In just the few months in the town of Chickasha, Oklahoma, news stories have included:
A man arrested — twice — for riding his bicycle while naked
A bomb threat at the local Wal-Mart
A delivery guy selling both pizza and pot
A mother using her daughter in a shoplifting scheme
A Chickasha “happiness consultant” getting naughty with a UPS driver and posting the pics online
I think Chickasha is a “weirdness magnet”. It’s not even close to places like San Francisco or Austin (or Portland), but who wants to drive that far?
This blog will document the odd, strange, funny and/or just plain stupid things that happen in this town in the middle of ‘Murica.
The Chick-Fil-A story for me has never been being about pro-gay or anti-gay. It’s been about being able to hold an opinion whether the majority agrees or not, and especially when they don’t agree. Where you choose to spend your money is none of my concern as long as you’re not breaking the law. However, when the mayors of Chicago and Boston got into this and suggested the restaurants would not be welcome in their cities (and in the case of Boston, suggest CFA would not be able to get business permits), then it became a violation of First Amendment rights. If you don’t want to eat somewhere, or buy something from someone because of their beliefs and/or politics, then go ahead. But don’t expect me (or, apparently, many, many others) when the government starts suppressing someone’s else right to free association because they don’t agree with them.
Someone shared a video with me on FB that’s titled “Mitt Romney May Be Finished”. Heh. They wish.
The left has controlled the narrative for so long, I think they truly believe wishing a thing will make it so. Wake up, buddy, and shake the cobwebs out, honey. There ain’t no Tinkerbell granting magic wishes because you believe hard enough. I’m not just wishing Barack Obama is a one-term president. I’m doing what I can to make it reality. Through talking with people one-to-one, writing here (even if you, dear reader, are the only one here), and by annoying lefties I know on social media. (That’s, probably, the most fun.)
It ain’t over until November, and it’s not even over then. It’s going to be long, tiring, and — judging my the stunts the Obama administration has already pulled — nastier than many of us have ever seen. But I’m in for the long haul.
That’s not a wish. Those are the facts.
(This was written some time back for another blog that’s since vanished. It’s all true — at least, as best as I can remember it — and names have been changed to protect the embarrassed.–CW)
The person who first said “Your high school years are the best years of your life” was either hopelessly deluded or had a really lousy life after they graduated. My high school years stunk. On ice. Every teenager feels at times like they don’t fit in. I felt like I didn’t fit in anywhere. That feeling became worse when Dad moved the family from southeastern Kentucky to the Texas Panhandle in the middle of my sophomore year. The change in terrain was pretty shocking (“Dad? Where are the trees?”), but the reception I got from some of the students at Sanford-Fritch High School was worse.
Dad was one of hundreds who was working on an expansion of the Phillips Petroleum plant in Borger, Texas (Motto circa 1982 — “You can smell us 20 miles away”). It seemed many of the “townies” didn’t like the new kids coming in. That was the first strike against me.
There were plenty of other things that didn’t help. I was a pretty strait-laced kid, which prompted one person to give me the nickname “Captain Whitebread” (among others that I won’t repeat here). I was also terribly shy, overweight, and preferred the arts over athletics…which, in the eyes of the jock and cheerleader clique who ruled the school, proved that I was gay. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was very interested in the fairer sex. I assumed, though, that they would have nothing to do with me. I admired a couple of girls from afar, but I had already convinced myself that I didn’t have a chance with any of them. Besides, their boyfriends would pound me into the consistency of Silly Putty, so why bother? I was more concerned with surviving. Looking back, that makes a decision I made during my junior year pretty amazing.
I did have a handful of friends at Sanford-Fritch, mostly from the drama and theater clique. They were the ones who convinced me to join the committee for the junior-senior prom. We juniors really had nothing more to do than decorate the cafeteria I helped with the streamers and the wall decorations and everything else. A couple of my friends were there to help, but it was mostly the popular kids there. The usual jokes and barbs about my weight, my clumsiness and my alleged lightness in the loafers were thrown at me. Then, after we finished, I heard one girl say under her breath, “Can you imagine if HE actually came to prom? Hopefully, he’ll stay home so he won’t embarrass himself”.
That flipped a switch in my head. I had enough. I was going to sit it out, but now, I was bound and determined to go to the prom. It didn’t matter to me anymore what the popular kids would say, I was not going to let them determine my actions. I went to Amarillo with Dad, who helped me find a suit, and that Saturday night, it was showtime.
I walked through the doors of the transformed cafeteria. I almost walked right back in the other direction. Then I remembered the comment I heard the day before, and steeled my resolve and walked into the room ringed with streamers, navy blue crepe paper, and aluminum stars to see if any of my small circle of friends had shown up. A few did, including Bill. Bill was a big drama-theater guy, but the girls flocked around him. He was a real ladies’ man. Bill was going to be too busy tonight to have anything to do with me. The others had their dates. I didn’t have one, since I was too shy and scared to even ask. So I went into wallflower mode, enjoying the music, envying the guys who had dates, and getting contemptuous stares from the popular kids.
The music was fantastic…the DJ knew his stuff, and had lots of the current tunes we liked. He started to play “Rock The Casbah” and I decided I was going to do something I had never done in public before. I broke away from the wall while my gut twisted into knots, walked to the dance floor, and approached Kay. She was a senior, and while we weren’t really friends, she never treated me like scum, either. I asked, “Can anybody join in?” (Okay, no point for originality). Kay smiled and said, “Sure.”
Up until then, I’d done lots of dancing listening to the radio in my room, but thought I looked really stupid. Tonight, I didn’t care. I cut loose. I was moving my feet to the beat, along with everything else… spins, jumps, whatever (but nothing that would make the chaperones throw me out). Then I heard people on the sides of the hall start to talk. “Great”, I thought, “Here comes the jokes and the insults. Why was I so stupid to try this?” It took a few seconds to realize they weren’t all laughing at me. Some were cheering for me.
“Man! Do you see that?” “The guy can dance!” “Way to go, Captain Whitebread!” I was obviously on some parallel world or something. Kids who acted like they hated my guts were cheering! I kept dancing for a few more songs, then went to get a glass of punch to quench my thirst.
A slow song started playing, and then I saw Teresa walk to my side of the hall. She was a beautiful brunette with sparkling dark eyes and a dazzling smile, smart, popular…and the girlfriend of a first-stringer on the football team. She was in that “popular” group. It took a few moments to realize Teresa was walking toward me. She said my name — which would have been enough to make me smile — then she asked, “I was wondering…would you like to dance?”
Time stopped. I flashed back to eighth grade, when another girl I had a crush on asked me the same thing. Back then, I just stammered “I’m sorry, I can’t…” and walked away. Even then, I was so convinced that no one really liked me that I didn’t know how to deal with someone acting like they did. I hated myself for weeks after that. I wouldn’t let that happen this time. “Yes, I would.”
We made our way to the dance floor, while I looked around to see if her boyfriend was getting ready to tackle me. I couldn’t see him, but Teresa could tell I was nervous. “Relax”, she told me.
“Teresa”, I whispered, “I’ve never slow danced with anyone. Ever”. She smiled and said “Don’t worry, I’ll help”. So, after a few awkward steps, we danced. I had never been so happy and so scared at the same time. Why pick me, I thought? I never asked her outright, so I’ll never know. We talked some small talk while we danced, and when it was over, I bowed ever so slightly and said, “Thank you very much”. She smiled that brilliant thousand-watt smile and said, “My pleasure”. It was our first and last dance together.
It wasn’t, though, my last dance of the night. I stayed the entire prom, and went home with my head in the clouds. The stories spread by the following Monday morning, when I was asked by my P.E. teacher to demonstrate a few of my moves. By then, though, I was already slipping back into my old ways of thinking. I didn’t want to be embarrassed, so I said, “Mr. D., I don’t know what you’re talking about”. He just laughed as if he understood, and said, “No problem, buddy.”
Before long, things were back to usual…everyone went back to their cliques, and the boundaries weren’t crossed. Teresa, though, would sometimes smile at me whenever we passed in the hall between classes. I wouldn’t go back to high school again if you paid me in gold bars. But…if I only had to relive my junior prom…then we could talk.
Over $500 billion over 10 years. Thanks loads, Chief Justice Roberts.
Look at the charts, but don’t despair. Get mad. Vote this miserable failure of a President out, and put GOP majorities in both houses of Congress. We can’t afford to sit back any longer.
The Court can delay, but it cannot prevent the implementation of a new national consensus at odds with what the Court is supposed to enforce. The Court can stand in the doorway only so long. We now have a clear case in which the will of Congress and the President are in conflict with what a narrow majority of the Court believes. A very narrow majority.
This leads to a Constitutional crisis.
The Affordable Care Act — the largest tax increase in the history of the world — includes twenty hidden new taxes. Seven of these taxes apply to all citizens regardless of income.
1. The Individual Mandate Tax will require a couple of pay either a base tax of $1,360 per year, or 2.5% of adjusted growth income (whichever is higher) by 2016. You’ll start paying a lower amount in 2014, but it will rise to this in a couple of years. If you’re single, the base tax is $695. Families will pay a base tax of $2,085 per year.
2. The Medicine Cabinet Tax, which took effect in 2011. This tax prohibits reimbursement of expenses for over-the-counter medicine, with the lone exception of insulin, from an employee’s pre-tax dollar funded Health Saving Account (HSA), Flexible Spending Account (FSA) or Health Reimbursement Account (HRA). Since middle class earners make enough to pay federal taxes, but don’t have enough income to make this tax negligible, they’re hit hard by this one.
3. Remember when you could put an unlimited amount of money into your FSA? As of 2013, kiss that goodbye; a cap of $2500 (pre-tax) will be implemented. The middle class is hurt by this because these accounts may be used to pay for the education of special needs children. Tuition costs for special needs children can easily exceed $14,000 per year.
4. The Medical Itemized Deduction Hurdle will increase from 7.5% to 10% of adjusted gross income. This is the amount that must be met before medical expenses over that hurdle can be taken as a deduction on federal income taxes. This means fewer medical costs will be able to be deducted.
5. The penalty for non-medical early withdrawals from your HSA will double from 10 to 20 percent.
6. The Indoor Tanning Services Tax places a 10% excise tax on people using tanning salons. This is a blatant move by the federal government to control your behavior.
7. This one, despite what you might be told, affects middle class earners and everyone else. It’s the Excise Tax on Comprehensive Health Insurance Plans or the “Cadillac” Health Insurance Plan Tax. This imposes on 40% excise tax on the employer-paid premium on taxpayers who are covered by such plans, beginning in 2018. Since the employer generally pays for such plans, in part or in full, the burden falls on the employer, who will likely pass on the increase to their employees.
It doesn’t matter whether you back the new law or not. These are the facts. These new taxes on the middle class are real, and will impact the economy and American families. Remember that we were all told there would be no new tax increases on the middle class.
Some will claim I’m being partisan. I’m not. This is the reality. Deal with it.
Last week, members of Occupy Oakland protested a conference that was dedicated to combating the horror of child sex trafficking.
They protested against rescuing children from a degrading fate, so essentially they were protesting in favor of child sex trafficking.
These people are an excellent example of George Orwell‘s “doublethink“. They don’t want anyone messing with their private parts or what they do with them, then they yell that those who are working to fight sex trafficking are the villains because it’s their capitalist society that forces them to be sex workers.
In the last three months, I’ve lost my job, found another one, moved over two hundred miles from the old hometown and given up (for the moment) on completing my bachelor’s degree because I’m not going any farther into debt to pay for my classes.
Also during that three months, I’ve been dogpiled on whenever I post anything pro-conservative or anti-Obama on Facebook. My conservative friends hardly came to my defense, which I understand to a point. While politics has its level of importance, it ain’t the only thing, regardless of what the Left believes. Still, I got sick and tired of fighting the battle alone. The breaking point came when someone I’ve known for years on FB, who once seemed like a decent human being to me, began full-tilt assaults on the GOP, conservatism, and theism. He certainly has the right to do so. But when someone attacks all you stand for then tells you to, essentially, “don’t take it personally”, well it’s very, very hard to maintain any level of friendship. All that junk, plus dealing with the other real-life issues of the time, led me to say I would not discuss politics any further on Facebook.
That was stupid.
I let a handful of angry people with the same tired arguments (Racism! Sexism! BOOOOOOSH!) shut me up. It’s practically nothing compared to what Aaron Walker, Patrick Frey, Robert Stacy McCain and so many others have endured. I haven’t been SWATed in the middle of the night. I haven’t had lies made up about me. I haven’t had to move my entire family to an undisclosed location because their safety was threatened.
I was a coward. Could be I still am. But I’m screwing up what courage I have and pressing on. As Kurt Schlichter said, the only acceptable outcome is victory over those who would take the greatest experiment in government ever practiced in human history and turn it into just another tyrannical state. I couldn’t live with myself if I stood by and let it happen.
I should be used to being treated like an outsider, anyway. I never was the popular kid in school, didn’t spend my weekends getting wasted, and never believed anyone owed me anything. If I can take all the crap I dealt with as a teen (and there was a LOT of that), than I can take the name-calling the Left spews. Call me stupid, call me a hater, call me the devil himself (which would be ironic, since many libs don’t believe in the devil), but don’t call me indifferent.
Time to hero up.
It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
More stuff coming here. What stuff it is…well, that’s yet to be determined.