"After having thus successively taken each member of the community in its powerful grasp and fashioned him at will, the supreme power then extends its arm over the whole community. It covers the surface of society with a network of small complicated rules, minute and uniform, through which the most original minds and the most energetic characters cannot penetrate, to rise above the crowd. The will of man is not shattered, but softened, bent, and guided; men are seldom forced by it to act, but they are constantly restrained from acting. Such a power does not destroy, but it prevents existence; it does not tyrannize, but it compresses, enervates, extinguishes, and stupefies a people, till each nation is reduced to nothing better than a flock of timid and industrious animals, of which the government is the shepherd."

So wrote Nineteenth Century historian Alexis de Tocqueville, in his monumental work, “Democracy in America.” Does that remind you of anything? No, I suppose not. In the compressed, enervated, extinguished, and stupid state we find ourselves, that wouldn’t be likely – would it?!

De Tocqueville, who came to the U.S. in 1831 to see what was going on, had literally volumes of things to say about the future, and so many proved to be so accurate that he is now considered by most to be the among the greatest of his profession. For example:

"The American Republic will endure, until politicians realize they can bribe the people with their own money."

Recognize the symptom? Can you say “Nine trillion dollar debt ceiling”?

Here’s another: "When America ceases to be good, America will cease to be great."

How many Damodala’s does it take to make you recognize that your country has ceased to be good? The “good” do not kill a crowd in order to get the guy they hate. Ayman al-Zawahiri, the al Qa’ida terrorist we were after wasn’t even in the little village in the Bajaur tribal area of Pakistan; we just thought he might be. That’s “GOOD?” If that’s not a war crime, tell me what is.

As I say, de Tocqueville’s writings a filled with prophetic observations, prophesy unmistakeably accurate and meaningful. Like, "The man who asks of freedom anything other than itself is born to be a slave." With abandonment to the White House of the right to privacy, it won’t be long before that one will have come to fruition.

And how about, "Americans are so enamoured of equality they would rather be equal in slavery than unequal in freedom." Talk about unmistakeable! When a Mexican criminal, even a kidnapper, drug pusher, or murderer is eligible to be your equal – even your superior because he has a couple of nation’s president’s on his side – you have taken equality to a level equalling slavery. Any mistake about that?

Let’s talk about that. What are we really talking about when the “issue” of illegal immigration from Mexico is the topic? Having listened, admittedly with fascination – abnormal psychology and mental disfunction otherwise have interested me intensely since I was a kid – I gather this of the people who want to open the gates:

Mexicans are wonderful people – hard-working, law-abiding (like most of the rest of us, there’s not much chance they would know what the law is, but in a politically correct and feminist country, I have to say that) highly intelligent (you don’t dare say they’re not, so I guess they have to be), and decidedly a great asset to any nation who has them.

That last is because they are so loyal to the United States, so interested in doing everything they can to make it a better country.

Besides, we can’t do without them. Our people won’t do the kind of work they will.

Now, it has long been very obvious that my country thinks of me as a Mexican. I didn’t realize until here lately that that was because of the work I did as a kid in high school, stuff like what I did then in the fields back home with people called “migrant workers.”

The “migrant workers” (‘braceros,” they were called in Mexico, whence they all came) even taught me to speak fluent Spanish. That makes me “Hispanic,” too, I guess – doesn’t it? Then, too, there’s the fact that I saw nothing wrong or demeaning about insisting that my sons also worked with the migrant workers in the nurseries and on the farms back home, do restaurant clean-up, busboy, and waiter jobs – all that stuff “Americans” won’t do.

Yeah, I must be a Mexican, all right. I’ve been doing all that stuff that “Americans” (I always put that in quotes because I know that there are thirty-four other nations in this hemisphere) won’t do, and for most of my life. In fact, after the Internal Revenue Service destroyed my businesses, broke up my marriages (the two are plural because they did it twice), they took effective steps to assure that I couldn’t even get THAT kind of work. I wasn’t qualified to be Mexican.

“Illegal alien” status, you see, would have entitled me to a whole lot of things I couldn’t get as a second-class citizen. I was the wrong kind of “undocumented worker,” too. There are a lot of examples, but this one will serve nicely. The other day, a friend got hurt and taken to the local hospital by ambulance. Summoned to help and having been assured that she was being cared for, I was obliged to wait for news. An idle mind is the devil’s workshop.

When the hospital employee arrived with the de rigeuer barrages of questions concerning billing and insurance, I pointed to one of the several signs that festooned walls and doorways all over the place. The signs state categorically that if you are an illegal alien, “triage” – that’s emergency care – is an “entitlement.” It’s “gratis.” That means free.

I’m and undocumented worker, I said (well, it’s true – I’ve never had “documents”). The conversation was lively, I can tell you – the hospital employee was Hispanic. I’m very obviously “un anglo.” Still, when the señorita spoke to me haughtily in Spanish, I answered her in fluent Spanish.

Talk about a perplexed frown! Utterly confused now, the girl would only respond to questions. Wouldn’t my being an illegal alien from Mexico mean that I wouldn’t have to pay for services? Yes, that’s right. But if I were un americano, un verdadero ciuidadaño de los Estados Unidos, I WOULD have to pay – right?

That was right, too. Okay, I said, “I’m an illegal alien.”
You can guess the rest. But I have a few more questions, questions with answers I didn’t get the other day; questions with answers I’m not getting from the television or newsprint media, either.

First question: Why can’t I apply for illegal alien status? How about “undocumented worker?” What with a U.S. District Court already having ruled that I have no rights as a citizen, that shouldn’t be a problem, should it?

Ah, but then the staggering hospital bill I got the other day, the one Medicare and Medicaid won’t pay because they can’t get my damned German name entered correctly in the computers that have so addled them, would be absorbed by everyone else who pays taxes and insurance premiums. Just like if I were a privileged character – a Mexican criminal, for instance.

Second question: Isn’t Mexico the way it is on account of Mexicans? I mean, if Mexicans are as wonderful – industrious and all that - as we’re being told, why isn’t Mexico the country they’re running to, instead of away from? Maybe more to the point, if we let all these people come here, to do as they seem so anxious to do – celebrating Mexican Independence Day and holidays, speaking and demanding to be taught in Spanish, resolutely observing Meixcian customs, and the like; waving the Mexican flag, cheering for the Mexican baseball team when it played the U.S., and all that – won’t the United States eventually be the paradise Mexico is?

Watch it Canada – once they’ve taken over here, you’ve gotta be next. I hope you like menudo, and frijoles refritos. And Cinco de Mayo celebrations, and the flag of Mexico. Oh, yeah – and when they use the water closet, they throw what they used to wipe their ass in the corner. Watch your step.

And, finally (I’ve got more, but they would REALLy piss the politically correct off), how is it that the illegal alien who appeared on CNN the other night – “Antonio,” the one who has been here for years, started a successful business with several employees, and all that – can pay taxes as he claims he does, AND NOT GET CAUGHT?

Unless I’ve gone totally around the damned bend, he has to file all kinds of paperwork, stuff like W-2 and W-4 forms, federal tax returns, and on and on in that “Paperwork Reduction Act of 1995” way. If he didn’t lie again and again and again – and that’s a crime, folks – how did he stay in business? Where is the mighty and pecksniffian IRS in all this?!

Hell’s Bells, I never – and all of the following was established in a court of law, sorry as they are in the “Nation of Laws” - falsified a damned thing, never cheated once on a tax return, never failed to file anything required in as many damned duplicates, triplicates, quadriplicates, or quintriplicates as required, but they chased my patriot’s ass from pillar to post, hounded me at every step, ruined my business and my life, just because I said our government should be required to obey the law.

Why the hell couldn’t I have been considered and “undocumented worker?” Where was the fucking amnesty you’re so willing to give to a Mexican child-rapist or murderer?

Let me make a couple of observations in passing. The fact of you citizenship obviously means damned little to your government, except to identifiy you as a victim for its utterly mindless and incomprehensible machinations. Neither does “justice” mean anything to your country and its legal system where the individual is concerned. Only when you are the member of a group with, or capable of, political power can you protect your “rights.”

Example? Okay, take the Right to Keep and Bear Arms. That one has been under assault during most of my lifetime from the people who profit by violence and violent crime. It remains intact (in fact, as ownership of guns and legalization concealed handgun carry drives violence and violent crime rates downward, the right grows steadlily more healthy socially). On the other hand, rights like those of religion, speech, and privacy, for instance, have been chipped at continually – almost continuously, in fact. Civil rights no one dreamed of losing when I was a kid are gone. Why?

I’ll tell you why (you knew I would, didn’t you?). The right to own and carry a weapon is protected by an organized group; a big, rich, and politically powerful (same thing, of course) group. There is no such thing, where the rest are concerned (and if someone mentions the American Civil Liberties Union, I’ll puke on his shirt).

O.J. Simpson got away with murder because he had a race of people supporting him, a whole lot of them ready to tear cities to pieces if he was convicted. The illegal alien is getting away with murder (that’s literal as well as figurative) because he has behind him in support a whole lot of people who have somehow acquired a whole lot political power. That his political support includes people he is stealing from as respects loss of job opportunity, taxes, and other considerations demonstrates a kind of social and economic mindlessness that certainly does not recommend his supporters to the society as whole.

As I said, Mexico must be the way Mexico is on account of Mexicans.

But where do they get their power here in the United States?

And, parenthetically again, if you say “vote,” I’ll heave. What I want to know is where the illegal alien and his supporters get the money you have to have to buy Congress. If you say “drugs,” I’ll not say a word in reproach.

Last question (or two): WHEN THE HELL WILL YOU WAKE UP? The way your country works is a hurricane, a storm so thunderously loud, so destructive, and so vicious that rocks know it. It is a Frankenstein Monster which, having raped and pillaged you, is about to force open your mouth and shit down your throat. THEN will you do something?

A few years ago, during one of my many street clashes with the federal einsatzgruppen known facetiously as Internal Revenue Service, a lady scharfuehrerin sought to intimidate her supposed victim with the question, “Do you, sir, advocate the overthrow of the government of the United States?”

“Yes!” I shot back, “and as soon as possible. Anything else, and our children and grandchildren will piss on our graves.”
So yes, Virginia ("Jennifer," actually), I dissent. Yes, you’re damned right I “dissent!” A Bierkrug – you call it a “stein” – my grandfather had blazoned the motto, “Loyalty above everything – except honor.” You wouldn’t know anything about that, of course, having built a nation where most of your children can’t so much as define the word.

Speaking parenthetically, you can save the howls of protest. A few years ago, traveling the nation for the United States Judo Association, I did private several surveys, just to see how things are. I also taught school for a couple of years, for the same reason. Eighty-two percent of the kids I asked to define the word “honor” thought I meant medals, awards, and fame. Six percent knew that it had to do with right thinking and behavior. Q.E.D., and all you have to do is look around to know the conclusion is valid.

I dissent. I dissent to the nation’s lack of honor, and I dissent to government by conspiracy of military industrial criminals, in a capitol where currently 35,721 whoremongers called “lobbyists” negate the very concept of the democracy a sleaze of politicians cynically proclaim for purposes solely self-aggrandizing. How can the voter control his government and the course of his country in a nation where surpassing concupiscence, avarice, and ambition are the decisive prerequisites for election to office, and where access to those same officeholders is reserved by obvious circumstance to only those with money enough to corrupt even a nun?

I dissent to a political system wherein men of so little character and accomplishment as that of George W. Bush can rise to the highest office. As feckless as his predecessor was amoral, reared with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, totally without the fear of having to risk anything, protected from failure by power as corrupt as his own currently, he did not once in his life demonstrate anything remotely approaching the ability necessary to properly discharge his oath of office. That he has repudiated it recently should come as no surprise.

I dissent to a system that will pay one man five million dollars a year to play a really trivial and silly boys’ game like basketball, baseball, or football, while paying the same man what amounts to little more than a living wage for educating its children. I dissent to a system which pays a vapid teenager millions to sing or play childish music – and poorly, at that – while paying soldiers even closer to poverty-level wages to risk their lives and kill.

I dissent to and I resent most – a personal thing – supercilious men and women like late-night radio talk show hosts who archly self-aggrandize their own worth by way of denigrating the poor, to argue as do FoxNews pundits like Bill O’Reilly and Sean Hannity that they have “earned” their wealth. A guy sitting in a climate-controlled studio, speaking into a microphone or television camera “earns” his salary, huh? That kind of obliviousness can only be due psychosis, utter stupidity, or ulterior motive. At any rate, that kind should just stay out of my way, or keep their mouths shut in my presence. I haven’t pounded the pavement with an arrogant and preponderant asshole like them for some time, now, and I’m about due. Since 9-11 took the federal goons off my trail, I haven’t had much excitement.

Speaking of soaring arrogance and self-satisfaction, I dissent also to the use by one nation, four percent of the earth's population, of thirty-five percent of the world's energy and resources, all the while posturing as the great friend of all nations and peoples. The FoxNews crew and their pundit brethren represent in their attitude toward the poor and less fortunate (they do not, of course, attribute their "success" to anything but their surpassing talent and stalwart effort) the same attitude and posture the United States takes towards its fellow nations. The United States is not only a bully, it is a condescending bully. I dissent as a kid who once suffered under similar cruelty and condescension by the bullies of my school and neighborhood - because it angers and disgusts me.

Yeah, I dissent. I dissent to a nation that couldn’t tell the truth if its life depended on it – which, for a nation whose way of life depends on the ability to do justice by means of law, it does. How can you have justice in a nation of abject liars without honor, where “due process of law” is dependent entirely on personal oath?

I dissent to relentless interference in the affairs of foreign nations, to economic hocus-pocus, political intriguing, assassination, and wars waged in the name of freedom, all actually in order to further “American interests.” Steal, that is. Why is “interventionism” and “colonialism” wrong for every other nation on the planet, but righteous when we do it – continually?

I dissent most strongly to the killing of innocents, even – no, especially; the hypocrisy inherent in the term makes it worse – when the dead are “collateral damage.” Hypocrisy? Yeah, like calling a 2,000 pound bomb or missile warhead a “precision munition.” How can you call the explosive effect of 945 pounds of H-6, Tritanol 80/20, or PBXN-109 “precision?” Detonated, the much explosive sends temperatures at ground zero to 8,500 degrees, vaporizing everything – and everybody – in a radius of 500 feet. The blast wave reaches several thousand pounds per square inch, spewing the 1,055 pounds of metal and what- have-you that is the rest of the bomb up to 1,100 yards with murderous and destructive effect. “Precision,” my ass!

The son of a bitch who uses a weapon like that does so because he hasn’t the balls to do what men of honor have always done. That, in case you can’t - corrupt as you are - imagine it, is to seek out one’s enemy, go to him with a weapon that is precise enough to injure or kill only him, and do it. The recent careless shooting of a hunting companion by our warmongering vice-president should have come as no surprise to anyone. The victim was just “collateral damage.”

Yeah, you’re damned right I dissent. I dissent to a government and educational system that provides no better than the schools we have today, the prison-like environments there, and the undisciplined rabble represented by their student bodies. In high school, I took my shotgun to school each day of hunting season, in order that I might be able to take game on the way home. I even took my .45 caliber Colt 1911 with me, and wore it everywhere about the little farming community during the months of summer vacation from school. No one objected, or even paid any mind, because everyone knew of my upbringing and, as a result, of my character.

I dissent to a nation and society that stands idly by while their criminal government spends their children and grandchildren into irretrievable debt, fearful of rocking with patriotic protest the boat that is their over-fed, self-indulgent, and craven existence. To go on living in oblivious, “after me, the deluge” comfort at the expense of children – their own children – is akin to selling them into slavery, an act even more despicable than firing 2,000 pound bombs into primitive villages. No, this isn’t a nation who knows much of honor, that’s for sure.

So, I do, indeed, dissent. Had I the power, I would stop it all. I would overthrow the government. That’s tit for tat, after all. Remember John Stuart Mill? “A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself."

Eighteenth Century Statesman and Political Philosopher Edmund Burke said it all for me when he said, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

You live mindlessly, my country, surfeited and fat – it’s become a source of pride for a nation of ultra specialists and “information processors – but it’s time you take some time away from pizza and beer, football games, and other goofy entertainment – to learn something of ethics, morality, and – perhaps in the bargain – honor.

An indignant world of nations and the ecosystem of a planet are about to bring you to your knees. Honor may be all that saves you.

This morning, wakened by the clock radio and an NPR story concerning illegal immigration from Mexico, the commentator-reporter (no one simply presents the news anymore – it’s un-American) used the term “undocumented workers.” She did not once say, “illegal immigrant,” or “illegal alien.”

“There,” I said to Rita, “is exactly what I’ve been talking about. The language of the politically correct. YOU are an undocumented worker; you don’t have any “documents,” do you? How the hell do you jump from “someone criminally living in our country” to “undocumented worker?”

Once we had gotten out of bed, and I had gone outside to pick up the morning paper, I eventually read my way to the editorial pages. There, I found the column of Thomas Sowell. Guess what? “Immigration,” Sowell wrote, “is yet another issue which we seem unable to discuss rationally – in part because words have been twisted beyond recognition in political rhetoric. We can’t even call illegal immigrants ‘illegal immigrants.’”

“The politically correct evasion is “undocumented worker,” he went on. “Do American citizens go around carrying documents with them when they applying for work? Most Americas are undocumented workers, but they are no illegal immigrants. There is a difference.”

Oh, yes, sir there IS a difference. I can tell you that. In 1996, during my war with the United States and its Internal Revenue Gestapo, I was working in a Mexican restaurant, delivering food, when a suit with a federal swagger walked up and shoved a federal ID in my face. Could I prove I was a citizen of the United States, he demanded.

Now, I happen to be about as Anglo-looking as you can get. I have spoken the English language since childhood, and my name is “von Luebbert.” As a matter of fact, it is “Harland Anton-Louis, Freiherr von Luebbert-Leiste.” How far from Mexican is that?

You will note, please, that this capon in polyester didn’t ask for my identification. Had he done so, he would have been shown not only a Texas Driver License, but a Texas Concealed Weapon License. You don’t get one of the latter while being an alien, sure as hell not an illegal one; oops, “undocumented worker.” As I related in my soon-to-be published book, “Letters to Aaron, the Hal Luebbert Story,” I proceeded to take Elliot Ness outside and read him the riot act. If another federal agent or cop stopped me again like this, I would tear off his arm, beat him senseless with the gushing stump, then shove the gushing end up his robin’s ass.

Now, the reason for the scene I’ve described is that it was part of what had been going on for more than fifteen years. As just one example, I was stopped on the streets and highways of the nation more than (it took a while for me to realize and begin keeping a diary) 109 times by cops both local and federal, sicced by falsified police records, records falsified by IRS in hope of provoking a confrontation that would get me killed. But let us assume that such wasn’t the case for a minute. With something like 11,000,000 illegal alien Mexicans ranging about the nation, a considerable portion of them in Corpus Christi (the locale where the incident in question occurred), why would an agent of a U.S. Immigration Service really intent upon curbing or stopping illegal immigration be doing with a guy as obviously Anglo as me?

On the border with Mexico, with a torrent of illegals pouring across, he thought I was Canadian, maybe?

No, Mr. Sowell, politically correct language betrays guilt. You don’t call killing a child “abortion” out of pride, or even in self-justification. The truth about the evasion “undocumented worker” is that it covers the truth; and the truth is that politicians like our craven coward – the guy who was willing to do anything including fly a jet fighter to stay out of ware in the jungle, but is eager as hell to self-aggrandize by sending others to die in the desert – President fear losing the Latino vote. And, of course – as you also point out, Mr. Sowell – our willing-to-do-anything-for-a-buck business community wants the cheap labor.

Presto! The rapist, kidnapper, or terrorist from Mexico becomes an “undocumented worker!” I can name a few more of those, but it will suffice to say they all got on four airliners one day in September 2001, high-jacked the planes, and crashed them into buildings.

The “difference” between “undocumented worker” and “terrorist” is the angle the speaker is working. “War on Terror” is ever-so-much more heroic-sounding than “Operation Make the Military Industrial Complex Rich as Croesus.” “Iraqi Freedom” is easier, much easier, to say than “Force the Bastards to Give Us Their Oil.” And remember the archetype of it all? “Collateral Damage,” is much less disgusting, and revealing, than “Thirty Women and Children Obliterated.”

No, sir – and with all die respect - Euphemistic language is everywhere in the U.S. these days because to say “bomb that vaporizes everything within a radius of 500 feet, and with a radius of destruction measuring 2,000 yards” is easier – much more politically correct – than to say “precision munition.” “Servicing the target” makes the people who are reducing a neighborhood to rubble, and killing half the people who live there, sound like delivery boys. Much more palatable that way.

During the 23 years the federal government did everything it could to make my life Hell – if I could only have been an “undocumented worker! – I was a “suspect.” I was never so much as charged with anything more serious than traffic violation (and there have been extremely few of those), but “suspicion” is possible where the Blessed Virgin is concerned – and it makes a lovely substitute for “harassment.”

That this is a nation of profligate and committed liars is everywhere evident, from the avalanche of commercials anyone who turns on a television set sees and hears, to the hideous marathons we euphemistically call “political campaigns; but nowhere is it more evident that in the very language we speak.

Those unwilling to face the truth are likewise never willing to speak it.

I was the summer of 1985, and I was diving in the ten-knot current of the Cedar River, near the Main Street Bridge in Cedar Falls, Iowa. My efforts that day, as they had been for several days previous, were to find a handgun purportedly thrown from the bridge after an armed robbery. It was utterly exhausting work, inasmuch as I had to fight the river while diving with a metal detector, holding myself against the powerful current with the long blade of a sharpened screwdriver driven into the river bottom. Holding myself in place there with the improvised piton like a mountaineer scaling a rock escarpment and breathing through a long snorkel tube, I swept the bottom with the detector.

Each dive found something, all right, but always the “something” was just debris. No gun. It was frustrating, exhausting work requiring frequent rest, and when the exceptionally well-built woman in white short shorts and a halter came into view along the beach and from under the bridge, I was glad to stop – to watch her undulating stride as she approached. R-r-r-r-r-r-f! Damn - what a body!

The Cedar is perhaps fifty yards wide at that point, and having made my way there, I was standing in the shallows on the opposite side of the river, or my oversexed male nature would surely have made me call out a hopeful greeting. Apparently lost in thought, the object of my fascinated interest had not seen me where I stood observing her arrival across the swiftly running water. Neither had the three men who suddenly popped out of the trees and blackberry bushes that covered the river bank alongside the beach behind her. Watching, I saw at once that there could be no doubt as to their intent.

“White shorts” had just dipped a toe idly in the water when the biggest of the three men grabbed her from behind in a bear hug. Her startled scream drowned out by the noise of the rushing water and traffic over the bridge, the woman’s struggles against the man’s grasp were futile.

Already deciding and in motion, I yelled “hey” at the top of my lungs as I shed my gear and elected to swim the river, rather than run to and across the bridge. That would both mean losing sight of the quartet, and take just too damned long. As I watched, the man holding the shapely woman in what seemed to be one supremely powerful arm ripped off her clothes like an ape peeling a banana. I yelled again, then, seized by the powerful current, decided to save my breath for swimming.

The rest of the story is just another of the “war story” sort, and beside my point. Suffice it to say that by the time I had swum the river, to be swept far downstream and land a couple of hundred yards from the bridge, then run to where the object of my efforts was happening, the woman had been carried under the bridge and thrown to her back by her captors. With his two friends holding the still struggling woman’s arms and assisting him in controlling her legs, the third had mounted her and was humping away.

As I say, that there was a fight should be obvious, and both description and the fact that I won it is likewise obvious and not relevant here. Free of her attackers, the woman accepted my arms, to be held sobbing for what seemed a very, very long time. I’m something of an empath, and this kind of animal pain and terror sometimes seems to hurt me more that the person of thing I’m being sorry for. Can’t help it.

Finally, though, the woman came to her senses and, in the very brief discussion that ensued, I explained how I had happened to be there, and how – I suppose – she came to be sitting naked in my lap and in my arms. Her further horror at realization was kind of funny, actually, and when I laughed at the way she bounded off my legs and to her feet, she seemed to have another epiphany. She laughed, too.

Briefly, again. Very. Cowering now under my male gaze, and I suppose suddenly aware that her clothes had been thrown into the river and carried away, she started crying again. When I had succeeded in calming her enough, I clambered up the river bank, sprinted to my nearby car, and returned with the warm-up suit pants and jacket I had just remembered were there. Dressed, “Sue” – let’s call her – started to flee the scene of her travail only to be intercepted by me.

In the somewhat heated conversation that followed, “Sue” got her wits finally about her. Obviously, for one thing among others, I was not her enemy, and not dangerous – not to her, at least. Still, it took some doing to convince her that I should take her home, or at least to her car in order that I could follow her. I didn’t have much luck, for some reason, until I also insisted that she see a doctor. She didn’t want to do that, either, and seeming to choose the lesser of evils, she finally let me escort her to her car. Pushing my business card into a pocket of the jacket she now wore, I instructed that if she couldn’t bring herself to get help from anybody else, she could get it from me. I, after all, already knew what had happened. Now, see a doctor, I said in letting her go – the bastard may not have come in you, but he damned well might be diseased.

Having followed “Sue” to a dormitory at the one of the local colleges, I didn’t see her again for a couple of days. Then, I looked up from my desk one morning to see her walk shyly into my reception room. That’s where the discussion relevant here took place, and as Bill Cosby used to say, “I told you all that, so I could tell you this.”

Accepting her thanks tersely and once having been assured that she had received the medical attention I’d recommended, I let myself become sternly avuncular. What I should do, I said, was take her over my knee and whale hell out of her backside. What in hell would prevail a woman who looked the way she did – especially one her approximate one hundred and ten pounds (I underestimated by seven) – be doing all by herself and dressed as she had been in that locale?! My god, I groused, taking her the way those low-lifes had was like picking fruit from a tree.

And there’d the point of my essay today. For last several years – no for the last several decades – the news media has reported again and again, the disappearance of children, and of women young and old. Almost invariably, the stories seem to have the same script. In a while, the body is found, brutalized, raped, and discarded like garbage. Used. It’s maddening.

It’s maddening, and I’ve written about it before. In a book I wrote in 1990, I related the true (names changed, of course) story of “Becky,” the beautiful young aerobics instructor who walked home from work each night wearing tight-fitting spandex, that through an area where as many as a thirteen (I think) rapes had been perpetrated in a short period. When the inevitable happened, I reported further, there was all the usual. Feminists raged that the crime was not sexual, it was violence. The attack was a violation not only of a woman, but of her constitutional right to go and to do as she liked. Et cetera. We’ve heard it all.

We’ve heard It all, matter of fact, ad nauseum. What we have not heard is any retraction of the blizzard of pseudo-intellectual bullshit that has so much to do with our being in these asinine straits in the first place. Feminists and the sycophant wannabe males who pander to them continue their propaganda seeking to further things like female police, female fireman, and women – as utterly insane as it is sounds - in the military! Not once in my reasonably circumspect experience has any of these bubble heads had the common decency to moderate their nitwit pronouncements, or admit that they were wrong. “A woman can do anything a man can do,” “a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle” (remember that one?), and the absolutely nonsensical, demented like.

The result is that the nation’s women go about publicly today as though they were doing so within the confines of their own houses. One can only wonder, as did I that day along the Cedar back home, at the utter stupidity of the society that provides and encourages an act so oblivious of reality. I use again, as I did recently when discussing the miserable scholastic backwardness of our children, the sponge analogy. When a thing designed by nature to be a certain way, and to do a certain thing does not, reasonable people look for a reason. The knowledge sponge that is the human brain, like the real sponge put in water, can be expected to soak up a certain amount. When it doesn’t, there is a reason.

What explains the shear stupidity of the “American” female? How can anything rational be so oblivious? At this writing, there are as many as 144,000 women missing in the United States. Estimators like the FBI and Interpol say that between 700,000 and 2,000,000 women in the United States are yearly sold into sexual slavery, and further estimates say that 120,000 of these women are “trafficked” into Western Europe alone.

Mexico, of course, that supremely lawful, well-regulated and orderly nation on our southern border, is famed as a society for its exemplary respect for women. Of course, on the other hand, kidnapping also happens to be a major industry there. Then, too, there is the fact that Mexican newspapers report sexual abuse of women and children with a frequency that happens to give the wrong impression to a simple mentality like mine. With literally tens of thousands of sexual criminals pouring into this country from that source alone, and with a U.S. government and commerce cynically dragging their feet about prevention, a nation of women go nevertheless on cavorting about like burlesque queens, doing as they like, and dressed as they damned please . . .

Time was, parenthetically, that a women who went about publicly without a man in immediate attendance was looked at askance. A society that knew well the dangers for a woman alone in public tended to believe the obvious inevitability of such behavior was somehow desired by any women who so ignored her own safety. I make no further comment, except to point out how video tape recordings like that recently of a man like Joseph Smith simply walking up to a girl coming across a parking lot all alone, Carley Brucia, to take her hand and lead her away to be raped and murdered, can be so totally ignored by women and the parents of children is simply beyond me. Some form of insanity is the cause of this, that’s certain.

While statistics on the subject and related subjects are very uncertain (and if you don’t find the reasons for that as obvious as what I’m discussing otherwise, you aren’t paying much attention), the United States has become the “Happy Hunting Ground” for white slavers – men, and women, who kidnap and sell women and children for sexual exploitation. The slaver finds and takes victims as easily as the girl in the video I have described was taken. That while a society only takes measures like “Amber Alerts” (that kind of tactic was once referred to as closing the barn door after the horse has escaped).

And, yes, you’re damned right there’s a reason the sponge for knowledge that is the brain has been turned to stone where it all is concerned. The reason is the bubble-headed blandishments and nostrums of modern feminism. What else in our society can explain things as insane as women – like one hundred pound Jessica Lynch, for instance - in mortal combat? What else explains women walking alone - unarmed even with awareness, - it seems, in an environment where known – that’s convicted and registered – sex offenders abound (literally hundreds of thousands of them)? What else explains women police officers? Firemen?

It is high time for the people whose emotion-driven over-reaction to obvious wrongs and inequities led them to wild-eyed and militant ideological excesses to recant and moderate their extreme views. Ironically, the people most being injured by radical feminism and its hysterical pronouncements are women. Reality sometimes is as cruel as testosterone is powerful and decisive. A one hundred and ten pound human being deprived all but totally of nature’s super-fuel does not have a chance – any chance at all – against a two hundred, twenty pound human being saturated with it. That is reality, reality that make any kind of rhetoric to the contrary absurd – and, perhaps, lethal.

The time, ladies, for a return to the real world is now. Otherwise, there will be many, many more Carley Brucias – sacrifices to the twin goddesses strident rhetoric and impudent ideology.

Sen. Russ Feingold, Democrat from Wisconsin asked the other day the question could the President get away with murder. It’s a question I asked in October, 1986, when snipers in the hire of the federal government wounded me three times with a rifle, shooting from ambush. I had already begun asking that same question as the result of repeated attempts at mugging, and I would have occasion to ask the question again in the years to come when federal “pull-toy” and “wind-up toy” operatives had rammed and sabotaged of my car, sabotaged my airplane, attempted repeatedly to run me down as a pedestrian and bicyclist, and used falsified police records and radio reports to incited trigger happy cops to shoot me.

Murder is severally defined; In order for someone to be found guilty of first degree murder, the prosecution must prove that the accused killed another person; that the person killed the other person with malice aforethought; and that the killing was premeditated.

Webster’s Dictionary, moreover, defines murder simply as “the unlawful killing of one human being by another, especially with premeditated malice.”

To kill with “malice aforethought” means to kill either deliberately and intentionally or recklessly with extreme disregard for human life.

“Premeditation” means with planning or deliberation. The amount of time needed for premeditation of a killing depends on the person and the circumstances. It must be long enough, after forming the intent to kill, for the killer to have been fully conscious of the intent and to have considered the killing.

So, by any rational or reasonable definition of the term, George W. Bush is a murderer. So, for that matter, is any soldier who is aware of United States and international law, namely that a principal reason nations declare war is to legalize murder. I know about these things, because the subject and its definition came up when I returned from Cuba in 1961, after having been sent there to kill Fidel Castro and/or Che Guevara. With no war having been declared, I argued then, I would have been guilty of murder, and guilty under the legal system of any civilized nation on the planet.

But the question is: can a President commit murder and get away with it? The answer is yes, of course he can. Basically, all he has to do is protest his “right” to do it. When you command the most powerful military on earth, to say nothing of a security detail like the Secret Service, you can do that pretty much with impunity – especially in a society as demented and ignorant as this one. For a parallel or model of how an indictment charging a President, especially this one, with murder would proceed, simply replace unwarranted – that’s constitutionally illegal – eavesdropping on private citizens with the word murder in the dialectic going on where the former is concerned.

Mr. Bush, as I’ve just said, would simply say that he has the power as President to do that. The decedent victim was a suspected – note that where Presidential execution is concerned, only suspicion is necessary – terrorist. The world would be better off, in Mr. Bush’s estimation, without him. He is a traitor (we ought recall that in the estimation of media whores like Sean Hannity and the rest of out administration’s Greek Chorus, anyone who so little as disagrees with the President is a traitor). And so on. Murder by the President would immediately become a partisan “issue,” and it would remain there. Too bad for the dead guy or guys.

Let’s not forget that another President also committed what feminism has referred to as “power rape” - that until their demigod darling William Jefferson Clinton became a perpetrator, of course. Then the crime became something else. That he also committed perjury as the result of his faux pas was excusable because the perjury was about sex. Substitute murder there, and see what you come out with.

The incontrovertible fact is that George W. Bush is the murderer of the eighteen women and children who were residents of the little border village in Pakistan a few weeks ago. To shoot into a crowd of innocent noncombatants, in order to perhaps kill an enemy, is at very least a “high crime or misdemeanor.” Res ipse loquitur – the thing speaks for itself. When death to innocent people results, with malice aforethought, the crime is that of Murder in the First Degree. The same applies, of course, to persons who become “collateral damage” in an attack like the “shock and awe” bombings of Baghdad, or the B-1 Bomber attempt on the life of Saddam Hussein by dropping four JDAM “munitions” on a neighborhood restaurant during the initial days of the war on Iraq. Collateral damage in an undeclared war is murder, by every definition you will be able to find.

It is also morally reprehensible in just about every society on the globe, from aborigine tribe to the Skull and Bones Society at Yale.

Then, too, the order given to U.S. States soldiers in the absence of Constitutional authorization and a declaration of way, the order resulting in death for any of the soldiers, is also murder by any of the definitions given here earlier.

But we bandy about definitions. Face it, folks, this society went down the rabbit hole a long time ago. I first realized that I wanted to stay as far from my fellow “Americans” as possible while still in high school. “Insanity in individuals,” observed Nietzsche, “is something rare; but in groups, parties, nations, and epochs it is the rule.” I remember having then read Lewis Carroll.

“Alice tried another question. ‘What sort of people live about here?’
“‘In THAT direction,’ the Cat said, waving its right paw round, ‘lives a Hatter: And in THAT direction,’ waving the other paw, ‘lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad.’
"’But I don't want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.
"’Oh, you can't help that,’ said the Cat: ‘we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.’
"’How do you know I'm mad?’ said Alice.
"’You must be,’ said the Cat, ‘or you wouldn't have come here.’”

I decided that I like to live with and in reality, “the road less traveled by,” in Frost’s poem, and, to continue quoting the poet, “that has made all the difference.” My fellow “American,” you live in a menagerie of psycho-emotional chimeras so bizarre, so nonsensical, as to defy the inventive imagination of the most gifted fiction writer. The United States and what seems to be the overwhelming percentage of its society live these days in a world of virtual reality unreality and psychotically irrational fantasy. This nation and society is a Jurassic Park movie, where mad scientist experimenters and their heroic White Hunter government protects us from Tyrannosaurus Rex bugaboos at a cost that dwarfs any of the monsters supposedly being foiled.

One can hardly decided where to start with examples, but having recognized that anything having to do with sex and the reproductive act is a matter kept by society totally outside the reasoning faculty, I choose it. This evening, for instance, we have still another episode of the Debra LaFave saga. In this segment of the national soap opera, a stunningly beautiful, 24 year old female teacher, has been charged – and now admitted – with having had sex with a fourteen year old male student, setting off a national discussion and debate that is enough to curdle the blood of any sane-remaining individual in its cuckoo-bird midst.

Among the first aspects of the debate was the gender of each of the principles, and what would be the case where all the possible roles reversed. What if both people had been female or male hasn’t come up, I note parenthetically – apparently that would too much muddy the waters where this scintillating example of towering intellect is concerned.

Feminists and persons with similarly warped powers of reason and desirous of protecting their Kafkaesque concept of sexuality have demanded that the teacher be punished severely. The survey of chat-rooms, blogs, and websites I’ve just finished reveals that the number of males willing to be similarly victimized by the pretty teacher approaches the ninetieth percentile. As one who happens to have had a similar experience, the woman being a forty-ish widow for whom I was baby-sitting (I was, as I recall, fifteen then), I have more than a little understanding and sympathy for that particular point of view.

During perhaps the height of the bullshit blizzard created by the info-tainment obsessed media, a famous attorney, Mark Geragos, let a cat out of the bag when he said, “Well, I had a case about five years ago locally here where I represented a politician's wife who was prosecuted for having, supposedly having, sex with the babysitter and an old-time lawyer, friend of mine, good friend of mine, still practices, said to me and I've never forgotten this, he says "How in the heck can you prosecute a guy or a woman in this case for something that every guy fantasizes about"? And, you know, there is to some degree that problem with these cases. If it is a male with an underage female, that's one kind of a prosecution but if you're talking a female with an underage male, and the male is over 14, between the ages of 14 and 17, there's not a whole lot of sympathy.”

Oh, yeah – that, Mr. Geragos, depends on which corner of the national rubber room you’re listening to. You’re still relating to the time when a woman “bestowed her favors upon” a male. That same rubber room has made it law that what is unreal and impossible is real and possible, and that’s all there is to it. The fact that the kid was having his dreams come true and the best time of his life means that he is being abused. Legally, that is.

There are literally dozens – no, scores of dozens – of examples of the same kind of mental meandering as that engendered of late by one sociological or political pressure group or the other, a disproportionate portion of which have been inflicted upon us by that Peyton Place of Pickwickian sense, Malaprop, and mental meandering, feminism. From that particular wing of bedlam’s rubber rooms during the LaFave and similar cases, we heard the stridently repeated asseveration that because a 24 year old male having had sex with a fourteen year old student would warrant a long stretch in prison, the same should apply in the instant matter. It’s that kind of cerebral brilliance that spurred me to decision having to do with proximity where Homo Sapiens is concerned. Whew! –Talk about never-never land!

Guys LIKE sex, ladies – just about every one of them, and at any age past puberty. And, yes, there is a double standard; girls get pregnant, guys don’t.

On any given evening before the prosecutor in the LaFave case dropped charges, one could hear the media’s experts and intelligentsia discussing how many years the teacher should get, only to be squelched when the word came that the prosecutor, faced with a defense having to do with the accused’s bi-polar disorder – continuing the surrealism of the affair, since that few could imagine how that had anything to with the crime alleged – had dropped charges. Mark Geragos, it seemed, had been right. That, of course, juxtaposed with news like the O’Reilly Factor and a discussion revealing how maniacal drivers who lead police on insane chases through residential neighborhoods, thus endangering dozens of lives and often inflicting severe injury and damage there, seldom receive anything approaching remotely the penalty being demanded for Debra LaFave.

The same, of course, was true on other evenings, where demands for sentencing in the LaFave, LaTourneau, and whomever cases were unwittingly juxtaposed with stories like that of a Vermont judge who handed down a sixty DAY sentence for the three years of molestation of a seven year old child.

And over it all, in a manner that gives new meaning to the term “obsession,” there was the media’s relentless exploitation of the Natalee Holloway case. In a nation supposedly dedicated to the rights of the accused and to “due process of law,” the leading lights of journalism like those of Fox News made an air-tight murder case against three young men on the basis of evidence so minute as to lack even proof of the supposed victim’s death. In my fifty years of assiduous study of investigation and forensic science, I have never heard more shamelessly salacious, lurid and meretricious, non compos mentis theatrics.

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera – ad infinitum.

Has it ever occurred to you how anyone who would do this sort of thing thinks of their audience?

This is the nation of Schroedinger’s cat ethics, morality, and logic, where utterances by “leaders” from local to federal level leave the loonily led in abject confusion, waiting to see how both alive AND dead statements, ideas, and what-have-you turn out. That’s while they participate meaningfully as citizens of a democratically free society, of course.

Elsewhere down the rabbit hole, Social Security is an entitlement when Congress is talking, but not an entitlement when the Supreme Court is talking. The same situation exists in another score of dozens of instances, from the citizen’s right to privacy from government to the right of property ownership. In Iraq, we have an insurrection that isn’t an insurrection, and we have removed a bloody dictator by killing nearly three times the number we speciously claimed of the people we’re rescuing. We are sanctimoniously trying to establishment a form of government where it is directly opposed, and condemned by penalty of death, by the Islamic religion of the place.

Fit in there somewhere the fact that today a municipality or corporation has forbidden promulgation of the pagan Easter Bunny for fear of offending non-Christians. “Where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise.” But it will make you look good to anyone as confused as you are, huh?

Today’s news, as if to underline that fact, brings news of a Moslem who has been condemned to death for having converted to Christianity. You’re gonna make that kind of sober rationality democratic, are you? Sure you are.

Still further down the rabbit hole, our own Cheshire Cat-Mad Hatter – Lewis Carroll was a piker: we are able to produce both in the person of one guy – is spending hundreds of billions to first destroy, then rebuild Iraq, while his government dithers and can’t seem to find the resources to aid meaningfully the victims of Hurricane Katrina. More, having informed prospective social security recipients that the fund is rapidly approaching bankruptcy, the government approves billions more for Iraq and more war-fighting. If that weren’t enough, the president and his band of merrily merciless men now announces that such will continue the same for the foreseeable future, at least until 2010.

And finally, the keystone in this cockamamie construction, the Zacharias Moussaoui Affair. Here, federal prosecutors, defense attorneys, and judge struggle manfully to walk a writhing and shifting line between letting the defendant get off scot-free and exposing the terrible truth in a fashion so unequivocal that even the half-wit society watching won’t tumble. That the FBI was warned again and again – and again and again, by damned near countless informants and evidence – that terrorists were preparing to attack the World Trade Center has been demonstrated so often and so thunderously that the statues in the park are aware.

It is just as obvious that the government at the very least let it happen, and that all remains is to wonder why. That, of course is also very, very obvious. It may be that you have to have just a little awareness of the history of our corporate capitalist government – things like the Ford Pinto matter, for instance – to recognize the motive in question, but not much. The dog didn’t bark because its master would profit enormously when Silver Blaze was stolen – Sherlock.

How do I know you’re mad? You must be, or you wouldn’t still be here.