Some Days Are Better Than Others
For eight long years, I kept waiting for Barack Obama to do something right, something I could inscribe on the positive side of his ledger. But nothing he did either domestically or on the world stage impressed me. Quite the opposite, in fact.
For eight long years, I kept waiting for Barack Obama to do something right, something I could inscribe on the positive side of his ledger. But nothing he did either domestically or on the world stage impressed me. Quite the opposite, in fact.
But within a recent 24-hour period, Donald Trump got his Supreme Court nominee, Neil Gorsuch, confirmed, and he greenlighted an attack on a Syrian airbase. I know that some people thought the attack was ill-advised, risking, as it did, a counterattack by the Russians. But Vladimir Putin isn’t that crazy.
I think Trump knew exactly what he was doing, which was simultaneously sending a message to his dinner guest, the president of China; Syria’s Bashar al-Assad; the crazy dwarf in North Korea; and, perhaps, of equal importance, the Democrats. What better way to let Chuck Schumer and his stooges in Congress and the media understand that Trump is hardly Putin’s puppet boy.
For eight years, the bullies of the world tweaked America’s nose, knowing full well that the sissy in the White House might talk tough, but would quickly hand over his lunch money and give himself a swirly in the boy’s bathroom.
By putting on his big boy pants, Trump made it clear that a new day had dawned, and that America was once again a nation to be feared by her enemies and trusted by her friends, and that the big guy in the Oval Office, unlike his predecessor, was fully able to tell one from the other.
In the meantime, he made Obama look like an even bigger putz than we already knew him to be. After all, the firing of the Tomahawk missiles was brought about by al-Assad’s use of sarin gas on his countrymen or, rather, his country’s babies. Yet, it was just a few years ago that Obama had boasted he’d forced al-Assad to get rid of his chemical stockpile and without having to fire a single shot.
Thanks to people like Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, college professors, Hollywood celebrities and the NY Times, we still have a wide swath of the public that longs for the ideal of a socialist state. No matter how often you point out the failed experiments in the Soviet Union, Nazi Germany, China, Mongolia, North Korea and Cuba, they either insist that the wrong people were in charge or, worse yet, they lie about the reality. But for anybody who persists in the delusion that socialism is kinder, gentler and more responsive to the needs of the people than capitalism, it might be a real eye-opener if they hopped on a plane and flew down to Venezuela.
When Hugo Chavez was elected president in 1999, he won the way that socialists nearly always do; namely, by promising to take from the rich and give to the poor. It’s a surefire technique because those who want always out-number those who have. Fortunately, oil was still a moneymaker in those days, so the revenue was sufficient to provide cover for some of Chavez’s social policies. However, once the price of fossil fuel began to fall, there was no way to continue giving away the nation’s treasure to those who had done little or nothing to deserve it, aside from voting for their own personal Robin Hood.
Had Venezuela been able to regain its senses in 2013, when Chavez died, it might have still been able to save itself. Unfortunately, his handpicked successor, Nicolas Maduro, was more of the same. Which explains why, in 2016, Venezuela was ranked 126th of 128 nations when it came to its economy. The only two behind it were the equally socialist Cuba and North Korea.
Being in 126th place sounds bad, but the reality is far worse. It has led to the highest murder rate in the world, one of the highest mortality rates and, oh, by the way, widespread cannibalism. Not too long ago, I made a joke that some smart cookie could make a fortune promoting the Caracas Diet. But when the average Venezuelan lost, on average, 19 pounds in 2016, it’s not all that funny.
One of the nutty things about the way the Left has been attacking Education Secretary Betsy DeVos is that, on behalf of the Teacher’s Unions, they pointed out that she doesn’t have a degree in education; has no teaching experience; didn’t attend government schools; and didn’t send her kids to “public” school. To me, that would be like opposing a superintendent of prisons because he had never been arrested, indicted or served time in a penitentiary.
What highlights the fact that the Democrats in Congress who voted against confirming her were merely signaling that they were the pawns of the unions was the fact that everything said about DeVos could have been said of Obama’s Secretary of Education, Arne Duncan. The difference, of course, is that Duncan was bought and paid for by the teachers’ unions, and, as their official mouthpiece, never had a good word to say for private schools, religious schools, charter schools or home-schooling.
Although liberals are forever railing against monopolies, they are always happy to make an exception when it comes to appeasing public school teachers, whose unions constitute the single biggest contributor to their elections.
Apparently, by mentioning that I have a tendency to spot punchlines before they arrive, I have swung open the doors to every jokester in America. Although I never asked to be the clearinghouse for jokes, to be the latter-day Joe Miller, as it were, it only seems fair to pass along those that manage to tickle my funny bone.
Among the recent arrivals, these are the ones I liked best:
After mentioning my brainstorm about mock funerals, a guy named Steve said it reminded him of the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish funeral…one less drunk.
A fellow named Tom let me know that as Jake lay dying, his wife at his bedside, he looked up and said: “I have something I must confess.”
“There’s no need to,” his wife replied.
“No,” he insisted, gasping for breath. “I want to die in peace. I slept with your sister, your best friend, her best friend and your mother!”
“I know, I know,” she replied. “now just lay back and relax and let the poison work.”
One of my readers, Joann, reported that she liked my idea for mock funerals, except for the part about lying in a casket during the mock ceremony.
I explained: “The casket is essential, so the speakers don’t see you looking at them while they’re delivering their heart-felt eulogies. The whole idea behind my notion is that everyone pretends you’re dead, so they can say all the mushy stuff they’d never say to you while you were ‘alive.’”
After learning that someone I knew had recently undergone surgery, I sent him an email in which I said: “I hope your surgeon was better than the guy who operated on my wrist. My personal Dr. Mengele put on a bandage that cut off the circulation in my hand and sent me to the emergency hospital at 3 a.m. in excruciating pain. Then, for good measure, when he removed the stitches, he missed one, which quickly became infected.”
He wrote back to say his was better, although he did refer to him as Dr. Kevorkian.
I said that, if I remembered correctly, he was the surgeon who reported that the operation had been a failure…his patient had lived.
A friend sent me a list of word-plays that include the likes of (1) “How does Moses make tea?” “Hebrews it.” (2) “England has no kidney bank, but it does have a Liverpool.” (3) “I tried to catch some fog, but I mist.” (4) “I know a guy who’s addicted to brake fluid, but he insists he can stop any time.” (5) “When chemists die, they barium.” (6) “I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. I just can’t put it down.” (7) “Why were the Indians here first?” “They had reservations.”
Frankly, I prefer the sayings of the Jewish Buddhist:
If there is no self, whose arthritis is this?
Drink tea and nourish life; with the first sip, joy; with the second sip, satisfaction; with the third sip, peace; with the fourth, a Danish.
Wherever you go, there you are. Your luggage is another story.
Accept misfortune as a blessing. Do not wish for perfect health, or a life without problems. What would you talk about?
There is no escaping karma. In a previous life, you never called, you never wrote, you never visited. And whose fault was that?
The Tao does not speak. The Tao does not blame. The Tao does not take sides. The Tao has no expectations. The Tao demands nothing of others. The Tao is not Jewish.
Deep inside, you are ten thousand flowers. Each flower blossoms ten thousand times. Each blossom has ten thousand petals. You might want to see a specialist.
Let your mind be as a floating cloud. Let your stillness be as a wooded glen. And sit up straight. You’ll never meet the Buddha with such rounded shoulders.
The Torah says: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” The Buddha says: “There is no self.” So, maybe we’re off the hook.
