The Case For Trump

I would love to classify myself as a member of the #NeverTrump crowd – they are like the last of a dying breed; a digital gang of rebels fighting against the zombification of the GOP by #OrangeGumby and his hodgepodge band of deluded evangelicals, alt-right trash, and mainstream RINOs in search of a brash loudmouth who can bully the GOP back onto the gravy train.
But I can’t say I’m #NeverTrump because…
There is a Case For Trump.

First off – let me tell you what I think of Trump:

Donald Trump is a malignant narcissist that cares only about what makes Donald Trump richer and more powerful. He will buy, sell, borrow or trade anything his loyal followers throw at his small orange feet in order to increase his brand. He exhibits nearly EVERY character trait that drove a grass roots movement into the Tea Party to unite against the massive government overreach of the Obama administration.

Let me repeat that.

Donald Trump is pro abortion, pro gun control, pro big government, pro intrusive government. Donald Trump is not about to give power back to the people. Name ONE TIME he has talked about making government smaller.

ONE TIME…Anyone???

No, he doesn’t bother with such trivial “conservative” ideals as small government. Instead he says, “Only I can solve what’s wrong with America.”

How did we get here? Why did the small government Tea Party decide to accept Big Government Donald?

There are many, many reasons but let’s just cover the easy and obvious. Think back to 2012 – just three years after the HUGE 9/12 rally in DC and two years after making serious gains in Congress with the election of several small government candidates and the biggest shift in House seats to Republicans since 1948.
One of the power players that split the conservative primary vote – Newt Gingrich (you know, the guy who sat on the couch to talk global warming with Nancy Pelosi). Why? Because he is a big talker – quick with words and has that ability to nail a good punchline (just like the 2008 foil – Mike Hucksterbee).
Many Tea Party people abandoned their principles and voted for Newt in the primaries because they were looking to elect a WINNER

We (and I’m collectively including myself because I was once united with those now riding the Trump Train) criticized Obama’s followers for not bothering to fact check his radical leftist principles but just eight years later our side has effectively done the same thing. We got ourselves a winner – whenever someone points out a flaw, we just say, “your guy sucks more” (remember “George Bush created the worst recession since the Great Depression” and Obama “inherited the worst economy since the depression).

If anyone tries to argue about the leftist policies of Trump, “conservatives” like Sean HanNUTTY start screaming that a Hillary presidency is their fault. These same “conservatives” just love to call anyone who disagrees with Trump a liberal too (yes, in 2016, stating that big government is bad makes you a liberal – this argument demonstrates a flagrant and intentional disregard for rational thinking).

Despite my obvious and complete disgust with the thought of a Trump presidency, here is the Case For Trump:

If Trump loses, the GOP will do these two things in the run-up to 2020:
1. Blame the Never Trump crowd (I can almost feel the hatred soon to be unleashed)
2. Find Trump 2.0 for 2020
3. Hard sell Trump 2.0 as the progressive necessity to beat back the disaster of a Hillary presidency
4. We’ll be right back to where we’ve been in nearly every presidential race since Reagan – the lesser of two evils

However, if Trump wins…

1. His ego will drive him to outlandish overreach in spending, foreign policy, domestic policy, and the stifling of constitutionally protected freedoms
2. The state of the union will be so poor, the Left will have a clear advantage

But what if the Trump presidency is even worse than that? He could kill the GOP.
The Libertarian Party could rise from the greasy bloated ashes of the GOP and run a legitimate candidate who would actually work to restrain the federal government to its constitutional boundaries.

I know – the GOP would somehow blame conservatives, the media would capitulate and we all will remain onboard the Trump Train to Totalitarianism….but it’s a fun thought.

The Birth of “The Bacon Essay”

I wrote this a while ago for a creative writing class at Iowa State University. Enjoy!

Baby Bacon Bits    
I am about to embark on a short journey of great stupidity; I’m doing a half marathon in five days, and I haven’t run but twice in the past two months. This little adventure is all for my wife and her new-found love of pounding the pavement. Faith has run to the store, the library, even to work – diligently speeding through miles of circles and squares, increasing distance and decreasing time.
I want to run with her, but work and school squeeze nearly every drop of free time, so I straggle out about once a month and pray every night for a freak October blizzard. Faith must have runner’s vision- something I don’t share. You know, bodies gracefully glistening under a bright sun. “Chariots of Fire” playing as runners cross the finish line in slow motion, chests thrust forward with pride while the excited throng of spectators cheer them on.
Well, my vision is slightly different. I see smelly, sweat stained freaks grimacing in pain and power runners trampling the weekend warriors that wilt more and more as the miles pass. The hard-cores pass all of them, not bothering with short breaks for life’s necessities, instead opting for a lower finish time by dropping dookie balls like unwanted pennies out of their shorts. I imagine myself running the course, weaving around little poop mounds left behind by the race leaders. This thought bothers me… a lot.
I ran last Sunday with Faith on a ten-mile desperation attempt to determine if I could make most of the race distance. The shape of our route was like a balloon on a string- down our street to Indianola Road, then a big loop around Principal Park and Gray’s Lake, and back to Indianola Road. It was a perfect day to run, 70 degrees with mixed periods of sprinkles and sun.
By the time we approached the big loop at the bottom of Indianola, I was looking for a diversion. My legs started feeling as if they were destined to bond permanently with the sidewalk. So, I started looking at the shops next to the road- Mary Anne’s Pies, the portable taco truck, and a barbeque joint with stains on the asphalt where the smoke oven sits during the week.
Then I remembered- the food essay!
I kept running beside Faith as Indianola Road turned north, and we crossed over the Des Moines River by Principal Park while the imagined aroma of pulled pork, flour tortillas, and pumpkin pie swirled in my mind, mixing like a wild microwave meal. Running is a good time to think, even about an essay. After all, what else is there to do?
Food – think about food. Food is good. I told myself this for another mile, trying to drown out the pain each stride produced. It worked for a while but the left, right sound of our feet pushed away all thoughts and smells. And though five miles remained, my knees were already threatening secession from my legs.
Finally, a new memory floated into my thoughts, breaking the monotonous rhythm of our feet and clearing the stale concoction. Near the beginning of our run, we passed a small blue house with open windows, and from those windows that oozed the scent of fresh bacon. That heavenly smell soaked our lungs, Faith and I both sighed at the same time.
We charged toward the Raccoon River and Gray’s Lake, a steady light rain cooling us. Bacon. Bacon. Ba-con, Ba-con. The left-right cadence fell away, replaced by thoughts, dreams, and memories of my life-long love affair with bacon.
Around this time, a little ditty began to form in my bacon, I mean, my mind:
Bacon you are gorgeous,
Bacon you are divine, and
Bacon you are best, when
Bacon you are mine.
I kept that work of art to myself (until now) but decided that the time had come to talk about bacon.
“Faith, what would you think of an essay about bacon?”
“What?” Faith had that dedicated look of a runner, so focused on “picking ‘em up and putting ‘em down.”
“A bacon essay. You know, I have to write a personal essay about food.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Tell me about it.”
And there it happened, between the west bank of the Raccoon River and Grey’s Lake, “The Bacon Essay” was born…

Vacation Bacon
I can’t eat bacon unless I’m on vacation, tucked away in a small campsite just beyond the Beartooth Mountains. I love to wake up early, as the sun pokes a little morning into the Lamar Valley, fire up the Coleman stove and load my old iron skillet with bacon. The sizzle and pop of bacon cooking in its own grease- it’s a sweet breakfast symphony. The aroma of Hormel Black Label maple bacon mixing with lodge pole pine on a crisp morning- that’s a scent Yankee Candle has yet to imitate. You have to be a little careful cooking bacon in the mountains, especially maple bacon. The fragrance can draw a bear right to you just like a dinner bell calls to hungry ranchers. I sure am glad a bear has never attacked me and my bacon- that would ruin my whole morning. (A long time ago, a bear ate all of Dad’s Oreo’s while he was on vacation- the bear stuck his tongue all the way down Dad’s glass of milk, too. Kind of put a damper on his meal – but that’s another story.)
You know, I got lost there for a minute and almost forgot about syrup. I can’t eat bacon on vacation without syrup. I prefer Log Cabin Lite, but any syrup will do, as long as it’s thick. Runny syrup just slides off the bacon, and usually ends up on my shirt.
Is bacon as good on the beach as it is in the mountains? I can hardly picture that! Let’s see- imagine eating hot bacon while standing on hot sand under a hot sun… that’s just too hot. There’s no balance. Cold air compliments hot bacon the same way that a salty dill pickle enhances the sweetness of a chocolate malt (Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it).
That’s right; I need a cold morning, 8000 feet high and forty degrees, an icy glacier fed creek tumbling next to the tent for a little background noise and just enough level ground for my stove. Now there’s a perfect bacon location. No, a perfect vacation location to eat bacon.

Wakin’ to Bacon
When I was a little kid – about eight or nine – my family would take a 40-mile trip to Lake Red Rock for “Vacation.” Only it wasn’t a vacation, it was more like a weekend with an extra evening and morning tacked on. Before we left, my dad hooked our evergreen spray painted tent camper, made just after WWII, to the family car, an ugly white 1980 Dodge Diplomat. Despite the fancy name, our car looked more like a convict transport vehicle. And the camper – I think the camper must have embarrassed the car. It had a canvas top and bunks that smelled like moldy clothes. The thing was so small I don’t know how the four of us slept in there. Actually, my sister, mother and I shoved pillows into our ears all night; a failed attempt to deafen Dad’s asthmatic honk.
Holy crap, can that man snore! I swear his schnoze can out-blast a Mac truck’s engine breaks. Oh, I’m drifting a bit from the point, again.
Anyway, the best part about our Red Rock trips was waking early in the morning. I would roll out of the bunk and sneak over to the grandparents’ fifth wheel. I could hear the crisp crackle of frying bacon before I even knocked on their door. Our joke of a camper had a broken stove and no running water. The grandparents had a shower, toilet, and full kitchen. They even had these cool party lights they put around the outside of their trailer.
As I walked in the door, Mom realized I was out of our camper and called out something about not bothering my grandma. I didn’t hear her – the smell of fresh bacon had stopped all other senses. Grandma always made bacon, toast, and eggs at the lake. She and Grandpa loved to have breakfast early enough to watch the sunlight grow over Red Rock Dam.
I was able to get a couple pieces of bacon and some toast before Mom dragged me back to the canvas heap to eat cold cereal in the dark. I never understood why – Grandma always wanted me to stay. Mom was probably afraid that I would eat all their bacon.- And she was right- that bacon was good.

Bacon Salvation
My grandparents were busy people back then. They had 5 acres in the country, a large house and beautiful gardens that sprawled through the back yard. It was full of everything from tulips and dill weed to strawberries and corn. Every time we visited, Grandpa was mowing or working in the shed, and Grandma was weeding, picking or planting.
One day, while on summer break, we hopped into the Diplomat on a trip to the country for lunch with the grandparents. I’ll never forget that day – it must have been late June. The leaves and grass were dark green, and lovely to look at through my grandparent’s picture window. They actually used their air conditioner, unlike my mother, who opened the windows at our house during the summer, declaring all breezes cool enough to leave the air conditioner silent while the rest of us sat in pools of sweat.
We sat down at the kitchen table for lunch; fresh salad from the garden and steak that Grandpa marinated in his secret way, which turned out perfect every time. I planned to wolf down the salad like a madman. I could smell fresh meat wafting throughout the kitchen. It was screaming, “Eat me now. Eat me now.”
Saying Grace became the start of a great race.
“Dear Lord, (on your marks) thank you for this day (get set) and the food you have provided for us (c’mon already). Amen.”
The gun fired and I was ready. The first pile of lettuce stacked nicely on my fork. My mouth opened wide, and just before I shoved the first load through the starting gate, my eyes regained pace with my fork hand and I stopped dead still- red flags flapping in my brain. The fork went down and horror welled up in my eyes.
“Grandma, there’s a worm on my lettuce.” He must have stuffed himself to death, clinging tenaciously to the leaf as he passed on to worm heaven.
Grandma shrieked like a stabbed banshee and snatched the salad bowl off the table. Mr. Deadworm flailed into the trash.
“The poor boy will never touch a lettuce leaf again.” I don’t know who Grandma was talking to – maybe the worm.
“Grandma, don’t worry. I’ll take more salad,” I said, “if you leave off the worms and add some fresh bacon bits.”
A new, bacon topped salad quickly appeared. Every bite received a thorough inspection just in case Mr. Deadworm traveled with gluttonous relatives, and many jokes were said at his expense. The salad, however, was worm free.
Bacon made the worm a distant memory- each bite of salty goodness pushed it farther away, until it almost disappeared. The Mr. Deadworm incident was an unfortunate accident. But bacon – the big hero of the day – diverted the disaster, while saving my taste for salad.

Fakin’ Bacon
My life has been scarred by phony bacon, created by con artists bent on tarnishing the good name of my favorite food. I think it’s time to expose all the fake bacons that insult the real thing.
Turkey bacon, the first fraud on my hit list, is a double agent, lurking in the bacon section at the grocery store. Don’t believe the packaging; turkey bacon is full of empty promises. This stuff cooks like microwave popcorn – 5 seconds separate not done and blackened. Properly cooked turkey bacon is chewy; it has the texture of a rubber band. The only way to make turkey bacon crisp is to overcook it, which makes the fake bacon so dry it scratches your throat like a handful of tiny salt knives.
No thanks.
The next counterfeit on the list is bacon bits. Not real bacon bits- they’re cool. I’m talking about those rust colored kernels that look like Grape Nuts on steroids. Salty soybean clumps with red dye… yum.
I want to meet the guy who thought up this brilliant idea and punch him right in the stomach, for all the times I asked for bacon bits on my salad and instead got a handful of soybean turdlets.
Has anyone ever said, “Ooh, these fake bacon bits taste just like the real thing”? Someday I will go to a restaurant that serves fake bacon bits and pay with Monopoly money. Perhaps my arrest would spur “the people” to pass laws banning fake bacon.
The last faker is Canadian bacon. Canadian bacon is such a phony; I don’t know where to begin. Real Canadian bacon is actually back bacon, cut along the hog’s backbone. It is called back bacon in Canada, and everywhere else in the world. What we call Canadian bacon in America is actually fake Canadian bacon. American Canadian bacon is just a stupid circle cut of ham, salted and smoked to look and taste like lean bacon.
I would thoroughly enjoy blaming Canadians for this screw up. Canadians talk funny (Soorry, eh), half their land is frozen tundra, and their police force is known as the “Mounties.” Regardless, our slightly retarded Northern neighbors are not to blame.
Most likely, the name came from England’s pork shortage at the end of the 19th Century. England imported barrels of salted, smoked pork from Canada and Americans, for some bizarre reason, assumed Canada prepared all pork in this manner.
Perhaps a Canadian started this rumor to create a big national joke. I know I heard an Alberta chuckle somewhere behind us the last time my wife ordered a Canadian bacon pizza at Godfather’s.

Bringing Home the Bacon
I didn’t remember every little detail about bacon during last Sunday’s ten mile run. (Yes, I ran the whole thing.) The outline floated in and out as I ran, weaving a thin web through the knee throbs and back spasms. I had to sit down with a cup of Caribou coffee in the comfort of my office and fill in the gaps.
But it’s all true. In a few short days, I’ll be out there with the rest of the crazies, running and running while Hormel Black Label Maple bacon strips dance inside my head, mocking me for being the stupid supportive husband.
Maybe I’ll put a couple pieces of bacon in the tongue of my shoes, under the laces, for a little good luck. If I get hungry during the race, all I’ll have to do is stop.

The Road to APR, Part II

I’m not sure I’ve ever processed everything that happened between Restoring Love and September 9th. It’s all like a scroll of memories that run along a long and sometimes lonely highway. As I drove away from Dallas along I 20 on my way to Tucson, I wondered if anyone would like the coffee. Handing someone a vacuum bag of home roasted coffee wasn’t exactly flashy but, it was what I had and what was in the bag mattered -not the outside. I didn’t spend much time thinking about silly stuff like coffee – I had a thousand mile journey ahead of me and I was running on two straight nights of less than 3 hours sleep. Every day in Dallas was filled to the brink with fun events, concerts, baseball, and good friends – many of whom I only knew from their online moniker.

That all became a blur as I crossed mile after mile of Texas.  I originally planned on camping at Guadalupe National Park the night after I left Dallas. However, I made it to Carlsbad Caverns, which is just Northeast of Guadalupe, by noon so, after a Fast tour of the cave I continued Westward.

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I had a particular goal in mind. Faith was in Tucson for the week training on some new lab equipment. It had been about a decade since we had been separated for more than a day – I missed her. Plus, her birthday was that week and I didn’t want to miss it.

So I pressed on and arrived in Tucson about 11pm. Faith opened the door to her hotel room and I walked in so exhausted and jittery from too many energy drinks I couldn’t even speak in complete sentences. I fell asleep within about 15 minutes.

While I was in Tucson, pretty much everyone who had received a bag of my coffee contacted to ask if I was going to sell it. To be perfectly honest, I just filed that away as an interesting idea and went about my current plans – finding a new job, writing an outline of ideas for a book I wanted to write, and to enjoy the time away from home with Faith…before leaving on another solo journey back home – 1800 miles away.

The trip home was amazing and exhausting: I visited Montezuma’s Castle & Well, the Grand Canyon, Glen Canyon, Zion National Park, Cedar Breaks National Monument, Bryce Canyon National Park, Capitol Reef National Park, and Colorado National Monument in just over 72 hours. As I look back, it’s easy to see that, not only did I pack too many things into one trip, I used up a ton of remaining time for what I had left behind in my garage: an Excursion with a sticking turbo that we were planning on taking to Yellowstone at the end of August. I didn’t get home until August 6th and we were leaving on the24th.

And, before I continue, go ahead and admit it – you’re probably wondering why on earth I’m out cruising the Southwest and preparing to travel Northwest without a job.  Here’s a hard truth: it seemed right at the time. We had plenty of money saved up, I was on unemployment, diligently seeking work, and unsure if God was about to point us toward another part of the country. So, I went on my trip, came home, and immediately started working on the turbo.

I finished the turbo in a couple days, put in about $500 worth of new exhaust parts, and ….NOTHING! The thing would crank but not fire. I put my scanner on the computer and tested it….NOTHING. All systems looked to be go but it would not fire. After two days of calling around I finally gave up and had it towed to the Ford dealer where my dad worked. $1100 later they determined that the wiring loom was faulty and needed to be replaced.  I don’t know if many people know this but, modern engines have so many wires running through them, it becomes almost impossible to trace the faulty section. It’s cheaper to just replace the wires…all of them. The dealership finished the Excursion one week before we were to leave for Yellowstone.

A couple days later, my dad and I were on our way back to my parents’ house when the Excursion shut off. And it would restart…or crank…or fire…NOTHING. The Ford towed it back to find out what went wrong…again. It was so close to crunch time we made a few backup plans. At first we decided we could always take our Grand Cherokee…then the head gasket started leaking a day after the Excursion went into the shop. So, we began to plan for a trip to Yellowstone like we used to do it – with our tent. We bought our camper, and the Excursion, because we love being out in the mountains but…..Faith’s back can’t take sleeping on the ground and it seems like people everywhere, even in the most remote of places, have no sense of quiet. The camper had become like our home away from home. A little old, kinda quirky, but a good reliable friend.

It was hard to think about sleeping and eating in the cold; waking up to a frosted tent; having no hot shower; and no quiet space but, the lure of a backcountry hike in Yellowstone is stronger than a few stinky, cold nights so, we started prepping the Focus for a cramped trip out West.

There was a small twist to our trip. Before heading west we had a wedding to attend in the Quad Cities – 200 miles east. We had already reserved a campsite there but, Faith was a bridesmaid and it was August in Iowa. A HOT August in Iowa… However, before we booked a hotel we were faced with another choice. The service department had discovered the problem with the Excursion. The Exhaust Back Pressure Sensor had failed – the connection had been damaged when the wiring loom was replaced. It was now ready to go.

 

This was 15 hours before we needed to leave for the Quad Cities. I called Faith as I was on my way home with the Excursion and convinced her that the right thing to do was to take the Excursion. The camper was all ready to go; anything already loaded in the Focus could fit in the Excursion, we would have a weekend to make sure it ran okay and if it didn’t, we would stop at home for a couple hours and switch to the Focus. Faith had her concerns but I was too excited about taking the camper. I really felt like the roughest part of our year was over.

 

I was wrong

The Road to APR, Part I

When I promised I would tell the story of how I fell off the turnip truck and landed on a national radio show I didn’t really give this tale much forethought. I guess I thought I would toss out a few glib lines about how I feel like I’m at the precipice of the Great American Success Story; maybe promote a few of the products I think we might try in the future, and hit the sack after turning in a few paragraphs. But that wouldn’t be fair to the many people who helped push an idea from a concept wrought from desperation into a legitimate business.

I’m sure this will break into a few parts because, well, I just don’t have that much free time. So, let’s go back to the summer of 2012 and start there….

 

A small group of loyal Feeders from TheBlaze had invited me to a dinner with Jeffy Fisher during Restoring Love in Dallas. Not only was I an unpaid guest to a rather expensive dinner- they had also provided me with a Floor Level ticket to Restoring Love. All this because, for the previous few months, I took a couple hours out of my night to hang out with my online friends and watch Glenn Beck while pretending to be a cheap and relatively unfunny version of Jeffy.

I was unemployed, and had been for a few weeks, when I started preparing for the trip down to Dallas. From the beginning, I planned on doing something for that group of people and, while my wife and I weren’t yet broke, I didn’t have enough money to give them lavish gifts. If I’d had that kind of money, everyone would’ve received an iPod full of my best speeches (fart jokes) and images (Janet Napolitano memes). I did have one thing I could bring that would be unique and somewhat thoughtful….freshly roasted coffee.

For a few years I roasted coffee in little air popcorn poppers. You know the type – those things that look like a messed up blender, sound like a hair dryer, and make the crappiest coffee known to man:

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Those poppers are worthless for popcorn but AWESOME for roasting coffee. They are also cheap. Every couple of months I would hit up thrift shops to collect a new one-dollar roaster. And I had become pretty adept at the roasting process. So, I ordered a few pounds of my favorite Papua New Guinea pea berry beans and, a couple days before I hit the road to Restoring Love, I spent an evening roasting coffee.

By the summer of 2012, I had a shelf of air poppers in my garage – they only roast a few ounces at a time and, after repeated use, the cheaper poppers tend to burn up. If I ran at maximum output for what I could handle, I could roast 1 pound an hour (This information seems useless but will matter more later, I promise).

I didn’t have any to deliver a package of coffee – everything I roasted prior to that point went into ceramic containers with snap lids. Of course, I didn’t realize that until AFTER telling everyone I was bringing them a gift. I ended up purchasing a vacuum sealer and a roll of bags. It looked pretty basic but, the night before I left for Dallas I packed everything up and felt pretty good about sharing my hobby with these folks….

 

I will share the results and continue The Road to APR as soon as possible. It’s a bit late and I need a couple hours sleep tonight ,

DM

Why We Fail

Has anyone ever looked back at the past few years and wondered why we’ve failed to elect a legitimate small government candidate as president since Ronald Reagan? In fact, we haven’t been able to keep a solid conservative deep into the primaries but a couple times in the 25 years since Reagan left office. 

25 years.

 

In the years following Reagan, the establishment GOP has nearly perfected the formula – run several pure conservatives and  one big-money moderate in the primaries. The conservatives will duke it out, splitting the votes amongst themselves. Every time a new leader appears in the polls, the other candidates join the mainstream media in a denigration circus (Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachmann). All the while, the moderate plugs away through the flyover states, only to crush whichever conservative emerges from the pile in the primaries before Super Tuesday.

This is how we ended up with Bob Dole, George Bush, John McCain, and Mitt Romney. All of them TALKED like conservatives but had voting and policy records that resembled Richard Nixon instead of Ronald Reagan. Of course, the GOP has been at this game of three card monte for YEARS. Those at the party’s center have the time, money, and power to keep on crushing every opponent within the party who seeks REAL CHANGE. When a purist does sneak into office – they attempt to beat him into submission (Ted Cruz).

The Tea Party movement showed promise in 2010. It helped take back the house and elect some solid, freedom loving folks to congress. However, it too failed in 2012 because of fractured support. A large segment of the Tea Party broke away and drank the Newt Gingrich koolaid. Yes, Gingrich is a smart guy, an attack dog, a soundbite machine…..

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and a SELLOUT!

But I digress. This isn’t about bashing Gingrich – the point is fractured voting blocks result in moderate wins.

 

What if, instead of defunding the GOP,  we merely hijacked it and brought it back to the Right – where the majority of Americans really are? A couple of months before primary season begins, let’s run a series of Conservative primaries. We can have a round of debates followed by a series of grouped primaries. Perhaps Freedomworks would be able to host it in a secure way to support online voting. We can do it affordably – prove to the GOP that it doesn’t take BILLIONS to have your voice and vote heard.

And, most important of all – EACH AND EVERY CANDIDATE has to promise, on the record, that they will abide by the rule that only the WINNER will run for the GOP nomination! The buzz around an event like this might just be enough that people will vote with their convictions instead of trying to choose “the lesser of two evils.”

 

I believe another John McCain type of candidate could put the nails in America’s closing coffin (Chris Christie) but, we still have a little more time – we just need a plan.

 

Anyway, that’s my big idea – you come up with something better and if enough of us roll up our sleeves and get to work, just maybe we can elect a true limited government conservative to office in 2016.

 

 

DM

 

 

 

The Land of Hurt Feelings

Is America now the land of hurt feelings? In a matter of minutes I’ve seen numerous articles filled with whiny victims complaining about how culturally offensive it is because a swimsuit model posed with a Chinese guy on a boat, or a clothing line that was insensitive to overweight models, or some moron that took a picture with “slanty eyes.”

 

You know, I have plenty of reasons to whine and complain myself. However, instead of listing all the ways I’ve been wronged, I choose to honor someone who faced real slavery, racism, and hate. Instead of crying about how the world hurt his feelings, he choose to rise up and be better than the hate, and he became a successful and powerful American without a multicultural education, free government handouts, or a blog dedicated to exposing every possible way the world wronged him.

 

Happy 195th Birthday, Frederick Douglass

 

“The life of the nation is secure only while the nation is honest, truthful, and virtuous.”

Maybe It’s More Than a Look

“Don’t be fooled by the stupid look on my face because…it’s only a look”

I’ve uttered that more than a few times in the past, primarily to snooty co-workers who think they can hand me a bag full of poo and sell me on it being chocolate. However, it doesn’t work -never has, never will. I doubt that it’s because I’m the smartest guy in the room (though that may be true more often than not). I lean toward the notion that I have a bit more common sense than the next guy.

Then again….

I’m not smart enough to understand why even people in the heartland just don’t get it. The following excerpt is from: http://blogs.desmoinesregister.com/dmr/index.php/2012/03/12/ankeny-council-increases-tax-rate-in-split-decision/

The fiscal year 2013 budget will increase the current city tax rate of $11.18 to $12.03. Ankeny residents will also have a 6 percent increase                     in water rates and a 9.75 percent increase in sewer rates.

The additional 85 cents in the tax rate will be used to pay for the debt service levy. The City Council is scheduled to add another 70 cents                         to the tax rate for that levy in fiscal year 2015. Those increases are to pay for projects the city has already completed or that are nearing      completion.

Did anyone consider a cut in spending???

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT. You know the answer to that- of course not. Government doesn’t look toward contraction as the answer because to do so would be a form of (well deserved) cannibalism. THAT bothers me; and quite a bit I might add, because “we the people” used to understand that and we worked hard to combat it.

The real issue — the one I REALLY don’t get– reveals itself  in the next quote. Now, before I get to it, please remember that Ankeny, Iowa, is a fairly wealthy, fairly conservative suburb of Des Moines. You would think that a storm of 9-12ers, Tea Partiers, Gadsden Flag wavers, and small government hawks would circle the city council, and DEMAND a reduction on spending before approving ONE DIME of new taxes.

Four Ankeny residents spoke out in protest of the tax increase during the public hearing.

Out of 45,000 residents, only 4 stood up….4!!!!

Like I said, maybe it IS more than just a look….