearly organic, be fermented into vodka. I imagine a small fountain that causes a halo of water to form above the Goracle's head. As the water trickles down, the chia is fed and grows. A strategically placed spigot allows the supplicants to purchase shots of vodka and eau du Gore with a faint and politically correct green tint.

Yes, New Age it must be, interspersed with slickly produced World Music that all sounds the same. Diversity is Homogeneity!

Heads will roll! There will be rivers of blood! I shall not be mocked! Bruno. Bruno! Have you seen my doppelganger? Did you let my evil twin out of the closet <i>again</i>? Bruno! Bruno!

Tovarich, yes in the just world which we all work for, justice is carried out on <a href="https://thepeoplescube.com/red/viewtopi ... dcd80">the TransSiberian Railroad.</a> And as for Mad Dog--we cannot expect those abandoned by society to observe the political niceties. In fact, if Sam had clothes made of endangered species shot in a wildlife preserve it would not matter. Whereas if a Rethuglican had not spit after seeing a woman in a real fur that would have been a crime.

Red Star, again I admire your attempts to suck up to Pinkie. Let me give you some tips. If you send her napery, make sure that it has the name of the hotel on it. She always likes stolen things. You could really get on her good side if you went to Trammell Crow Center in Dallas and made off with one of the Rodins. On the 33 floor outside the office of the director of tax there is a bronze Rodin head. She'd like that. Can't miss it. It's about the size of the Goracle's head but the conversation is a <i>lot</i> more interesting.

And it's obviously stolen for what true Comrade has the money for a Rodin? Except of course Soros and Rockefeller and Kennedy and Feinstein and Pelosi...

Commissar Theocritus wrote:[quote=

Heads will roll! There will be rivers of blood! I shall not be mocked! Bruno. Bruno! Have you seen my doppelganger? Did you let my evil twin out of the closet <i>again</i>? Bruno! Bruno!

Please Fearless leader rest your sphincter, But realize there is money to be made using the Goracle. Before the Blood flows think, if you build it the dipshits will come. Just look at the Obamessiah Campaign.


Commissar Theocritus build this tribute to the Goracle, sell tickets for viewing, 10 bucks for a shot of Goracle Vodka, (In reality watered down cheap Grain alcohol)

Think of the money fearless and kind leader !!!

Red Star, I was very upset because I did not write that quoted thing. Someone is pretending to be me. What could this do for my assets? Considering the intelligence of some progressives, any fool could walk in and identify himself as me and they'd give him anything that he wanted. My only salvation so far is that Progressives aren't really all that smart. I mean, "I want...I'm entitled...You looked at me funny...Social justicse...White Man Bad..." you know the litany. They just can't do any real thinking. But someone impersonating me? The effrontery.

It's like having just any old fat drunk impersonate the great Teddy Kennedy.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:And so I denounce you for bourgeois capitalist experimentation with soft, decadent fabrics and colors and textures in the stables of your beet diggers. Now if you'd paid <i>me</i> a consulting fee, it would have been value-added to your proles.

Theocritus, I am deeply wounded by this--especially after Red Square made me Drapes Coordinator, and at your request, I generously, handsomely, charitably, beneficiently, lavishly, unselfishly--ohh, just look up "liberality" in Roget's College Thesaurus. There are just too many wonderful adjectives to describe my princely, free-handed, open-minded, big-hearted--well, just look it up--but the fact remains I regifted Drapes Coordinator to you. And it is you I depend on to decorate my dacha. Someone else (Bruno I suspect; he's jealous and would love to off me so he can get my bling) has been spreading lies and smears about me.

Red Star: I will accept your offerings and let it go for now, because despite your legion of flaws, you do have one gift, one admirable trait, and that is the ability to grovel till I just want to turn away from you in apparent disgust, but in actual glee.

You may now kneel down and kiss my shovel.

Oh, Commissarka, I do crave your pardon. I don't know what got into me. How could I have forgotten that I was the Drapes Coordinator? I've been so busy with the winding shrouds for the unsatisfactory proles that I completely forgot. That, and all that embalming fluid which I meant to put in Meow's drink but somehow wound up in mine. Jeez. The head that stuff gives you.

And I think that you're right about Bruno spreading lies. You'd be right about him spreading truth too. Bruno has, if you haven't noticed, a little tiny mind, and if his mind were big enough to wrap around it, he'd be jealous of the mind of a parakeet. In fact if his mind were big enough to wrap around a pea I'd be surprised.

But you are so right about him loving bling. I used to go to Hobby Lobby once a month and buy a hundredweight of glass stones, sparkles and glitter. That would keep him happy for hours and hours, which was no bad thing. The problem though is that word got out and the doorbell rang and there was Richard Simmons, attracted to the glitter.

The two of them shrieked and started holding hands and jumping up and down, so I shot myself.

Commissar Theocritus

Thank you Kind and Generous leader; I do so love the smell of Varsol in the morning smells like, Victory.


Commissarka Pinkie
I kneel down and Kiss the shovel, and hope you like the Gifts.

I shall start planning my trip to
Rancho de Rio Grande,The cat I call "Fluffy" is volunteering to drive me down. As lastnight I lost my drivers license for driving naked on the wrong side of the road. Not to mention the back seat and trunk full of Garden Gnomes, children's yard toys, the little reflectors people put at their mail boxes. And three rocks painted white (no reason I just liked them).
The person I call Wife, was quite angry at me. She stated first you stick a soldering Iron in your forehead, and then want to hang out stinking, lazy drunks, plus she woke up this morning rolled up in Tin Foil, and all the toilets were clogged. But I say who needs her; I have my trusty cat fluffy,WHAT???


Shut up Fluffy, no you can't have Heather Locklear, stop smoking up all the Marlboro's

Commissar Theocritus wrote: He focused his bleary eyes on me and when he recognized me, started crying. "Theocritus! It <i>is</i> you. How I've longed for a sympathetic and kind face," he had been drinking heavily, "in this vale of tears. It's been so hard, Theocritus, so hard for me these last few years..."

....They have been abandoned by society.

,....I call for increased public spending on all the members of America who have been abandoned by society. And I get to say who gets what and how much of it I will keep.

Perfect Commissar, perfect! Yes, you will make your collective the perfect location for us the new Karl Marx Secure High Interned Therapy Camp. This is where we will intern the Bush come January. As I mentioned before, we will need to keep the Bush in a secret facility from which we can produce propoganda featuring Bush as saboteur on the run whenever the Obama needs a scapegoat for policies that fail or struggle to achieve their goals, as there will be many. He will need a kind face, and after all, he too will have been abandoned by society.

I suppose Cheney would make a welcome distraction for Bruno in his free time as well.

Marshal Pupovich wrote:

Commissar Theocritus wrote: He focused his bleary eyes on me and when he recognized me, started crying. "Theocritus! It <i>is</i> you. How I've longed for a sympathetic and kind face," he had been drinking heavily, "in this vale of tears. It's been so hard, Theocritus, so hard for me these last few years..."

....They have been abandoned by society.

,....I call for increased public spending on all the members of America who have been abandoned by society. And I get to say who gets what and how much of it I will keep.

Perfect Commissar, perfect! Yes, you will make your collective the perfect location for us the new Karl Marx Secure High Interned Therapy Camp. This is where we will intern the Bush come January. As I mentioned before, we will need to keep the Bush in a secret facility from which we can produce propoganda featuring Bush as saboteur on the run whenever the Obama needs a scapegoat for policies that fail or struggle to achieve their goals, as there will be many. He will need a kind face, and after all, he too will have been abandoned by society.

I suppose Cheney would make a welcome distraction for Bruno in his free time as well.

Nice to hear from you Marshal Pup,

I fear that Bruno would be scared poopless around Cheney. He really is one nasty dude.

And, excuse me Sir, did Commissar Theocritis volunteer his personal dacha? Or is this an offshoot of the Rio del Grande Rancho Spa, World-class Hotel and Convention Center?

I'm sure the Party is working on the Obamessiah's massive Infrastructure Programs to make sure the proles political prisonershave jobs. Such a good heart, our feared Leader-Elect has.

gotta go get something out of the oven,

Che' Gourmet

To: Cradle to Grave Marxist where ever you are.

"Yo. Commie Thugs is lying murderous criminal conspiracy.

Be all about the gang, an defendin my rights fo the wealth from th' rich.

The plan is workin. "


Yo. Nice artwork at the Super Center. You owe me for a can of Varsol.

Pupovich, glad to hear from you, and hope things are well.

And well with the collective too. I fear that Bruno could not possibly be scared poopless by Dick Cheney. Bruno is scared poopless every morning by the light switches in the dacha.

Pupovich, do you think that there's a future for a Karl Marx Secure High Interned Therapy Camp d/b/a Commissar Theocritus' Five-Beet Luxury Spa and Hostelry? We could syndicate it--I'm really good with that, having learned the trick from a </i>Hall</i> mark property developer here in Texas. Don't put in any of your money, lie to the doctors and airline pilot investors, and let the greedy lenders think that they're doing you a favor. Works every time.

I could use a sharp operator like you to be in charge of credit, which is to say security. And Ché, you of course would be in charge of the menus. There will be two: the good one for the elected party members and the other one for the workers, and I don't care what it is as long as they don't have more than 1% more of the calories required to do a full 18 hours' work.

And that 18 hours--we shall go down in history for our munificence.

Red Star, your magpie collection of various oddments strangely endears you to me. With proper training I think that you could be a first-class thief.

Or a really good bag-lady. To a good progressive there's little difference.

When you report to the Rancho I shall give you your babushka and, if you're very lucky, a Neiman's shopping bag.

Thank you Kind and Fearless leader; I shall make it my soul purpose in life to become the best IRS Agent thief for the state possible.

Perhaps when you rise to supreme absolute grand poopa and leader of theses all these great lands, I could be appointed as state procurer.

Marshal Pupovich I was informed that you were in jail? Something about beating up CNN staff, for not agreeing to awarding Chairman M. S. Punchenko the title of CNN Hero. I stole your Found your Zil and have been driving it to protect it.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:Pupovich, do you think that there's a future for a Karl Marx Secure High Interned Therapy Camp d/b/a Commissar Theocritus' Five-Beet Luxury Spa and Hostelry? We could syndicate it--I'm really good with that, having learned the trick from a </i>Hall</i> mark property developer here in Texas. Don't put in any of your money, lie to the doctors and airline pilot investors, and let the greedy lenders think that they're doing you a favor. Works every time.

The only problem I can see is with security. After all, we can not let it be known that the Bush and Cheney are contained. We must allow the proles to believe that they somehow evaded capture after the Coronation of the One, so we can use them as a scapegoat for any failures to attain any 5 year plans etc. He will be our "Goldstein" and the subject of our 5 minute hate rally.

Pupovich, Commissar Theocritus' Five-Beet Luxury Spa and Hostelry will have, as the name implies, a spa. But unlike say a Four Seasons or a Westin, the spa will not be optional. It will be mandatory. Would you do me the honor of being director of the Spa routine, which will include daily hate rallies?

Five times a day all the "guests"--I like that, guests--have to face Berkley and say their hate speech. And Red Star, here is where you come in. As you know, if people are unclean before their hate sessions, that is, if they've even farted, and with Ché making lots and lots of borscht, they will fart a lot, they must perform their ritual cleansing before their hate prayers will be accepted.

Red Star, you will serve as hat-check boy, so to speak; that is bailee of their valuables. Which do not have to be returned in the same condition as you received them.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:

Someone <i>pretending</i> to be me wrote:

Supplicants could approach the Goracle on their knees, searching for environmental enlightenment and as they approached the light would get greener and greener and there would be more and more of that goddamned New Age music which sounds like Yoko One getting buggered by a narwhale which is loving it. That, combined with some subsonics, would give the supplicants that essential sense of inferiority to (1) buy the goddamned trinkets, (2) distract them while Meow picks their pockets, and (3) move some of Pinkie's more shriveled potatoes.

Comrade Commissar Theocritus,

Items (1) and (2) are excellent ideas. Regarding (3), let me dare to overcome my own mental walls to propose that said potatoes (Ah, is that a Quaylean plural? You might have fallen behind in your self-criticism sessions.), which, given the description, are clearly organic, be fermented into vodka. I imagine a small fountain that causes a halo of water to form above the Goracle's head. As the water trickles down, the chia is fed and grows. A strategically placed spigot allows the supplicants to purchase shots of vodka and eau du Gore with a faint and politically correct green tint.

Yes, New Age it must be, interspersed with slickly produced World Music that all sounds the same. Diversity is Homogeneity!

Comrade Commissar Theocritus,

It was I who used mere quote tags without assigning the originator of the quoted comment (i.e., you) due credit. Yet what, in truth, is "due credit" but a false and divisive capitalist construct (why, outdated, even), for in a Communist paradise, all will belong to one and one to all. Think of my unintentionally unattributed quote tag not as misappropriation but as "spreading the quotes around."

Comrades, I think this is a learning and teachable moment.

Tovarich, what perplexed my little red mind is that the post had my avatar on it. Stealing my personality? The one that I have worked so hard on? That I have burnished? I have not worked this hard to perfect this level of self-absorption, greed, intolerance, snootiness, self-righteousness, and Hollywood-like arrogance for nothing, And especially when I know nothing about it. I mean, to get to where I am in said list of personality traits, you generally have to play to audiences in Spain and trash America like George Michael. That is, when he's not found passed out in a London Park. But I digress.

I do worry so about the true revolutionary fervor being hijacked though. I do not want to wake up with a pick in my brain like Dear Trotsky.

Comrade Commissar Theocritus,

My indoctrinated guess is that what happened is due to the vast right-wing conspiracy. I cannot recall now whether I hit "Quote" or had started a fresh post and added quote tags.

Ah, yes, Tovarich. There is no question that it was the VRWC. After all, the fact that I cannot stop eating all that really good olive oil is without doubt the VRWC. And remember that it was our MTE who first coined VRWC.

But then of course it could be a bug in the Cube's software.

A bug in Progressive Software?

No. VRWC.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:Ché Gourmet, I pose a question for you in your surliness. Don't get me wrong; I love surliness.

I have a mind to make my own foie gras. I know, I know, I know, we can get it from the Hudson Valley or the Hungarians do a good turn in foie gras these days, but we have all these proles, you know.

The problem is eating enough of the corn. First we have to get the corn from Algore; I swear that man can use up more corn than anyone else I know. Why just the other day I remarked, "Al, you know you really are a corn hog. If you didn't run that entire fleet of Escalades on ethanol, you could feed the entire state of Quintana Roo in Mexico and stop the food riots."

"Huh? Is that you, Commissar Theocritus? I was just talking to those chads over there."

"Al, take it from a friend. Chads can't talk. Chad is a country or the name of some redneck or the name of half the gay porn stars. You can't be talking to Chads, or if you are, I think that Tipper will be very cross with you."

"But Theocritus, all these years I've known that it was the hanging chads that let the Bushitler steal the election from me when Daddy promised me that I'd be president if I just stop wetting the bed."

"Al, I really gotta tell you to stop talking about hanging Chads. I mean, with some of your rally venues, WeHo and other places, the crowd thinks that you're talking about hung Chads and you're just not up for it any more, Al. I mean at one time, considering what you'd do for a vote, well, maybe, if you insisted. But the beard was the beginning of the end, Al, the beginning of the end. And now you look like you <i>ate</i> the Mexicans that you're starving for your cars."

So, Cné, let's talk about the best use of the corn, which certainly isn't feeding hungry people. That's for charities, not socialists, to do.

It's so hard to get people whose livers you want to eat all that corn. They've been raised on Big Macs and other things and corn just isn't that tasty. I know we can't put a funnel in their mouths and force-feed them like they do in France, but I have thought of another way.

Let's make two-ounce packets of corn and label them "Entitlement Corn." That way people will elbow each other aside to get the entitlement corn and stuff it down their throats, and the result? Wonderful foie gras.

Which I expect you to make into a savory mille feuille for me.

Commissar Theocritis,

Many pardons for the delay in getting back to you. The damn Health Department was here again (I say someone is trying to upsurp me!) and they just left. (in one piece, this time).

Foie Gras from proles? There would need to be a screening process first, as one never knows what the proles have consumed and the livers may be contaminated. I suppose the KMTC could handle that. The idea of entitlement corn could work, but force-feeding is not that unpractical. I am assembling a "crack" staff of interrogaters cooks and the "coolers" are already outfitted with chains and irons. To force-feed the corn would not be too much of an inconvenience to my staff and this way we exert the control factor, guaranteeing clean and plump livers.

Your palate is usually fautless, Commissar but, Cream puff pastry with foie gras? Did you not care for my previous selection? I suppose the sweetness of the vanilla cream would not overwhelm the delicacy of the liver? I of course, will make it whichever way you desire, but do heed the calories involved. With your great and compassionate (non-existent)heart, one must consume this gastronomical oddity with care.

just looking out for your well-being Sir,

Che' Gourmet

CHEF TO THE STARS OF THE INNER PARTY!

Ché. Sorry. No, not cream puff pastry. Sorry. Just regular puff pastry. Or even perhaps packets in phyllo?

Yes, I like your prior menu, very much. But you know sometimes we have to ring the changes. We don't want a <i>mal de foie</i> from <i>trop de foie gras</i>.

Oh hell. Bring it on.

Grigori E.R. wrote:To: Cradle to Grave Marxist where ever you are.


Yo. Nice artwork at the Super Center. You owe me for a can of Varsol.

Yo, G, wazzup. We da ones, an' bustin' out th' O tag on all th' Lone-Stars on dees overpasses. Change is workin', an' my Man-G-The-One can front ya dem dead presidents fo' da spray--afta we transfer da wealth to ma pocket.




Comrade “Pul” хулиганье
Tiglath-Pileser III
Over 2753 Years of Organizing Communities

And makin' thugs out you suckas.
From the cradle to the grave.

Cradle to Grave Marxist, so you're the one spraying graffiti on the Texas public works. I suggest that you go to Trammell Crow Center in Dallas and perform your invaluable street art on the Malliols and Rodins down at the base of the tower. They are signs of capitalist oppression.

And anyway, O doesn't like them and so will not care if you deface them.

Che Gourmet wrote:Che' here! Gracias senor, but my excuse is as good as any....I was resurrecting my horse, Rocinante. I do not want to be without transportation.....

Please reassure me, that I found your otherwise well cooked steak a bit chewy?

Commissar Theocritus wrote:Five times a day all the "guests"--I like that, guests--have to face Berkley and say their hate speech. And Red Star, here is where you come in. As you know, if people are unclean before their hate sessions, that is, if they've even farted, and with Ché making lots and lots of borscht, they will fart a lot, they must perform their ritual cleansing before their hate prayers will be accepted.

I believe we are on to something Commissar. This would be an excellent way to help our Islamic jihadist supporters to be better acclimated to our way of life, and us to understand theirs as well. We have everyone face Berkley for the mandatory hate sessions, and face toward Washington for the ritual prayers to the O.

In the meantime, our forces are beginning to take control of the streets and cleaning up dissidents....

[Off]I have to, <i>have</i> to try to consider a reason. It is possible that the cops were trying to keep him from being killed. I know that they didn't want a riot. Perhaps they thought that arresting him would keep a riot from happening and then they wouldn't have to step in. I find it very distressing.

This crowd is not a crowd of reflective people. See <a href="https://www.theurbandictionary.com">The Urban Dictionary</a>, which is the argot of crowds like this. I've subscribed for two years and it's very interesting--creative, fun, shocking, and there is not a single word in it or a single instance of duty or honor, just how to do what you want to do in a world of egotistical nihilism.

Marshal Pupovich wrote:

Che Gourmet wrote:Che' here! Gracias senor, but my excuse is as good as any....I was resurrecting my horse, Rocinante. I do not want to be without transportation.....

Please reassure me, that I found your otherwise well cooked steak a bit chewy?

Oh Suspicious Marshall (shades of our dear paranoid Leader, Stalin)Pupovitch,

How could you imply that I would serve you anything less than the best of everything? Sir, my reputation would suffer terribly if I were to serve horsemeat (absolutely not my horse, as I love all animals, and especially, Rocinante) to my liege! (not to mention I would most assuredly be missing my head or limbs)

I do apologise if your steak was not to your liking (overcooked?) BTW- How do you like your meat, when cooked, of course? I would guess R to MR? I will speak to Wolfgang at once!, since it was he who cooked your steak. I had, only today, determined that Wolfgang would be my Sous Chef at the Lucretia Borgia People's Restaurant, but now I must reconsider this. Perhaps he should stay at the PHK to pick up some more experience. This is troubling my dear Marshal.
I have found Wolfgang to be a loyal pup, and he is very obedient, as all pups are when properly trained. I did not vet him justly, having such personnel problems at the time. Can you share some insight into this dilemma for me, most merciful, wise Marshal? I await your counsel, Sir.

your comrade in culinary delights,

Che' Gourmet

PS Do not hesitate to call me, in all haste, should this happen again. You have my number?

Che, do not be worried about Pupovich. He's a dear sort but he bares his fangs from time to time. And as far as Wolfgang? If he bothers you we can put him to playing pat-a-cake with Bruno. That'll learn him.

Red Star wrote:I I get an invitation to go to the prestigious Rancho de Rio Grande and be tutored by the King of Kings, as a bonus I get to flip potatoes with the possibility of a promotion.

I must say. I am at a loss. For the life of me, I can not recall the Commissar ever inviting me to the Ranco de Rio Grande as a guest.

Che Gourmet wrote:I do apologise if your steak was not to your liking (overcooked?) BTW- How do you like your meat, when cooked, of course? I would guess R to MR? I will speak to Wolfgang at once!, since it was he who cooked your steak. I had, only today, determined that Wolfgang would be my Sous Chef at the Lucretia Borgia People's Restaurant, but now I must reconsider this. Perhaps he should stay at the PHK to pick up some more experience. This is troubling my dear Marshal.
I have found Wolfgang to be a loyal pup, and he is very obedient, as all pups are when properly trained. I did not vet him justly, having such personnel problems at the time. Can you share some insight into this dilemma for me, most merciful, wise Marshal? I await your counsel, Sir.

I appreciate your prompt response and I am pleased to report that I now do not believe there was a problem with the steak after all. When I awoke the next day in the Chairman's Virgin Blood Vodka storeroom wearing nothing but a smile and a muzzle, that I realized that I perhaps made a mistake choosing my own mushrooms. It was then I realized it was not the steak that was causing problems chewing, it was my slipping into one of those Doors of Perception that Aldois Huxley spoke of. So give my apologies to Wolfgang for any distress I may have caused. I do prefer my steak medium rare.

Pupovich, of course I invited you to the Rancho. But it was at the same time that our MTE was going to be there and for reasons that are no doubt sufficient to you, and most wise in retrospect, you decided to pluck your eyebrows.

Commissar Theocritus, this story brings a jerk to my heart. It's sad to see good people on the streets due to RethugliKKKans. Let us all ban together and pray to Chicago!

Did you notice the triumphalist menace of those crowds? It was like Montreal after a hockey game. What a wonderful thing to know that at any time there might be violence. For after all, a well-behaved populace needs no storm troopers.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:Did you notice the triumphalist menace of those crowds? It was like Montreal after a hockey game. What a wonderful thing to know that at any time there might be violence. For after all, a well-behaved populace needs no storm troopers.

Or prisons.

Comrade Elliott, I read on another thread that you are 19. Please please do not be insulted it I, at over twice your age, state that you are very self aware. I do mean it well. I wish that people my age were as cognizant of reality.

A well-behaved populace will, of course, by definition need no prisons. But any realistic populace will have criminals--people who do not believe that their actions need to have consequences. (Am I singing a familiar tune?) People whose desires are, to them, more important than others' rights. And there are biological reasons as well as environmental reasons.

I'm such a curmudgeon that I do not really believe in prison rehabilitation for people nearly always repeat their mistakes. But I'm a great believer in prisons because they put bad people behind bars. Away from me.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:Comrade Elliott, I read on another thread that you are 19. Please please do not be insulted it I, at over twice your age, state that you are very self aware. I do mean it well. I wish that people my age were as cognizant of reality.

A well-behaved populace will, of course, by definition need no prisons. But any realistic populace will have criminals--people who do not believe that their actions need to have consequences. (Am I singing a familiar tune?) People whose desires are, to them, more important than others' rights. And there are biological reasons as well as environmental reasons.

I'm such a curmudgeon that I do not really believe in prison rehabilitation for people nearly always repeat their mistakes. But I'm a great believer in prisons because they put bad people behind bars. Away from me.

Good sircomrade, as you say I'm a very aware person to the outside world, I'm very good also at picking up on people's intentions, even if it's typed. As such, thank you for the complement, I also saw, nor took, no offense in your statement.

If you were to ask me, part of the reason the Obamasiah got elected is because people, as I'm sure we've discussed, failed to see anything beyond the Media's curtain over their head, but with a slogan like "Hope(lessness) and Change(nothing)", I think I saw wool growing out of some of his followers.

On your prison note, I agree, they need to be locked up and away from society. If you were to ask me, prison should be a living hell, not a living, tax-subsidized resort. An old teacher of mine put it best, "If I designed a prison, I'd have it be a 3 feet x 3 feet room. No TV, no weights, no free time, no nothing special (Just food, toilet and bed)."

Once again, we've tried to rehabilitate prisoners, and it just comes back to bite society on the butt, both literally and figurtivly.

I tend to agree about prison. I have heard sociologists say that isolation is so harmful to prisoners that it ought to be banned. I frankly would have no objection to a prison having a life which was not all that uncomfortable as long as the prisoner didn't know that he'd get it.

Consider this. States without death penalties have higher murder rates because criminals, who are expert risk-assessors, know that if there is no death penalty it makes sense to kill the victim of a robbery for he cannot identify you. But if there is a chance of death, it makes sense not to, not to risk death. So the threat of horrible punishment ought to be apparent.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:I tend to agree about prison. I have heard sociologists say that isolation is so harmful to prisoners that it ought to be banned. I frankly would have no objection to a prison having a life which was not all that uncomfortable as long as the prisoner didn't know that he'd get it.

Consider this. States without death penalties have higher murder rates because criminals, who are expert risk-assessors, know that if there is no death penalty it makes sense to kill the victim of a robbery for he cannot identify you. But if there is a chance of death, it makes sense not to, not to risk death. So the threat of horrible punishment ought to be apparent.

Interesting points. Unfortunatly, I don't have a witty retort, or a straight-shooting point to add.

I thought though it was the other way around with the death penalty. Where states without it had lower murder rates. I think though this was some kind of liberal spin on things. For a good example of this, look at Washington D.C.

I say this because, though it was a long time ago, I heard someone say that. I always thought, "No way, that just doesn't make sense", and your statement above just helped crush it. Thank you Commisar.

What happened to putting all those prisoners to good use? I'm not talking about a full blown gulag work or something, just some way for them to actually be doing something productive rather than sitting around and wasting our money. It should definitely be hard labor oriented though, just so that at the end of the day they're too tired out to cause any trouble.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:Pupovich, of course I invited you to the Rancho. But it was at the same time that our MTE was going to be there and for reasons that are no doubt sufficient to you, and most wise in retrospect, you decided to pluck your eyebrows.

Of course I was probably mistaken, since clearly you recall a quite logical excuse I came up with. Actually, I wonder how comfortable I would be at the Ranchero. Commissar, you are far ahead of the collective. Even Stalin and friends shared some hard times living in the Kremlin in the early years. You on the other hand, skipped right past those unnecessary formative years and went straight to enlightened and entitled. I can not tell you how often I have to google when you mention some French or Latin phrase, or some art work, and lately, even the meals you enjoy. In fact, it got me to wondering if perhaps you could host a Progressive Guide for the collective. This would be most useful now that the World of Next Tuesday is here, and we will be moving from the burning tire blockades into the halls of power where the ruling class must come together to govern effectively, for the Common Good™. Imagine my embarassment when I, a simple man of the soil, now find myself trying to order a simple truffle stuffed baby seal with a polar bear cub pate. and not even able to pick a propler wine for such delicacies. Then when I try to order in my best French, end up being served some broiled beets and fried rat on a stick. I need help!

Pupovich, dear Pupovich, what would the world do without you? You always get to the nub of it, don't you? Yes, night before last I had Kobe beef as an appetizer, the second course of a five-course tasting menu (they've just made a 14-course which I shall try soon). But all of the time I was thinking, "Yes, the Kobe beef is perfect; the medallions of veal are perfect, and the braised veal cheek is perfect, with that texture like a very well-bred oxtail, gelatinous and unctuous without being stringy. But after it was all said and done I realized that I was straying far from my roots.

I didn't have fried rat on a stick. And what good is a progressive who doesn't eat fried rat on a stick? A really good pastry chef chef can put ganache into a shortbread cookie but that is that to fried rat on a stick?

Pupovich, thank you for dragging me down to earth.

Marshal Pupovich wrote: I must say. I am at a loss. For the life of me, I can not recall the Commissar ever inviting me to the Ranco de Rio Grande as a guest.

Dear Marshal,

You would remember such an invitation. The Commissar has a certain flair and style and je ne said quoi that is unforgettable.

Why, just last week he invited me to be a guest (worker) at his Rancho. When I did not RSVP in a timely manner, his concern was so great that he sent a welcoming party to my potato farm to inquire after my well-being. After which I underwent *rigorous* testing to ensure my health was, in fact, in order, so that the Commissar would not have to worry. When I am finally able to pee without bleedingin the travelling mood, he has ensured me that his invitation still stands. He has even offered a free deluxe shovel.

He is the epitome of hospitality.

KR

Commissar Theocritus wrote:But after it was all said and done I realized that I was straying far from my roots.

I didn't have fried rat on a stick. And what good is a progressive who doesn't eat fried rat on a stick? A really good pastry chef chef can put ganache into a shortbread cookie but that is that to fried rat on a stick?

Pupovich, thank you for dragging me down to earth.

But Commissar, while I am glad to think that something I may have said helped you get in touch with your roots, I did not mean to appear to be chastising in any way. No, I am serious, I feel we need, or at least I could profit by, some lessons in what I would call "Haute Progressive." I want to be able to order food etc. with the same skill as other progressives that care more for people and who know what is best for the people.

No, like my dear Uncle Iosef, I will never forget my humble working class roots, but I wish to be able to order the good things in life as easily as I order up some fried rat on a stick now.

Uncle Iosef used to regale me with the stories of how in the early days in the Kremlin, he and his compatriots had to live on strict budgets, even had to share state vehicles. But as you know, governing takes it's toll on one self, so it is necessary to forever increase one's allotment to provide the rest and relaxation that is needed to govern the sheep efficiently. I intend to govern very efficiently!

Premier Betty wrote:What happened to putting all those prisoners to good use? I'm not talking about a full blown gulag work or something, just some way for them to actually be doing something productive rather than sitting around and wasting our money. It should definitely be hard labor oriented though, just so that at the end of the day they're too tired out to cause any trouble.

That's not a bad idea Premier Betty. We could have them clean our streets, or make license plates for our cars, or have them work in a convenience store. Why a convenience store? If they get robbed, they will know what to do better than the 20 year old who just got the job.

KittyRed, I do hope that my assistants were not unkind to you. I told them to afford you the best of all care. Sometimes, though, they do forget the niceties. Once I had them issue an invitation to Senator Harry Reid and they found that the nerve connections to his brain are so bad, and his brain so small, that it took all their ingenuity to get his attention until Igor mentioned, "Land deal!" to him which triggered a few synapses. His only remaining ones, it seems.

And dear Pupovich, you did not get under my skin. I am relaxing here surrounded by French Antique furniture, which oddly enough tends to drop things to the floor, endlessly thinking of how I can better serve my fellow man.

Oh...that's a call from Dr. Idi. He always has ideas on how to serve our fellow man.