The Paternal Instinct Of A Father

Apparently, he is worried about his daughters and the world they will live in as adults. I am sure he will want them to be Elites in the Marxist Utopian dreams he has envisioned, it is so much better than that dreadful poverty the rest of us will be trapped in, but one thing for sure, he will want them to be respected by men and the public. The thought of public disrespect directed towards them or women in general, is too horrible to think about. That is why he has called Ms Fluke, the woman who attends an expensive Jesuit law school, but can’t afford or can’t date someone with enough sense to afford contraception.

But life has some harsh realities. Ms Fluke the political activist, might think back to the Madam of the local whore house telling the hormone enraged teenage boy, “If you want to play, Sweetie, you must pay.” She could have told him to take a cold shower or to put a rubber band around it, but she offered sage advice to a young boy on the threshold of manhood, very useful advice. Perhaps the same advice President Obama should be giving his daughters if he wasn’t a Marxist; for it would be much more likely to help them and prepare them for the future, than the Marxist refrain, the government provides so don’t sweat it.

Unfortunately, Progressive Marxists are quick to disrespect women, a habit that will come back to haunt them in a few months; since Obama, and other self-righteous Progressive Marxists find it perfectly acceptable to have a comedienne stand up and talk about Palin showing up at the Republican convention in this manner, “holding a baby that just came out of her f*cking disgusting c*nt, her f*cking retard-making c*nt.” Now some of us might take exception to the language; especially, since Obama seems to think that the mentally handicapped are fair game for humor. I suppose that is part of the Leftist perversions that are generally considered acceptable among the loyal; in essence, being mean spirited to those who can’t fend for themselves. One of the most notable Socialists, Adolf Hitler had a special mean interest in these “Retards” as well; except, he took meanness toward “Retards” one step farther.

There are others who might take offense at the vulgar language this Leftist comedienne used to degrade all women, since to use the expressions in referring to a political opponent, with official impunity, makes it acceptable for all Progressive Marxists to degrade women: but on the flip side, it also becomes acceptable to refer to Michelle and her daughters using the same language; after all, didn’t Obama give it his tacit approval by not condemning this sewer language from two of his loyal Hollywood supporters, Louis C.K. the nimble mind who came up with the quote in the previous paragraph and Bill Maher, who called Palin a f*cking c*nt and a tw*t. As a standing rule, I never use such foul language, nor do I allow it to be used in my company. If I hate someone that much, we can step into the ring. But these gutter rats find it cute and a way to build a fan base, and our president doesn’t mind in the least; especially, since Maher gave him a million dollars. However, there are two major problems, that become patently obvious as a result of this classless public discourse: first is the complete lack of class among the Progressive Marxists who listen to these degenerates, second is the classless president who condones this vile tasteless behavior, so reminiscent of the squalor and degeneracy of the lowest constituencies he represents. He has now brought the language of the ghetto to the highest levels of political discourse. Oh, but why take offense, he is the one who has approved this new level of discourse by not condemning the language of his loyal supporters.

In the past, I would have stood up for the president and his family, not because I like them, but because I once had respect for the office; however, if someone wants to refer to Michelle and her reproductive parts being in some foul condition, have at it. You won’t get a fist up side your head from me. No sir, our president likes and approves of that kind of gutter talk, he is obviously capable of dealing with it, so do your worst; all you will get from me is a smile. President Obama has set the standard and the standard is in the sewers.

Prologue: This is a story of two Stone Age chieftains, who migrated to America during the last Ice Age, approximately twenty thousand years ago: one came from the East and one came from the West, but before you begin to recite the teachings of Archaeology from twenty years ago, you might be surprised to know of startling new discoveries about the migration of man and the inconvenient facts surrounding the theories of Anthropomorphic Global Warming.

The Whale People, Their Homeland (Europe’s Western Coast, now submerged)

Yellow Hair was an anomaly; he was ancient, almost forty years old, but strongest among all the men of the Whale People. He was chief of the Whale People, and he ruled his tribe with rules etched in flint. Breaking the rules often meant death for the offender; for life was a tedious and constant struggle between survival and death, and death came all too often twenty-thousand years ago, during the height of the last great Ice Age in the area off the coast of Western France.

Much of the world’s water was locked up in ice sheets that a mile high covering much of Europe, Asia, and North America; in fact, the ice sheets covered one-third of the earth’s land masses and depleted the oceans of so much water, the ocean depths were a hundred meters less than they are now. There were coast lines connecting Europe with North America, and Asia with North America, they extended nearly a thousand miles from north to south on each corridor. It was a temperate area of grasslands and coniferous forests with limited precipitation, because of the amount of water frozen in the glaciers. There were thousands of creeks and rivers fed by springs and lakes that are now a hundred meters under water. It was a harsh ecosystem that supported the mastodon, a creature much larger than the elephant, as well as musk ox, giant sloths, saber toothed tigers, large bears, caribou, giant moose, elk, horses, and camels, all of whom migrated freely back and forth from Asia and Europe to North America.

No one knows why the giant glaciers appeared or why they receded, but the Ice Ages were real events in the story of the earth; the Ice Ages spanned tens of thousands of years and facilitated the dispersal of man all over the world.

The Whale People were a hardy bunch that had drawn their genetic pools from the blue and green eyed traders from the East, the tall, blonde haired, white skinned people from the land to the North, and the darker people of the South. It was a fairly short walk from North Africa to what would become Spain; the drought conditions of the world brought on by so much water being sequestered in ice forced many of the darker people of Africa to migrate north to be near the life giving water from glacial melt in summer and the springs that formed creeks and rivers on the Southern boundaries of the European Glacier and to the western shores of Spain and France.

The Whale People had originally occupied a coastal area that was next to the Southern ice shield of Europe approximately twenty-thousand years ago. Almost nothing could survive on these ever increasing glaciers that covered large portions of the continents, but there was a strip of new land exposed from the ocean depths, extending well beyond our present shorelines, because of so much of the earth’s water being frozen in the glaciers. This strip of land was warmed by the ocean, but it still remained a cold climate in summer, from the cooling effects of the great mass of ice on its borders. On this narrow strip of land, a micro-climate existed that had allowed animals, grasses, and a few hardy trees to proliferate in a wondrous abundance for tens of thousands of years, but the pressure by humans and the ever encroaching ice was reducing the availability of food sources and thus the livable space was under fierce competition by all species, but the competition among humans was the probably the fiercest.

Yellow Hair’s tribe had occupied the Southern coastal regions since the beginning of time or at least as far back as their oral history recorded their time here on earth. Yellow Hair wasn’t a singer who memorized the family lines and history of his tribe, but he knew his fathers had been chiefs far back in time. He had remembered his fathers and his personal history by assigning each of them, one of his fingers. He could go back in time by looking at a finger and tell you the name of that father, going back in time, nine generations.

The Ice People, The Migration (From Central Asia)

Tiger Paw loved to hunt and here in the land of the North Star, this land the North People call Beringia (the land bridge connecting Siberia to Alaska), the hunting was better than in the stories of the First Days.

It was told in the oral traditions of history, on the nights of the full moon, of how his people, the Ice People, had followed the herds over the Great Grasslands and forests to the West, just South of the great walls of ice. In the beginning, they were the first people, because the Father of the Ice had shown them great favor by providing them with flint for spears and the many animals to hunt. At first everyone was hungry during the winter, but the Father of the Ice liked the Ice People and gave them the beasts of the Steppes and the stone technology to kill the beasts, he also gave them fire and taught the women how to cook and how to brain tan furs and leather.

They learned that the brain of each animal, when allowed to break down to a gelatinous mass in a covered ceramic bowl, was sufficient to tan its own hide. They marveled at the skills of the ice Father and how he put all these mysteries of life within reach of those with the intelligence to figure out the answers. The Ice Father taught the women to love the hunters and to entertain them at night, so the tribe would be happy and always have new little ones.

Tiger Paw’s belief was essentially correct in the oral history of his tribe, but his concept of time wasn’t capable of comprehending the enormity of his tribe’s migration. His ancestors started moving east through the mountains and grasslands of Southern Russia and Northern Asia, several thousand years ago. Using the logic of 20,000 years ago, they figured the sun was always refueled in the East and traveled overhead to the West, only to get tired at the end of each day, needing to sleep through the night to be strong and hot the next morning, much like the hunter who hunts all day, breeds his woman at night, and then sleeps to be strong in the morning. They wanted to see this land where the sun is refreshed; there is surely much fuel to warm the sun, just beyond the horizon to the east. Sadly, the sun seemed to be weakening, because the great ice sheets were getting larger and eating more and more land. They were over a mile high and moving to the South at the rate of several man strides every day.

The idea of a great source of fuel to the East, was essentially the idea for migrating to the East. For over a thousand years, they followed the basic idea of moving east, always east. There were hostile tribes to contend with and periods of starvation coupled with disease, but they kept moving east.

Their culture and customs were ill suited for sedentary life. It was a simple matter of hygiene; a concept that was understood by sedentary tribes, for they knew that human waste was dangerous and should be deposited in a hole dug specifically for that purpose, they also understood the need to maintain clean drinking water.

It seems a simple concept, but migrating people rarely suffered from the ravages of cholera and dysentery, for they rarely made camp for longer than it took for a kill to be consumed or to spoil, except in the winter and the effects of disease were lessened during the extreme cold of winter.

Sedentary tribes, without cultural customs for contending with human waste, were condemned to die of disease if they stayed too long in one place. The problem was self-correcting in time, since tribes that lacked certain cultural conventions were weakened and often annihilated by other tribes who looked upon them as unclean or they simply died out from the ravages of disease.

During the migration of the Ice People, they had acquired many customs from the women they had traded for and the occasional lost hunter they had adopted. Even though Tiger Paw believed his tribe to be the only true people walking the earth, he understood advantages in acquiring new people with new technologies and customs.

The Whale People of Europe

Nine generations would place Yellow Hair’s father in the time when the great mother whale, Olalla of the big wild salt water, gave birth to man and all the creatures of the earth. In Yellow Hair’s mind, his distant relative was the first human to slide through Olalla’s birth canal and swim to shore; therefore, his birthright was one of leadership and a semi-divinity, for he was a direct descendant of Olalla. He couldn’t explain the bloodlines of other people or even those in his tribe and he forbid himself and others from asking frivolous questions that complicate the simple explanations of their life.

It was this natural birth of Yellow Hair’s relative that intrigued the Whale People and provided the common bond that held them together. The secrets of their existence and their connection with divinity was thought to exist through the navel of Yellow Hair, for that umbilical connection was directly related to Olalla the Whale Mother who had birthed the first relative of Yellow Hair, the very first human.

Unfortunately, it was the natural scheme of their life that was in jeopardy at this time; for the success of the Whale People made them the envy of many tribes. They had mastered the science of not only trapping great bounties of salmon in the rivers, but more importantly, they smoked and dried the salmon over smoldering fires to preserve them for months. This was a quantum leap in technology for the people of the world. News spread for over a thousand miles to the East along with the tasty morsels of the pink colored fish flesh.

Tribes with many huge warriors and advanced stone weapons ventured into the traditional lands of the Salmon People and brought many wondrous trade goods to trade for the smoked salmon of the Whale People. Trade was good for the Whale people, but some of these tribes decided to stay and there were now tribes camped in their winter hunting grounds and on their fishing grounds.

The winters were too cold to fish in the great salt water and the rivers and creeks were frozen. Rather than eat smoked salmon all winter, the Whale people had learned the different migration routes of the Caribou and devised traps to catch the Caribou in blind canyons for the winter. If there was enough feed for the Caribou, they would slaughter them as they needed meat; if the valley floor ran out of the lichens that the Caribou eat, they would slaughter them all at once and smoke the flesh like that of the salmon. In a gaunt world of starvation and hardship, the Whale People lived in a world of plenty.

They were happy to live under the leadership of Yellow Hair; not only was he divine, but he was a fair and intelligent leader, who could sense when and where the Caribou were migrating and when the Salmon started their runs or when there was a whale trapped in a small estuary by the tide. His people made boats with oak frames with greased leather for hulls that worked well if you kept the hide well greased with seal oil or whale blubber.

If his people observed the rules, they lived in harmony within the group: if they broke the law, Yellow Hair might cut their throat or trade them into slavery. He was feared, but loved as well. He was the nucleus that kept his tribe strong.

In these early days and up up until the present, there were several aspects of a society that needed to be worked into a particular culture for that society to exist and thrive. Survival, procreation, food, and leadership were all important elements that had to be defined culturally for a tribe to exist. If the rules or laws were broken, the society broke down.

Yellow Hair could control his own people; unfortunately, there were other tribes moving in and occupying their traditional Caribou hunting grounds. They observed the Caribou techniques of the Whale People and just repaired the log fences and gaits while waiting for the Caribou to pass through the mountain valleys.

This was no problem for Yellow Hair, he knew the mountain passes and could divert the Caribou with fire and by dressing his men in wolf and bear hides to drive the Caribou into different blind canyons. He would just build new gaits and fences at the entrances. These new people would have to live off the few Caribou that might be separated and the odd elk, horse, camel, or moose they could kill. If they were desperate or if they found a mastodon trapped in mud or lame, they could fight the mastodon to the death, for it was only possible to kill one at great risk to the hunters. He knew these new green and blue eyed people would often be facing starvation and that the Whale People almost always had plenty of Caribou and fish; therefore, they were at risk from these starving tribes.

These interlopers should have stayed in their own country, Yellow Hair reasoned. They were unfit for life between the ice and the salt sea. Their eyes were light colored and they suffered from the sun’s glare, their skin was too white in color and they couldn’t work naked in the glacier fed waters to catch the salmon. They didn’t engage in ritual washing and smoking their bodies in the traditional way. That alone prevented them from being hardy enough to survive the fierce cold and winds of these ancient lands. The blue and green eyed people were weak beyond measure, but they were large people and dangerous.

Yellow Hair knew he carried the seed of the first human, but it was this first human’s lusty ways and hunger for wild women of the forests that had produced all these uncultured barbarians. This ancient father had produced these excess humans of his own blood, and were now posing a threat to the very existence of the Whale People.

Yellow Hair had little sympathy for weakness, he had seen a weakness of character in the previous chief, his own father, and challenged the chief to personal combat for leadership of the tribe and to possess the young princess wife of his father. He killed his own father and claimed his father’s earthly goods and wives as his own. He was hardy enough, but that was back when men were men. (The weakest of the men was many times stronger than an NFL linebacker.) In those early days they hunted and killed the near humans for sport. There weren’t enough of them left now to worry over; besides, they can’t speak words, the men run like pregnant women, and they make the crudest tools and weapons. They are laughable, but in a wrestling match they are deadly, for they are strong like the mastodon. No, it is much safer to kill them with spears from a goodly distance. The near humans’s muscles are so large, they can only thrust a spear, if they try to throw a spear it is laughable.

He didn’t like to think about it, but these near humans, might be the result of his relative, the First Human, coupling with some creature of the forest. It was an ugly thought, but how else do you explain the presence of these near humans. He tried not to dwell on the negative aspects of the heritage of the First Human, but sometimes this irresponsible behavior of his family was embarrassing and impossible to ignore.

Yellow Hair had several wives and at least nine children, aged from twenty-four years to one winter. He enjoyed his kids; however, they were expected to meet the same requirements for life and work as everyone else, if the rules were relaxed for his family, he knew there would be resentment among his people.

Women who chose a mate from another tribe were expected to leave, but if a suitable mate was a loner and could prove himself as far as fishing, hunting, courage, and work, he could be accepted into the tribe. Yellow Hair would never allow slackers and free loaders a wooden soup bowl; charming a maiden of his tribe, did not warrant a free meal around the cook fire.

Everyone had to contribute with meaningful work or be banished or possibly executed by Yellow Hair. Life was a precious gift, but the nature of living next to the ice made it imperative that everyone worked to insure survival of the group. When the Salmon got lost and didn’t return to their rivers and creeks in sufficient numbers or the Caribou were called by Olalla to rest a year and not migrate, the old frail people were expected to walk alone into the night and not return, infanticide was also practiced to keep the numbers of the tribe down when food was scarce to help keep the nutritional requirements low. There were always hard decisions to be made, but the Whale People realized they must be ready to sacrifice just to survive next to the ice.

Killing a huge mastodon could mean survival through the winter, but unless they were mired in a bog hole or suffering from a severe lameness, it was far too dangerous to try and kill them and even when they were trapped, it often took hours to kill the monsters and many times his hunters were killed as well.

Sea lions were also dangerous to kill for they could travel much faster than a man can run. They were usually killed with a fusillade of spears when the animal was caught sunning himself beneath a ledge. The spears were made with sharp narrow points and heavier shafts, but the lighter javelin was also used, these weapons were designed to penetrate a tough hide and several layers of blubber; unless, the spear throws were lethal, the animal would run to the sea to escape and a valuable cache of spears and javelins would be lost with him. The sea lions were unafraid of humans and would run over a man who stood in his way as if he wasn’t there. The man would be crushed under several tons of sea lion, traveling faster than a horse.

The wild horses were trapped in blind canyons like the caribou, but they were more wary than the caribou and often sensed a trap and would turn just before being caught, to run over the men and sacrifice a few members of the herd to insure that the herd would survive.

Stealth and hunting discipline was primary in killing any of these animals, for even though man was a strong lethal killer, if an animal turned to fight and a man was caught without his weapon, humans always died. Yellow Hair explained to his elder sons, Sea Otter and Ivory Tusk, that Olalla, the whale mother that had birthed their first father, had given them superior brains to stand against the fierce animals of the grasslands and the ocean; otherwise they would have starved long ago. They accepted these truths without question; yet, there were many unanswered mysteries for the twenty year old lads.

The Ice People of Asia

Often the men had some hunting trick or knowledge of nature that helped them secure food: the women the hunters acquired for wives, always brought new knowledge of food preparation and garment making that made life better for the Ice People.

Several generations ago, the Ice People adopted a small band of tiny people with black silky hair (from the tribes that would form Japan, then a mountainous area connected to Asia and on the Eastern shore of a large lake). Their tribe had been wiped out by barbarians and they were starving. Chief Four Fingers, Tiger Paw’s grandfather, was intrigued by the women and thought if they had some meat on their bones they would be intriguing bed warmers.

The kindness shown by Four Fingers was rewarded not only by having attractive bed warmers, but these people were excellent fishermen, they also knew how to smoke fish and meats, but most importantly, they understood boatbuilding and using a mast with a short gaff rigged sail and rudder.

Although, the Ice People were on the coast, it is important to remember that so much water was frozen in the great ice sheets, that the ocean depth was reduced by over a hundred meters. The land bridge connecting Alaska and Siberia was over a thousand miles wide. Coastal areas often extended hundreds of miles farther into the sea than they do now. Thousands of rivers and creeks existed that are now on the sea floor. Beringia was a dry grassland that teemed with migrating herds traveling freely between Asia and North America.

Four Fingers had welcomed these fishermen into the tribe and did his best to insure the little people adopted the Ice Culture, but the technology that was gained by the little people was transforming their culture. He was primarily concerned with the combining the two DNA groups by spreading his seed around as much as possible, but the cultural and technological aspects of these ancient fishermen kept the Ice People from starving many times.

The original DNA pool of the Ice People had been slowly diluted for thousands of years as they traveled through Asia, along the borders of the ice; but rather than weakening the gene pool of the Ice People, they became stronger. Instead of a fair-haired tribe with green and blue eyes, they were primarily dark haired people with almond eyes. There would be an occasional child born with round blue eyes and fair hair, amid great laughter and jokes directed toward the mother and father, but the Ice People were a loving people and the throwback was always accepted as one of the true people.

The Ice People had managed to keep their own numbers close to one hundred hunters, not counting women and children. They lived well, but there were dangers from larger hostile tribes. Many tribes were driven into Beringia by starvation, but killing the great mastodon required advanced hunting skills and coordination among hunters; and yet, the skills for hunting horses, camels, muskox, caribou, and other animals of this huge grassland were advanced as well. Fishing required the skills and knowledge for building fish traps and a willingness to work naked in near freezing cold water. Boat building skills consisted of carefully burning and scraping a log with sharp instruments, until a boat shaped form appeared. Their sails were abbreviated, since the heavy keel technology would take thousands of years to be discovered; however, with paddles, these fairly fast, sleek canoe type vessels could be used for fishing and sealing and perhaps more importantly for continued migration to the land of fuel to the East.

The Ice People were hunting and fishing on the Northern edge of the glacier that extended into Southern British Columbia and north into the Yukon and Alaska. Although, it was an enormous glacier, in comparison to the glacier to the East, covering the rest of Canada and much of the US, it was a miniature glacier. Tiger Paw’s People knew there was a corridor of excellent winter hunting between the two glaciers, but they were also enjoying excellent fishing and sealing in the stormy salt sea, during the summer months.

Life was good for the Ice People, but with success in the struggle for life, comes those who want to steal that success.

The Whale People of Europe

Both of Yellow Hair’s sons had chosen good mates from outside the tribe. Yellow Hair had examined the potential mates closely for sickness or deformities and then deemed them sound women suitable for work and childbirth. He had paid a man’s weight in smoked salmon and several pairs of winter moccasins for the young girls, but each one had been an excellent purchase from the barbarian tribes of green and blue eyes, since they each produced a healthy son for the tribe. Thus his tribe would be guaranteed to survive with the superior intellect and knowledge that Yellow Hair was passing on to his sons. Yellow Hair was respected by his tribe for his infinite knowledge of nature, animals, survival, food preservation, weather, the seasons, and the land itself.

Mates were an important aspect of tribal life, adultery was not permitted without a formal declaration by a woman in front of the tribe at dinner. A man could have several wives if he could care for them, but if one of them stated her desire to be with another, there might be a fight to the death or the choice might go unchallenged for various reasons. Yellow Hair was a detached observer and official of these domestic disputes. Someone might die in a fight as a result of hard feelings and tempestuous desires, so the divorce option was not to be taken lightly. He thought it was a good system that helped keep his tribe strong and stable and especially, in helping to control these wild mating desires of both men and women.

Yellow Hair liked to keep about a hundred men in the tribe and twice that many women. The number of children fluctuated, because so many children died from the harsh life. It was obvious that Olalla wanted only the strongest of children to survive and she had to test them every winter. Everyone was expected to work in the cold glaciers streams to help catch the salmon and the boys were expected to join in the difficult and dangerous hunts. The work of women was much safer, but many of them died in childbirth, so in time, Olalla provided twice as many women as men. Yellow Hair also purchased wives for his men, when there always seemed to be a shortage of unmarried women.

He gave them a thorough physical exam before purchase. He demanded clear eyes, preferably of the earth colors and not the colors of plants and sky, broad hips for child birth, good sound teeth that met in a fairly uniform manner, well formed milk paps, and a well formed birth canal with no infection.

He had an unfortunate incident in the past, a woman was infected and gave birth to two blind children. Yellow Hair had been forced to kill the babies and after becoming suspicious, he examined the woman and discovered that she was infected. He killed her and drove her husband out of the village to prevent the spread of infection to other members of the tribe. He hesitated to only banish the man, who was a cousin of his, rather than kill him, for he knew the infection would probably continue through the populations of other tribes.

Yellow Hair had picked his eldest son, Ivory Tusk, to succeed him as chief. The lad was strong, had good eyes, and an uncanny way of understanding the animals and fish. He was a good strong son.

It all happened very quickly. A group of several tribes raided the fishing camp in the early morning before the sun chased away the thick fog. They intended to kill and rob the Whale People of their dried salmon. Many of the Whale men were overwhelmed and killed, the survivors were forced to retreat to their canoes. They lost over half the adults and most of the children in the initial minutes of the attack. They had few personal belongings with them, but they felt lucky to escape with their lives. They pushed the canoes into the surf as spears were landing around them. They managed to retrieve a few of the spears that were thrown, but they escaped with only a few stones for knives and a few spears.

Yellow Hair counted people, there were forty-five men and twenty-three women with just a few suckling children and adolescents that had survived the raid. They had suffered a terrible defeat. The raiders might be following them in the extra canoes, they kept paddling all day to the North. Ivory Tusk was wounded in the gut and in a few hours, he could no longer continue to paddle. Yellow Hair took the time to transfer him to his canoe.

He looked his brave, handsome son in the eye and felt tears for the first time, since he was a child. “Olalla is calling you home” he said, “You have the chance to see her in this world, before you cross over to the spirit world. Are you ready, to see the Whale Mother?”

Ivory Tusk nodded his head, yes, and looked to the blue sky of morning, while thongs secured his legs and arms to prevent him from swimming and prolonging his agony. He was proud to be a strong leader like his father and made sure to maintain his honor and dignity as the men prepared him for the depths.

His father said to him, “We will sing of you at the winter fires and I will see you in the Spirit World, my son,” as he slipped his son’s bound body into the great salt sea.

The Whale People all said their goodbyes as Ivory Tusk disappeared under the waves and still looking up at them, the Whale People then resumed paddling as the storm clouds began forming.

The Ice People of Asia

Tiger Paw knew there were food thefts taking place by some of the other tribes and some of them were making threatening signs at kill sites. Life was hard in Beringia, starvation was everywhere, the Ice People were well fed, their women had meat on their bones and produced children every year or two; they were successful, but the other tribes wanted this good life and the riches associated with success and eating well.

The Ice People had a simple life and a simple formula for success, but it required a keen observation of nature, the intelligence to apply the skills of hunting, and the willingness to work tirelessly to secure food; for everything was easier if you secured food. If you had excess food, like dried and smoked fish and meat, you could trade for tools, weapons, furs, and women.

Tribes who weren’t successful had to trade their women and girls for food to live; eventually, the young men of less successful tribes became despondent and angry. They looked at the wealth of Tiger Paw’s people and wondered why their tribe wasn’t rich with the bounty of the world. After all, the bounty was put on earth for everyone, all the tribes should have healthy women and dried fish; the Ice People were just acting like bears, they took their share and everyone else’s share as well.

Blue Duck, the only son of Chief One Eye, of the Muskeg people, was one of those consumed with envy and hatred. He and several of his companions watched as a small band of Ice People brought down one of the giant moose with several well placed spear throws. He was incredulous that women accompanied the men on the hunt. This fact alone made his heart burn with hatred and anger; these people had no respect for the ancient customs of his people and now they were going to enjoy the tasty internal morsels of this magnificent animal, an animal that rightfully belonged to Blue Duck and his people. He decided it was time for the Muskeg people to assert their authority over the greedy tribes of the world and take what is rightfully theirs.

The three men of the Ice People had the moose deboned and cut into roast sized pieces that were packed into six backpacks, while the women prepared a feast of the heart and liver cut into small chunks and stuffed into the stomach with blueberries, onions, and edible grasses that the moose had eaten on his own. The stomach was roasted over the coals until it swelled and pressure cooked the contents into a nutritious feast for the three couples.

Blue Duck gathered his hunters around him and devised a plan; they would sneak up on the camp and attack the group when they started to eat the wrongfully acquired feast. They would kill the men and try to capture the women; if the women fought too hard, they would kill them as well. They would then eat the feast and pack the meat back to their own camp. It was a momentous decision, the men were reluctant to resort to murder and theft, but their stomachs had been empty for a week and they had not known a woman for months.

Blue Duck had five men to attack three men and three women in a camp that was celebrating. It was almost dark by the time they had crawled close enough to hear the Ice People laughing and talking. They crawled to within several caribou strides, just after dark. The stomach had the entrance and exit sections tied in a knot and it was under extreme pressure from the steam and heat locked inside. One of the men split the top with his flint knife and the delicious aroma made the Ice people cheer and laugh, while the Muskeg men felt their senses sharpened by the scent of food; until, they were even more determined to commit murder and mayhem.

The Ice People let their meal cool for a few minutes, while they waited with their wooden spoons ready to dig into the stomach.

Blue Duck had his right index finger in the air to remind his men to wait for his signal, before beginning the attack.

Just as the Ice People closed around the stomach to eat, Blue Duck and his men attacked with a fierce savagery. The Ice men were each killed with multiple wounds from the spears. An older woman managed to jump on the back of one of the attackers and mortally wound him through the neck with a knife, before a spear entered her rib cage from the side and pierce both her lungs. A second woman was hit in the mouth with the butt end of a spear and fell backwards in an unconscious state. The men fell on the meal and had turns breeding the woman like a pack of ravenous wolves. It was an hour or two later, before Blue Duck noticed a woman was missing. He tried to get his men to leave, but once a leader encourages his men to break the cultural laws, the men begin to lose respect for that man’s leadership and authority; besides, their bellies were distended after eating like animals and they were exhausted after having their way repeatedly with the woman, who now appeared to be lifeless. They wanted to sleep and leave in the morning, and there was nothing Blue Duck could do to get them moving.

Blue Duck realized it was hopeless and drifted off to sleep. Just before morning, a well disciplined group of hunters, led by Bear Killer, son of Tiger Paw, descended on Blue Duck and his men and within seconds, three more of the Muskeg men were dead, Blue Duck and another were wounded, but still alive.

They brought the wounded men back to Tiger Paw’s camp and tied them to a tree. Tiger Paw raged inside, but he didn’t show emotion to his people or to these criminals. He used his serrated flint knife, with an edge as sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, but far more durable, to cut the fur clothing from the two men, exposing their nakedness.

Blue Duck was screaming threats and insults, but his efforts were wasted, for the Ice People noticed the silhouette tattoo of a right hand on Blue Duck’s chest. It was a well known symbol of a chief’s hand, designating his choice for leadership; it was a black tattoo done with ashes.

This was big medicine for the Ice People; it could mean war, the Muskeg tribe was a large tribe with oversized people, who were often starving.

The Whale People of Europe

The Whale People followed the shore line and passed camps on shore with people who waved to them, but yellow Hair pushed on wanting to find a new hunting and fishing ground. The shoreline no longer allowed them to head north, they had been paddling west for several days when the storm clouds finally unleashed a fury on the Whale People. The waves were higher than the boats were long. Yellow Hair yelled to the other leaders to paddle to the peak of the waves at an angle and to paddle down at a high rate of speed to keep the waves from cresting and breaking over the top of them and burying them under a wall of water.

It was hopeless, the canoe captains couldn’t hear him over the noise of the storm; hopefully, his captains would follow his lead and survive the storm. He saw one of the canoes trapped in the trough, when a huge wave many times as high as a man buried them and drove them to the bottom of the salt water.

The storm raged for three days and at the end, the Whale People were so exhausted they collapsed in the hulls of their canoes and let the storm have its way with them. Yellow Hair awoke on the fourth morning and looked out to see only one other canoe floating near-by. The temperature was mild, nearly seventy degrees, Yellow Hair had never felt such a mild temperature, on the shore, there was a forest of huge trees he had never seen before. He thought he might be in the Spirit World. He called out to the other boat, three men, including his youngest son, sat up and waved. There was also a woman in that canoe with a suckling child. There were three men and an adolescent girl in his canoe. Yellow Hair made a motion with is hand towards shore and the two canoes landed on a sandy shore; although, they were a hundred and fifty miles from the present coast of Virginia, they were the first Europeans to reach the East Coast of North America.

That night at low tide, they walked far out on a sand bar to look for the tell-tale yellow flickering of campfires in the distance: for the first time in their lives, they realized they were utterly alone in the world, like the beginning of time and being born by Olalla, they were alone in the world.

The Ice People of Asia

Tiger Paw knew this was a crucial and defining moment in the leadership of his tribe. His son and his raiding party had been correct in their method of revenge on this Chief’s son and his raiding party and now Blue Duck was screaming for mercy. Tiger Paw yelled for a wooden gag to be placed in each of the captive’s mouths and tied behind their heads with a leather thong. He skinned the tattoo from the chest of Blue Duck and tied it with a thong to the neck of the other captive.

Tiger Paw then ordered his son to take half the tribe and circle the North end of the glacier and head south through the Yukon and into British Columbia. They were loaded and starting their migration within the hour. It was a big gamble; Tiger Paw had no idea whether the two glaciers maintained a corridor of land between them, he just had a fairly good hunch that there was a corridor of good hunting between the glaciers.

They had to leave this country or be annihilated by the Muskeg People. There were only enough canoes for half the tribe. He might be sending his son and half his tribe to their doom, but he knew the coast line couldn’t support people traveling by land; therefore, there was no choice, he had to send half his people inland. He told his son to follow the Western Glacier and he would meet him at the southern end of the ice, in the area that was to become Seattle; Tiger Paw would take half the tribe by boat and they will join up at the end of the ice.

He turned to Blue Duck and emasculated him, so that his father would know he would never reproduce in the spirit world and certainly not on this earth ever again. He waited until Blue Duck had accepted his fate and was no longer struggling, he then cut his throat and ordered the rest of his people into their canoes. He let Blue Duck’s warrior go with his hands tied behind him and the tattoo still tied to his neck.

Tiger Paw and the rest of the Ice people left Beringia forever.

Tiger Paw and his did meet each other in the Puget Sound area, but Tiger Paw had no idea it would take twelve years for his son to make the trip. Tiger Paw’s son had gray hair and Tiger Paw was now little more than an ancient old man, but for the survivors it was a great reunion and a chance for marriages and procreation.

Eventually, nearly five hundred years later, the descendants of Tiger Paw and Yellow Hair would meet in the area that was to become Omaha, Nebraska. The names of Tiger Paw and Yellow Hair had been forgotten, but traces of their DNA are still present in many Americans. The same qualities that drove these chiefs to succeed against all odds and care for their people were carried down through the eons and it is still in the blood of tens of millions of their descendants, now walking the earth in North America.

Epilogue: This story is of course fiction; however it is based in fact, since we now know that there were land bridges that connected Europe and Asia to North America. Cultural and technologic traits as well as DNA evidence record the presence of DNA tracings of ancient Europeans among our indigenous native people of North America. This is significant, because the DNA evidence illustrates, that in spite of superficial cultural differences and phenotypical variation, people are much more closely related than anyone’s wildest imagination ever dreamed.

It is the author’s dream, that as new DNA science is discovered, people will have a softening of preconceived ideas of racial differences and a greater harmony can be achieved through knowledge and science, rather than relying on ignorance and cultural division.

Although the events in this article are based on supposition by the author, a man who has experience living on a sharp divide between survival and death, at least more than most people, it is easy to combine human nature with a harsh environment and find these behaviors close to the surface, even with our superior cultural attitudes.

The envious wailings of the OWS people who bemoan their pitiful existence and hide their selfish pleadings behind the cloak of Marxism and a dubious desire for an end to corruption; yet, their cries for equality seem to be hypocritical at best as they perpetuate and promote a code of lawlessness. Yes, under the guise of fairness and equality, greed begets more greed and the veneers of advanced culture become laughable with their pretensions of enlightenment.

This article, the preface of a novel, is not meant to belittle prehistoric man, but rather to illustrate that our advancements are mainly technological and we who consider ourselves so highly evolved culturally, are not that far removed from seeking shelter in caves and tents made of hides.

These people are modern in the sense that a baby from their culture could be raised in a twenty-first century family and no one would know the difference, but switching adults would be nearly impossible because of the cultural differences.

The extent of the land bridge between Europe and North America will be argued for decades, but the new DNA evidence suggests that if it was not complete, the exposed land masses permitted human migration with short trips by boat.

The Great White RINO

Facing an inevitable Liberal blood bath in 2012, mainly because of the ineptness and incompetence of the Obama Administration, Liberals have been quick to rally behind the next best option, a New England Rino. They are willing to admit that perhaps the Socialism and cronyism of Obama wasn’t what the country needed these nearly three years of an ever worsening financial situation.

However, secretly they wonder whether the Liberal brand can survive the catastrophic repercussions resulting from the imposition of an ideological Socialism during these lean economic times.

Socialism is expensive; only a fool would deny that premise, but when you handicap the implementation of Socialism with massive debt, repressive EPA regulations, massive entitlement programs, an exorbitantly expensive health care plan, the audacious and incomprehensible political corruption of rewarding former donors with massive amounts of stimulus funds, during a period when five countries in Europe are facing default, the US has excessive unemployment and a collapse of the housing market, it is no wonder that Socialism is considered to be oppressively expensive.

Is that a reason to give up on the cause? Not for the Socialist Ideologue who possesses even a minimal cerebral comprehension, it is a time to regroup, drop back ten and punt the ball to your best Rino. A pugnacious Rino that stands up to unions and teachers, who speaks the everyday language of the common man and lets the little guy feel like he is speaking for him with his John Wayne bravado of not backing down and never yielding to those who want to rob from the working people. He is a perfect choice for the Liberal or at least the best choice from the Republican menu; especially, when you are facing humiliating defeat in a year.

Where else will you find a Republican willing to fight for gun control, Anthropogenic Global Warming, who will stand for illegal immigration. With leaders like this, why struggle with being a Liberal when Liberals are facing extinction? Become a moderate Republican or a Rino and ride the wave of moderation to victory.

There is one problem: the emerging hero of Liberalism, from the ranks of the Republican Party, threw in the towel before climbing into the ring. Now they are faced with a Conservative for four years and if his economic policies turn the country around, Liberalism will once again become a dirty word among decent people, to be associated with the failures of Communism and Anarchism.

Thomas Friedman explains this peculiar Liberal dilemma:

By refusing to embrace Simpson-Bowles as the basis of a Grand Bargain, and instead offering a watered-down version, Obama has left a gap for a sane Republican or independent candidate. Why was Christie popular among G.O.P. moderates and independents? Because he seemed ready to tell hard truths that Obama has started to shrink from. Had Christie — a moderate on gun control, climate change and immigration who has also backed Simpson-Bowles — run and won significant support, he would have forced Obama back to the center.

Then, instead of a race between the Democratic left and the Republican right — in which the whole country would lose because the winner would not have had a mandate for the real change we need — we would have had a race between the Democratic center, independents and the Republican center. Then the whole country would win. Because whoever captured the presidency would have a mandate to actually implement some version of the Grand Bargain needed to get growth going again — and growth is the only sustainable cure for unemployment, the deficit and inequality.

Now that Obama’s Socialism has failed, even Liberals recognize the importance of Obama embracing centrist policies, at least until after the election. But a Socialist Ideologue is so committed to the cause that he is by definition incapable of deviating from the purity of the basic ideologic tenets of Socialism. Like the sea Captain who sees the breakers ahead, but trusts his navigation skills to the point that he cannot admit he has made a mistake and sails his ship and crew to destruction, because of his inability to change or to admit that he has made a mistake, despite the obvious and contrary signs of disaster looming just ahead.

A thinking Liberal realizes that the wavering Liberal, who is the first realize when their policies are not working and will defect early to the cause of fiscal sanity, a group that Liberals cast as Independent, thus justifying an ever larger demographic of true Independents and skim milk Liberals, will be the first to flock to the Rino or moderate Republican. The Rino is a much safer alternative, since it is hard to drown in a teacup of Conservatism, but when you are thrown into the 12 foot deep version of Conservatism and fiscal responsibility, there is a distinct possibility of economic prosperity and the end of Liberalism as we know it.

Things Are Not Always What They Seem

Most Americans have never heard of Saul Alinsky, but it will be a long time before we overcome his influence on America. His confrontational tactics and politics of the 60′s are the inspiration for our president’s symbolic, undiplomatic, and predictable cliches

“get mad”, “get in their faces”, “punish your enemies”, “they bring a knife, we bring a gun”.

His quotes will forever be enshrined next to those of his hero, Abraham Lincoln whom he desperately wants to emulate.

In a recent speech, Obama compared the Civil War President’s criticism and opposition, to his own rejection by a once adoring public,

“Lincoln, they used to talk about him almost as bad as they talk about me.”

Lincoln lacked the theatrical skills to vary his speech patterns while reading speeches. Obama can vary from being a Harvard drama student with a peculiar idiolect delivery utilizing an Irish lilt with dramatic pauses or employing the nonsensical syntax above, language more appropriate for an Acorn or a union meeting. None the less, when we compare the personal thoughts of Obama to those of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, we begin to appreciate the superficial nature of the similarities that Obama is desperately trying to promote.

The Gettysburg Address

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom— and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

We have compared Obama to Lincoln. Two great orators who both read their most significant speeches: Lincoln wrote his and we can be fairly certain Obama at least wrote those quotes on his own. Lincoln wrote his speech by using great wit and an empathy for the struggle Americans were suffering through. Obama’s quotes are straight from the Alinsky school of tactics and have become the norm for the dysfunctional government of the Chicago Machine and the Socialist revolution in America.

Alinsky died when Obama was a boy, but his school of thought lives on through the generations of community organizers and union thugs. Obama received his Alinsky training through the Alinsky-founded Industrial Areas Foundation of Chicago and by working for an affiliate of Gamliel Foundation whose goal was “a more just and democratic society,” a precept of the Alinsky method.

In the Alinsky method, “organization” is a code word or euphemism for “revolution;” a revolution, whose purpose and ultimate objective is the acquisition of power by supposed oppressed demographics and the simultaneous radical transformation of the country.

Lincoln was desperately trying to preserve the country at a time when there were battles being fought that would claim more American lives in a few days than the entire Vietnam War. A fact that trivializes Obama’s efforts to compare his political struggles to that of Lincoln. Essentially, the comparison is the antithetical comparison of the pampered Alinskyite revolutionary to that of a self-taught backwoodsman who held this country together during its most critical moments.

The Alinsky revolutionary of the Hillary Clinton type is not the typical long haired, bearded, drugged out revolutionary of the 60′s. No Alinsky scolded those revolutionaries for their anti-social appearances; he maintained true revolutionaries don’t flaunt their radicalism, they infiltrate the system from within, they are clean cut and well dressed. Alinsky substituted the word revolution with the more benign sounding “organizing”.

Organizing is a systemic acquisition of power through traditional means and working towards a radical transformation of economic and social structure. An organizer promotes discontent, confusion, questions regarding traditional morality, and chaos to bring about the social upheaval prescribed by Marx and Lenin.

After a collapse of the governmental and social systems, that according to Alinsky are not worthy of salvage, a new system can be established that will be more in line with the writings of Marx and Engels. It is the charismatic organizers like Obama and Clinton who facilitate these societal changes, they understand the necessary direction and methods required to bring about societal changes.

Alinsky wanted his revolutionaries or organizers to wear suits, to infiltrate or penetrate existing institutions in a patient and persistent manner. His original organizers (Hillary) and their disciples (Obama) were to gain influence and power within churches, unions, and political parties and to introduce changes from their particular positions towards a common goal.

Alinsky was a genius at consolidating power and influence. He was close friends with Chicago crime boss Frank Nitti, Capone’s second in command; he had close alliances with Catholic clerics like Bishop Bernard Shell; thus Alinsky courted influence well in the corrupt quagmire of the Chicago Machine and also among the wealthy like Marshal Field III, Sears Roebuck heiress Adele Rosenwald Levy and Gardiner Howland Shaw, an assistant secretary of state for FDR.

Although Alinsky started his organizing in the 30′s and continued until his death in 1972, his greatest singular recruitment was a high school student Hillary Rodham Clinton. They met through a radical church group. Clinton later wrote an analysis of the Alinsky method for her senior thesis at Wellesley College, a college that maintained a Marxist faculty.

Alinsky tried to hire Clinton as a community organizer after her graduation, but she elected to go to Yale Law School. They remained friends until Alinsky’s death.

Many Leftists complain of Hillary’s self-description as a moderate; yet, she is merely following an Alinsky directive to do or say what ever is required to hold and increase power. Obama offered a perfect example during his recent non-campaigning campaign in Cannon Falls, Minnesota; he appeals to a sense of surreal patriotism, that is almost bizarre in context with previous remarks,

“There is no shortage of ideas to put people to work right now. What is needed is action on the part of Congress, a willingness to put the partisan games aside and say we’re going to do what’s right for the country, not what we think is going to score some political points for the next election; there is nothing that we’re facing that we can’t solve with some spirit of ‘America first’.”

Obama neglects to mention that the partisan games can now be put aside, mainly because he no longer controls both the congressional houses and that the image of doing what is right for the country means going along with his failed agenda; especially, since his poicies have only failed because of bad luck and happenstance; thus they need to be repeated with vigor, before it is too late to prevent the next recession.

Logic can exist on the flimsiest of foundations if the public is naive and gullible enough to accept the premise.

Hillary began her political career with a prestigious and dubious appointment to the House Judiciary Committee’s Watergate investigation team just out of law school in 1974, on the recommendations of Peter and Marian Wright Edelman, benefactors of Clinton since 1969. Ms Edelman is an Alinsky devotee; she served on the board of Alinsky’s Industrial Areas Foundation.

Obama was trained by Alinsky’s Industrial Areas Foundation and spent four years teaching the Alinsky method in workshops. Obama served four years as a community organizer for the Developing Communities Project, another Alinsky group. He later worked with ACORN and its affiliate Project Vote, both from the Alinsky school.

While trying to gain influence among the Black churches of Chicago, Obama was criticized for not attending church; he immediately joined the Black Liberation Church.

Both Obama and Clinton predicate their political policies as revolutionary followers of Alinsky; turmoil, social upheaval, economic chaos are all techniques of the Alinsky method. They are advancing toward Socialist Revolution as fast as the system will allow; however, their pace has caused the public to lose faith in their abilities to lead the country, before the revolution could reach a point of no return. Sadly, the public was under the mistaken belief that their efforts were directed toward building a traditional America: nothing could be further than the truth.

The public is demanding repeal of all things Obama. The Alinsky plan has nearly run its course. The public is more aware of the nefarious nature of the Alinskyites and their techniques; they will find it far more difficult to mount another campaign of this magnitude in the future.

Judge Roy Bean, The Law West of the Pecos

A solicitor general represents the presidency before the Supreme Court. Elena Kagan represented the Obama Administration as Solicitor General. She has maintained that she would decline to participate in deliberations that she worked on while she was the Solicitor General, but refuses to indicate whether that included challenges to the Obama Health Care Law.

Constitutional challenges to the Health Care Law were raised for several months preceding President Obama’s nomination of Elena Kagan to the Supreme Court. Multiple states filed suit to stop the the Obama Health Care Plan. Ms Kagan insists she did not participate in conferring with the White House on the health care bill.

Senator Jeff Sessions the top Republican on the Judiciary Committee, expressed a logical reaction to the inevitable sequence of events:

“It is all but inconceivable that, when the states challenged the new health care law in March 2010, Ms. Kagan did not participate as counsel or adviser to the administration on the matter, or express her opinion on the case’s merits at that time,”

Mr Sessions and six other Republicans on the Judiciary Committee wrote a letter, asking Ms Kagan detailed questions concerning her involvement in discussions concerning the law. During her confirmation hearings, Ms Kagan stated that she was asked briefly about the issue, but insisted that she had not expressed an opinion on the legislation or the challenges; a rather odd statement, since it is precisely her job description to represent and advise the White House on the viability of such legislation in respect to the Constitution and the legal challenges.

Recently released Justice Department Documents are in contradiction to her confirmation testimony: forty-nine Republican Congressional House members have beseeched the House Judiciary Committee to “promptly investigate” Supreme Curt Justice Elena Kagan’s role in preparing a defense for Obama’s health care law while she was Solicitor General.

Forty-nine house Republicans wrote a letter last Tuesday to committee Chairman Lamar Smith, a Republican from Texas and the committee’s ranking Democrat, John Conyers Jr., from Michigan, it read that recently released Justice Department documents have placed Kagan’s testimony in doubt:

contradictory to her 2010 confirmation testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee, actively participated with her Obama administration colleagues in formulating a defense

The House members maintain that the documents raise “serious questions” concerning Kagan’s ability to “exercise objectivity” in any and every case involving the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act that comes before the Supreme Court. The question of honesty and integrity should also be addressed, but Americans have no faith in the moral integrity or the honesty of the Obama White House and the Holder Justice Department.

Rep. John Fleming, Louisiana Republican:

“Determining the extent of Justice Kagan’s involvement is imperative for Americans to have confidence in the impartiality of the Supreme Court,” said Mr. Fleming, a doctor. “Americans have a legitimate right to know the truth.

“If Obamacare is such a great law, like President Obama claims, then why are there dozens of lawsuits pending in the courts against it?” he said. “The reason is the law is fundamentally unconstitutional, and it is just a matter of time before it begins to unravel.”

If the Holder/Obama Justice Department is used as an example, we may assume that honesty and objectivity in the court is no longer considered to be a fundamental part of the process and that Kagan may have been selected solely on her opinions regarding the Obama Health Care issue and the American public should prepare to be railroaded once again by Chicago Machine tactics. What conclusions are Americans expected to draw if a Supreme Court Justice lies during confirmation testimony.

In the letter, the lawmakers said the law establishes “unambiguous conditions on which federal judges must recuse themselves from proceedings in which their impartiality might be reasonably questioned.” They said that under the law, a justice should recuse in cases where they “served in government employment and in such capacity participated as counsel, advisor or material witness concerning the proceedings or expressed an opinion concerning the merits of the particular case in controversy.”

“Even from the limited number of DOJ emails released to date through the Freedom of Information Act lawsuit, it is evident that Justice Kagan was involved in PPACA defense activities to a degree that warrants her disqualification from related proceedings as specified” by the law, the letter said.

Most of the released documents concerning Kagan’s involvement in Obama’s health care legislation were obtained and released in May by Judicial Watch, through a Freedom of Information Lawsuit.

Now the Justice Department is trying to backpedal and is in damage control mode. Justice Department spokeswoman Tracy Schmaler:

“During her tenure, former Solicitor General Elena Kagan did not play any substantive role in litigation challenging health care reform legislation, and the documents that were released reflect that.”

It is interesting that so many congressional members disagree. Kagan was sworn in to the Supreme Court on August 7, 2010. Because of her role as Solicitor General, she has recused herself from 25 of 51 cases the court accepted through December. Ms Kagan maintained that she would recuse herself on any cases brought to the Supreme Court on a case by case basis. She also maintained in written responses that she had no involvement in developing the government’s legal responses to to the health care law and was never asked her views; however, if as the documents portray that she lied, the American public will rightly assume she was lying concerning her own integrity in judging whether it is suitable for her to hear the challenges to the president’s health care Constitutionality.

Is this the sentence that will be the basis for Kagan’s impeachment:

“I attended at least one meeting where the existence of the litigation was briefly mentioned, but none where any substantive discussion of the litigation occurred,”

Forty-nine house members are more than a little concerned that the “Fix” is on. Senate Republicans sent a series of questions on whether she had been asked her opinion, offered her opinion read or reviewed filings of the case, approved a document. The Obama Administration and the Holder Justice Department have destroyed any faith in the honesty of those two branches of government. The Kagan affair looks like there will be further reasons to distrust the Obama White House and now the integrity of the Supreme Court. If these documents portray Kagan as a liar, and there appears as if that might be the case, the only way to resolve this issue will be to impeach her. For there was only one reason not to be honest about the issue and that was to stack the court in favor of ruling for the Obama White House on the health care issue.

I was trying to figure how to put all my hunter’s gear on two pack horses, it would be easy if I didn’t take a tent and my personal gear. In frustration, I walked up to my boss and told him I’d need another horse to pack all my hunter’s gear. He shrugged his shoulders and told me to use Maxine, a Quarter Horse pony cross that could carry her share of gear, but was plagued with the mutton withers of the old style Quarter Horses, back before, they started breeding the high Thoroughbred withers that help keep a pack saddle centered while traveling in the mountains.

He told me I had an important customer, who knew a lot of big time hunters in New York City.

Big time talkers were cheap enough in the guide business, so I was just barely paying attention when he told me to go ahead and tack up the gear and that she would be out of the lodge when it was time to leave.

I was thinking about the breast plate and britchin I’d need for Maxine’s pack saddle when that word struck home.

“She… what do you mean she?”

“You are guiding one of our more famous hunters Skook, I am counting on you. She is an experienced hunter; you don’t need to worry about that. Just take her up in the mountains, do your typical guiding job and you will be just fine.

He turned to walk into his log lodge to have drinks and settle the accounts with hunters leaving for home and those about to depart for the mountains.

My boss always told me I was adaptable and that’s why he stuck me with all the more radical hunters. I’ve guided Saudi princes and Mexican millionaires who would have had me shining their boots if they had their way, but my job description only went so far, shining someone’s boots wasn’t part of the deal.

I made camp, took care of the horses, cooked, found game, finished wounded game, packed out the meat and trophies, and took pictures of the hunters with their cameras; those responsibilities kept me busy and I didn’t need any other little jobs along the way. Some of the hunters would pitch in to help and others liked to watch other people work. Most of the guys who had made their own money, as opposed to the ones who were born into a life of wealth, were the ones who liked to help with chores. It was nice to work for guys like that, but it wasn’t really what they were paying for and it was never expected.

Sometimes hunters would lose their nerve when it was time to actually shoot the game and the guide would shoot the animal, some guides provided this service, but I refused. It just didn’t seem right for me to take an animal’s life so that a man could hang the rack on a wall and tell lies about his hunting abilities. If they wounded the animal, it was my responsibility to kill the animal. Sometimes it meant tracking the animal all night. I’d usually take the customer back to base camp and tell him to fix himself some dinner.

I always hoped the wounded animal would lay down to rest and stiffen up before he heard me tracking him. This part of the hunt is neither noble or exciting, it is just a necessary part of the job. If it is a wounded Grizzly you are tracking, it is a very dangerous part of the job.

If the hunter was really spoiled, he’d complain about the prospect of cooking his own food and being alone for a few hours. I usually smiled and told them that the wounded bear or elk was having a much worse time of it and was waiting for me to help them along.

The metaphysical reasoning confused the self-centered hunters who were used to being treated with false respect by “Yes Men”, but patronizing people isn’t part of my personality. I’d tell the hunter to stay in camp and if they wandered off there was almost no way to find them in the bush. That convinced most of them to stay in camp.

Looking for lost hunters was a waste of hunting time. Losing hunters could get a guide fired.

Being a guide was challenging and could be rewarding, but holding someone’s hand (metaphorically speaking) who was afraid or insecure is not a part of the job that people like to talk about.

Not all guides are fearless; most of us have our own personal fears. I have a fear of being swept away in fast water under thin ice. Many of the native guides are afraid of bears; I think it is a fear handed down through generations after losing so many people to the Grizzly. Some guys are afraid of mice or ravens. As a guide, especially the head guide in charge of several guides in camp, it is essential to display confidence and keep your personal fears in check, for fear is contagious and dangerous. For instance, I almost always call out to announce myself when walking into camp after dark. If a bear has been in camp or Grizzlies are in the area, there is always the chance that a scared hunter could mistake you for a bear.

I didn’t like mistakes with firearms; after witnessing three accidental discharges by hunters, I insisted that hunters not have a round in the chamber until game had been sighted. I always had a round in the chamber, but I have never had an accidental discharge. The possibility of losing a human or horse far outweighed the advantage of a hunter being able to react instantly when seeing game.

Now, I was being asked to guide a woman hunter. I’d heard of husbands that took their wives on a hunting trip and met a guy who took his teenage daughter on a black powder bear hunt, but I had never heard of a woman hunting by herself and she was in the boss’s cabin/hunting lodge having a couple of drinks, this trip was not looking good to me.

I laid out my hunter’s gear and noticed that she had all the best gear along with silk long johns. I kept the more feminine articles hidden from the other guides as I weighed out everything and separated it into the four panniers her two packhorses would carry. There was also a bottle of red wine for each night in camp. That made for a lot of extra weight. Most hunters packed in a bottle or two of liquor: I’d never seen wine in camp.

I went into the lodge to tell my boss the horses were packed with 148 pounds a piece and it was time to leave. He was talking to my hunter and she was a looker. She was about 5’10” with blonde hair and striking features. I’d have judged her to be in her late twenties or early thirties, not that I was an expert on women, but she was surely as pretty as the women in the magazines.

My boss told her that I didn’t like my horses standing around with their packs on and that if she was ready it was time to leave.

She drank the last of a cocktail as the boss introduced us; she flashed a big smile and gripped my hand with nearly the strength of a man. Making me feel like a fool, since I am so cautious not to hurt weaker people with my huge right hand.

In the culture of handshakes, she caught me flat footed and I ended up looking like a wimp. I’d be cautious with this one; in the mountains, it was imperative for me to maintain control of the situation. Most hunters are successful people and used to being in control; consequently, it is hard for a country boy with limited experience and education to maintain discipline, without appearing pushy or creating ill feelings. This one was several years older than me, wealthy, poised, beautiful, and seemed highly educated; it was going to be challenging hunt, that was a sure bet.

She followed me out to the staging area where guides were packing horses and a few hunters were watching and asking questions. The activity stopped as I walked through the horses and men with my hunter. They all stared at us as I untied my hunter’s horse and held it while she mounted.

Now there is a secret among horsemen, whether they ride mountain horses or compete in Olympic disciplines; horsemen and horses make a quick assessment of your riding skills when you throw a leg over and settle down into the saddle. If you sit down hard like a sack of potatoes, your skills are relegated to the level of novice rider or gunsel, no matter how much BS you toss around: if you settle into the saddle softly as if you are riding on a carton of eggs, both horses and horsemen will grant you a certain amount of instant respect. You have shown empathy and respect for the animal’s back, an animal that has consented to carry you rather than buck you off and kick your head while you are in the air.

She settled into the saddle with a softness that I had rarely seen; she was obviously an accomplished rider. I had the three packhorses tied head to tail, I held on to my lead horse’s lead rope and mounted my horse saddle horse and we were off to the mountains.

Some of the other guides had these stupid grins on their faces and raised their eyebrows as we rode by. They made me uncomfortable and I am sure they made my hunter uncomfortable.

Her name was Marcella and she rode along next to me until the trail narrowed. She lived in New York City and was some type of editor for a fashion magazine. She had grown up on a ranch in Idaho and hunted with her dad. Horses and hunting, as well as travel to exotic cosmopolitan locations had been a part of her life since she was a girl. She had hunted in Africa on safaris and in other many other places. This was her first hunt without her father and it was very sad for her.

The humble horse and a mountain trail usually causes people to open up and tell you about themselves and what is bothering them the most. I have heard many troubling things that I had never considered in my young life, but the issues I was hearing from Marcella alluded to the fact that even very successful, beautiful women are vulnerable to insecurities that are tied to self-doubt. I don’t pass judgment and rarely offer advice unless asked; instead, I reply with these meaningless skim milk phrases: that’s a tough one, worrying over a problem can make it seem worse, things always get better, or after a hunting trip you often feel refreshed and have new ways to attack problems. She was worried about turning thirty and being unmarried and not having any likely prospects on the horizon.

I thought to myself, those men in New York should have been on their hands and knees walking behind her sniffing like hunting dogs, but didn’t say anything for fear of being too gamey with my language and thoughts for a sophisticated lady. I often say things that are too earthy in polite company, not by using crude language, but by referencing the most natural functions of life, things that are considered “delicate” by genteel people or people who weren’t raised strictly in the company of men.

Marcella was plagued with self doubt, I assume it was why she needed the cocktails at the lodge. If she were a close friend, I would have told her she had looks, brains, money, prestige, and a professional standing in life; how much do you need to have confidence in yourself, but I was just beginning to learn of the intricate personalities of women and it was increasingly more obvious that intelligent beautiful women seem to have more problems than most.

My boss had guaranteed her that I was a professional that would be a decent conversationalist and provide an excellent hunt; so far, I had proven myself to be an excellent listener. Rather than listen to even more intimate details of her life, the kind that cause a young red blooded male to lose his concentration, I decided to redirect the conversation.

I told her that I would try to find game, but sometimes the luck ran against you and you wouldn’t see anything.

She laughed and said that it was the hunt itself that she enjoyed, seeing game or getting off a good shot was just a bonus.

I began to like this lady. She was obviously taught to hunt by a man who loved the outdoors and understood nature’s whims.

The trail began to choke down and I told her to wait until the packhorses passed by and to fall in behind them. We just had three more miles to our camp and we would make camp and plan for the morning’s hunt.

We arrived at camp about an hour before dark. I had to work like a madman to get everything setup and dinner going before dark.

I stripped the horses of their tack and walked them out to the meadow to feed. I tied four of them with a bowline under a front fetlock, the rope was a throw cinch 34 foot long and it was tied to a three or four inch sapling. The fifth horse could wander around loose as long as it wasn’t a camp quitter or a horse that would strike out on its own. As long as the majority of horses are controlled, the others will stick with them. In every pack string there are leaders and followers. Most leaders wont leave without some of their followers and most horses wont leave the herd. It’s those independent types that don’t necessarily follow the rules of herd instinct and they can mess you up. Being herd animals is one of the many genetic features of a horse that is used by the packer in the mountains to control his pack string.

Humans are very susceptible to this same herding instinct. There are the same followers and leaders; the followers are often easily manipulated by unscrupulous leaders; instead, of a cowboy with a domineering instinct and a sense of fair play and horse savvy.

The 34 foot throw cinches that are used to secure a top pack to the top of the panniers or pack boxes that the packhorses carried, were used to tie a horse to a sapling. These horses rarely managed to get in trouble with a rope, they were trained almost to the point of learning to play checkers and could be consulted in dicey situations on the trail.

I tied them to poplar saplings with three to four inch butts. The tree acted like a fishing rod and would flex and move as the horse fed in a thirty foot circle around the sapling. I hate using hobbels, unless it is unavoidable. Unfortunately, some horses can run like deer with traditional hobbels, so when I use hobbels, I usually employ the Scotch hobble and tie one hind fetlock to the rope connecting the fronts. I’ve never seen a horse outwit this combination.

When I came back from picketing the horses, Marcella had already caught a large Dolly Varden and was displaying it with pride. We were having fish for dinner so I made a vegetable fry with Yukon potatoes, Bermuda onions, and Green peppers. I cut the fish in four sections stuffed it with onions and coarse black pepper and rolled it in aluminum foil smeared with butter.

Marcella said she enjoyed the meal, but I ate most of the grub. I think she was overly conscious of her weight and didn’t want to risk eating much. I don’t think she knew what kind of walk I had planned for her in the morning, a hike that was calculated to test the limits of her endurance and wear down some of this exuberance and marathon talking ability of hers.

I situated her bunk next to the small wood stove after clearing the ground of stones, sticks, and roots. I started a fire and told her it would be her responsibility to feed the fire every two hours or wake up to a cold tent in the morning. She asked where I was going to be and I said I’d sleep close to the fire outside to keep the neighbors from talking. I laughed at my joke, but stopped when I noticed she was staring at me with an un-amused look on her face.

I told her to tie the front flaps to the tent if she needed privacy and I would wait outside; otherwise, I would carry in firewood and carry on with the hundred little tasks and chores that were necessary to run a good camp.

She told me she would need a bucket of hot water to bathe with every night at this time. I filled a three gallon bucket and put it on the fire; while wondering how hunting with a woman was going to pan out. I used a small cross cut saw to buck up firewood and then split it with an ax. It made some great firewood and I was sure it would be toasty in the tent for Marcella, if she could keep the stove fed every two hours or so. I figured she must be done with her bath and called out that I was coming in with a load of firewood. She was sitting nude behind the bucket and still washing her self with a wash cloth. I dropped the firewood and turned around without saying a word. I spent the night outside and let her straighten out the firewood. I was mortified to have walked in on her, but I told her to tie the tent flaps closed, when she needed privacy. It was quite a shock for me to walk in on her in the nude; although, for a few fleeting seconds I was treated to a vision of beauty that was so rare for a country boy like me to see.

The next morning, we had my regular breakfast, fried eggs with onions, bacon, beans, biscuits, potatoes, and coffee. I figured I had all the major food groups covered and it would stick to your ribs until late afternoon. We were saddled up and on the trail with two horses about a half hour before sunup.

My intrusion wasn’t mentioned and I treated it like it never happened.

About an hour after daybreak, left the horses to feed in a lush valley with a nice spring for water beneath a high ridge. It was steep, but required no climbing over rocks, just a hard walk up a steep hill for two thousand feet or so. I thought I was fit, but she made the climb and talked the whole way. I was breathing deeply and the last thing I wanted to do was engage in an ongoing conversation, but she was undaunted and wasn’t going to let a little thing like a mountain slow down her talking. Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed her conversation, but there is a time for talking and a time for walking.

About a hundred yards from the top, I turned to her and said we had to be quiet from here on out; because, at the top we were going to glass for elk and we didn’t want to spook them with “our” conversation.

Finally, a little peace and quiet, all I could hear were my own footsteps, my labored breathing, and the pounding of my heart. I pushed for the summit too hard and was now out of breath. My average hunter would be on the verge of a coronary if I pushed them this hard, but when I looked at this hunter she smiled and asked if I was alright. I turned back around without answering, thus observing our code of silence and refusing to be humiliated more than necessary.

At the summit, we approached the edge in crouched position and glassed the other side in the prone position to keep from being seen from below. Her binoculars probably cost over a thousand dollars and mine looked pretty shabby next to those fine German glasses. Life is like that, we work with what we have to work with.

I was breathing through my mouth and exhaling through my nose to get my wind back. I said we might move further to the left and see if there was game.

That’s when she said, “Wait, I see a big bull elk about a mile down valley to the left. I didn’t see anything in my binoculars, so she loaned me hers and after receiving direction sure enough, there was a big royal bull. I felt foolish, it is my job to find the game, not be directed toward the game.

We ducked down from the summit about fifty yards and walked along the edge for a mile or so and once again looked out over the edge. There he was, but there was no cover for us on the other side and he already looked half spooked as he was looking around instead of feeding. It was a downhill shot of at least 800 meters. I’d consider it difficult for an expert hunter. She was adjusting her scope and said she was going to put it on 600 meters. I said it is closer to 800. She told me it was a straight downhill shot and the bullet wouldn’t drop like a horizontal shot. I said it is still 800 meters and a bullet runs out of propulsion and asked if she was going to negate gravity, she better set her scope for 750 meters. Then I thought what in the Hell am I doing, I need to get her closer to make this shot. She asked if I felt any wind. Strangely, there wasn’t enough wind to blow out a candle. I told her we needed to get closer and she said, “Alright, 750 meters, you better be right.” Yep, she was used to being a boss alright.”

A bullet drops and slows at this range and the wind has more of an impact on a slower bullet, a slight mistake can mean a clear miss. Something told me she had done more hunting at these ranges than me.

She carried a 7mm mag, it was the right weapon for this kind of shooting, a light bullet, with a flat trajectory, it might work. She fired and I saw she had her shoulder relaxed as the recoil threw her shoulder back a couple of inches. She appeared to know how to shoot. I quickly looked to the bull hoping to see the impact. There was a small puff of dust off the back and then nothing. She watched through her scope and I watched through her binoculars for the longest time. She ejected the brass and slid another round home and took aim once again.

Suddenly, the elk staggered, took one step and fell over dead. I looked at her and said, “Good shooting,
Hawkeye.” She smiled and seemed pleased to hear the compliment.

Now we had a dilemma, the bull was on one side of the mountain and needed to be field dressed as soon as possible. The horses were feeding down below on the opposite side. If I field dressed the elk and then crossed over the mountain to pick up the horses and rode them back and walked leading the horses it was going to be a long day.

It would have been nice to tell her to get the horses and bring them over the mountain, but there were too many variables, not to mention the possibility of Grizzlies.

It was a beautiful elk near the end of his productive life. I field dressed the elk and caped him, but while I worked the snow started coming down and the temperature dropped steadily.

By the time I was finished, the conditions were so bad, I didn’t consider it safe to walk back up the mountain: we might get stuck on the top if the conditions worsened. The wind was blowing hard in the valley and it was sure to be blowing much harder up on top of the mountain.

I found a slight trench or coulee and lined it with spruce branches. I then placed some limbs over the top and laid the fresh elk hide over the branches with the hair side down. I stacked up more spruce branches at one end and built a fire at the other end.

She gathered firewood with the remaining light and I cut off some fresh elk steaks and put them over the fire using green sticks as spits.

Our new little home was going to be primitive and cramped, but we would be alive in the morning.

The steaks were tasty. I noticed Marcella had a much greater appetite after the day’s hiking and hunting.

I made some toothpicks so we could clean our teeth and we washed down our steaks with cold water out of a near-by creek. She was getting cold and that was understandable the temperature had probably dropped to twenty below. I told her to take off her jacket and crawl into our little home. She looked at me like I was crazy, until I took my jacket off.

I crawled in after her and placed half her jacket over her legs and placed my jacket over her upper body. The shelter was only about two feet high, just wide enough for us to lay next to each other on our sides. With the jackets acting as blankets, our body heat began to warm us.

We were both on our right sides and I was up against her back. In a few minutes she reached behind her and grabbed my left wrist. She placed it on a breast the size of a large apple and pulled me closer to her. My temperature shot up dramatically in a few moments and I am sure she felt warmer also.

She slept soundly through the night while I hugged her to me and gently kneaded that breast now and then through her long johns.

In the wee hours of early morning she woke me and whispered that there was something outside our shelter. I grabbed her rifle by mistake and spun around in the little shelter so that I would face the intruder head first rather than feet first.

The gray light of dawn was shrouded in a white fog, but I could make out the form of a large Grizzly eating at the gut pile. I pulled the bolt back and noticed that I had the wrong rifle.

The bear heard the clicks of the bolt and turned toward the noise and stood up to see what was going on. He was big, he stood at least ten feet high and he started that funny two step shuffle toward me. I tried to fire the rifle, but the safety was on and I didn’t know how to get it off. The bear was less than 30 feet away and coming closer all the time. I’d look at the rifle and then at the bear, for the life of me I couldn’t figure out where the safety was. I froze in fear and the bear kept coming suddenly, my rifle was slammed into my side by Marcella, I looked into her eyes and saw a wild fury and disgust that I had never seen before, her eyes were on fire and I felt like a moron. I grabbed my rifle, knowing that I always kept a round in the chamber ready to fire, I slipped the safety off and raised the rifle and put one in the center of his chest. The old guy bellowed out in shock and pain, turned to his right and dropped to all fours. I put another round behind his left elbow through the heart and lungs and the great beast’s life was over.

Now that it was over, my hands were shaking. I stood looking at the giant bear that I didn’t really want to kill and felt the depression from killing such a fine animal without actually hunting for the animal. I also wondered at my own paralysis from fear when I couldn’t get the safety to work on Marcella’s rifle and how I came to my senses when she shamed me out of my cowardice. Life is funny, I have never frozen up in fear before or since, but on that early morning I was locked up in fear.

Marcella asked me to skin the bear as quickly as possible; she was through with this hunt and she wanted to go home.

She had lost all respect for me and probably no longer felt safe.

The next day we made it into the base camp and on the whole trip back she didn’t say more than a dozen words to me.

I felt terrible, I had never had a customer get mad at me for losing my courage, because it had never happened before. Back at the lodge, I loaded her gear on the boss’s truck and turned around to find her standing behind me.

She hugged me and kissed me on the lips and got in the truck and drove away out of my life.

It was a sad story that went from bad to worse. Some years later, after spending many hours wondering what happened, I read where Marcella took her own life.

Sadly, that was one episode in my life that would remain a conundrum for the rest of my life.

Losing the respect of those around you is the step before complete failure as a leader. Politicians and military officers can never show fear or incompetence in front of those they lead.

The mission is doomed to failure if this level of trust is broken, those who follow will never place their trust in such a person ever again. Our current administration has lost that level of trust among too many of those who place their hope and trust in their leader. There are too many failures and nonsensical policies to forgive.

When I was a young man, I heard the old adage that women used, “clothes make the man”; consequently, I tried to always dress well and look my best. The years have made dressing less important to me, but at one time, I looked pretty dang good.

I’ve always dressed in the Western Style, even though I received a lot of snickers in the Northeastern U.S. and in Europe, but I wasn’t going to slap my heritage in the face to look like someone else. The rudest thing I ever heard was from a couple of toughs in London who made a comment about wearing a chamber pot on the head. It took me several hours to figure out, through their thick accents, that they were talking about my Western hat.

It was just as well, I am slow to anger and rarely rise to the bait of insults; however, it is a remark I remember some twenty or so years later. The boys did show a bit of wit; although, they probably wondered at my reluctance to respond, it’s was just that I couldn’t understand their accents.

Another rude group was the waitresses in New Jersey. They seem to delight in mean remarks meant to criticize other people’s accents and dress. I thought it was strange behavior for people who depended on other people’s generosity for their livelihood. They liked to make an issue of my slow country accent and often asked the person I was with what I was saying or if I was alone they would ask for me to point to the meals on the menu.

I looked at them as recalcitrant horses and played along; relying on the premise that you need to take what a horse has to pass out, at least until you can out finesse or outsmart it. So I played along and endured the insults and ate in peace with measured dignity.

Now one of the most bizarre contradictions to this dressing rule was a trainer I met at Sportsman’s Park in Chicago during the late 70′s. They were actually running the spring meet at Hawthorn, the track next door, but he was stabled at Sportsman’s Park.

I received word to report to a job in a certain barn and walked into the barn at eight AM. I introduced myself to the foreman and he pointed out the trainer. This was a short heavyset man, working down the shed row like a groom. The whole situation seemed wrong. Small men are common on the track because they are often former jockeys and gallup boys that age and get heavier later in life. They usually just slip into another occupation and spend the rest of their lives at the track. I was six foot two and two hundred and ten pounds of muscle and bone back in those days and considered to be a big man. It’s true I towered over most of the race trackers, but off the track in Chicago, I was just an average sized guy wearing western clothes.

This trainer came out of the stall with a big grin, a western hat and white tennis shoes. As he walked toward me, I was wishing I was somewhere else. In those days, I had too much pride and I thought it was insulting to the Western way of life to wear an expensive Western hat with a pair of tennis shoes. These days, I wear a Western hat with tennis shoes until I finish work and then I put on my Western boots, even if it is just to drive home. But at that point in my life, I was a little more idealistic. Actually, most of the trainers I worked for were from big city race tracks and they accepted me for my skills and integrity. The guys didn’t wear the Western style unless they had some claim to authenticity, it was an unwritten rule of etiquette.

He was a friendly little guy and impressed upon me that I had come with good recommendations and the assurances that I could keep my mouth closed. Actually, I cultivated the fact that I could be trusted to take secrets to the grave and that I would never talk about another man’s horse. It is a good reputation to have; especially, in Chicago, where some of the owners and trainers might be involved with the underworld. Yes it’s true, I often worked for mob types, but they trusted me, not everyone was trustworthy when those C notes were waved under their nose. I was asked many times for inside information and learned that I could never trust the person asking me the questions. They also learned they might as well ask an oak tree or a granite boulder for information, for asking me was an exercise in futility.

I let the trainer do the talking as we walked down the shed row looking at some nice New York horseflesh, standing in the stalls. He had four horses that he was mainly concerned with, we ducked into a stall to look at the first one.

I looked at the horse and told him that it was a good looking horse and he replied that he was indeed a good looking horse, but more importantly, he was going to make us all rich. I thought it was a joke and smiled at the remark.

He wanted the teeth done that morning in case there were any impacted deciduous teeth and otherwise, he was to be lightly floated. That part was easy enough. He then critiqued the hooves and the legs and told me how he wanted the hooves trimmed and what kind of shoes he wanted nailed on. I was impressed, the man knew legs, feet, and shoeing: in fact, he knew them so well, I wondered if I might be in over my head,

He wanted to show me some more horses, but I said I wanted to get to work on this one while the information was still fresh. I walked out to the truck for my equipment and when I returned, I started following the directions very closely. The trainer would get down on his knees to study each hoof after I trimmed it and each shoe after I nailed it on; I felt like I was back at the university taking a practical exam. There were four horses that were a team effort between the two of us. I worked on about eight more, but the first four were the most important.

When I was done, he paid me in cash, but he held onto the money when he laid it in my hand and said, “When these four horses run, bet this money on the first one, then bet the winnings on the second one, then place it all on the third one, and then parley it on the fourth one.

I walked away thinking the man was a good horseman, but was certifiable. The odds against a streak of winners like that were astronomical, if you actually bet all four horses and they won, paying a decent price, you would score at least a hundred thousand. I was just glad to have my cash.

A week or two later, I received a message to report back to the barn. The trainer told me that everything was going well with the horses, but he needed a rider that could sit there and not be afraid to let the horse run his own race and not be playing games with the horses and the gambling.

I told him about a young boy from Montana that had nerve and wasn’t all that friendly with the other pinheads. He asked me to tell him to be there in the morning.

A few days later, the first horse ran and paid $64.00 for a $2.00 bet. I couldn’t believe it. The second horse ran and paid $45.00. I was in a state of shock. The third horse ran and paid $36.00. The betting public was starting to pay attention and they weren’t going to let him play these games all alone.

All this had transpired and I had yet to bet a dime on my inside information. I decided to bet the farm on the last one, I heard he was entered, but when I looked at the form, he was entered in a grade 1 stakes race for three year olds at the end of the meet. This was too much, no one cuts up races and plays the gamble at that level; besides, the horse was way over matched, the best three year olds in Chicago were in the race plus several ship ins were there from other states. The race had so many class horses you wouldn’t be able to find my friend’s horse with a search warrant.

He won by many lengths, while improving his position; actually, he set a new track record and received a call that afternoon to run in the Preakness.

The one chance I had in my career to become rich and I passed on it all; maybe, it was that Western hat and those white tennis shoes, who knows, but my preconceived ideas cost me a fortune.

The prestigious news channel CNN is planning to bring in psychics to find out what is happening with the economy and global finance. It seems the Fed Chairman is lost and bewildered when it comes to performing his job. Of course, when you are dishonest in your efforts to analyze the past, you are starting with a deficit. Tim Geithner is convinced the failed Obama policies of the past are the keys to the future and President Obama sees the future in Green Technology and the Green Jobs the technology that has virtually killed Spain’s economy and most of Europe.

Now these guys can fumble around like cub bears making love to a football and CNN can call in their psychics, but me personally, I’d rather have that little guy in tennis shoes wearing a Western hat.

Diogenes Searches For A Human Or Perhaps An Honest Man

How Beautous Mankind Is! O Brave New World That Has Such People In’t

The Tempest, The Bard

Oh Praise Be The Weiner, at least until he has disgraced himself beyond levels of acceptability. Lies and false accusations of criminality are acceptable to a point, but eventually, even a Democrat reaches a point too far. Now that the hounds of reality and truth have treed the dark haired spokesman for Progressivism and all things Socialist, within the tree of accountability, there is but one option open.

Weiner now must fall upon the blunted sword of mental illness; in a move meant to gather a sympathetic army of witless Progressive Socialists around him, he now feigns a disease that no one has heard of, but one that guarantees him time and an excuse for his degenerate behavior. He is no longer considered a wretched pervert: he is now a victim of a terrible disease that made him helpless to resist the horrible symptoms of the disease.

It would be considered inhumane to unseat a congressman who is in therapy to recover from an addiction. We Americans are always willing to offer help to those seeking to help themselves. The more skeptical among us will view his sudden realization of an affliction of mental illness as a shrewd political maneuver, but we realists are considered cynics and therefore unworthy to pass judgement on such delicate matters.

Now Weiner is poised between the sheets of semi-respectability and he waits; for in this game, timing is critical. If he can present himself in tights and cape and Weiner in hand at a critical moment, the world or at least the Democrat Party may forgive those minor indiscretions of the past and welcome a deciding vote with open arms. With his party behind him once more, he only has those evil and cynical Republicans to contend with and they can be so partisan.

Diogenes The Cynic Searched With A Lantern In Daylight For A Human

We must not forget the heroic words of Nancy Pelosi in 2006, when she vowed that if she became Speaker of The House that she would, “drain the swamp of corruption.” It was a noble phrase that Americans were waiting to hear and Nancy surely paid a speech writer well for his effort. The phrase could have been a pledge to be honored, bringing bothb honor and integrity to a House that has been marred with corruption and scandal. Instead, it became another empty slogan of a campaign, to be forgotten amid wars and an increasingly vulnerable economy. Unfortunately, the dirty Weiner arose from his pulpit of sanctimonious indignation and served to remind the public of the outrageous hyperbole of Pelosi’s proclamation.

Even after the multiple ethics infractions of Rangel, she and the Dems protected both Rangel and Waters, but comparatively speaking, she is utterly impotent and powerless when she comes face to face with the Weiner. Waters and Rangel deserved their day in court, but more importantly Americans deserved to see them in court for those same crimes, lesser Americans often receive prison time. With Rangel, we see ethics charges that amounted to little more than a slap on the wrist and still he claims he was railroaded. Waters’ trial, has seemingly been placed on indefinite hold until she is defeated or it is forgotten.

Now, we have Weiner who refuses to quit when nearly everyone except Rangel has asked him to step down. Rangel in an extraordinary example of Democratic logic and ethics, has stated that since he wasn’t texting little boys, there was no foul. Thank you Congressman Rangel, your sage wisdom will now become a part of history that will be held up as a modern day equivalent of Nathan Hale’s “I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country.”

Still the indomitable Weiner and his refusal to accept rejection is causing an extreme embarrassment for the Democrat Party; an embarrassment that will cost them votes in 2012. Will Pelosi be forced to actually to pull the imaginary plug to get rid of the rotten Weiner. It is a true conundrum (a problem with more than two solutions) for Pelosi. If she ignores his perversions and refuses to act, the Democrat Party may well cease to be a significant force after the next election. If she moves to have him removed there will be political fall out among the Democrat ranks and even more attention will be focused on the scandal. He has now entered “recovery”, a word that by definition implies he will win over his sexual perversions by paying his dues and by being treated; thus he will never be compelled to commit these perversions again and with a few extra sessions they may convince him that lying and making false criminal accusations is wrong as well. It is amazing what a little treatment can accomplish these days. Honesty, integrity, morals, and honor are all available if you just pay for your hourly sessions. It is amazing we even send people to prison these days. There is one slight hitch in this grand giddy-up, Americans don’t like or trust Perverts; especially, lying perverts in positions of leadership. If Pelosi is willing to claim that the Lindsay Lohan cure will make Weiner into a brand new “Member” the American people will laugh at the absurdity of Pelosi and her hare brained logic. Of course the Democrats will suffer serious defeats no matter what direction Pelosi chooses, as a direct result of her indecision in dealing with the corruption she boasted of ending and of not knowing what to do with a misbehaving Weiner. However, perhaps she originally meant to only get rid of Republican corruption.

In 2010, Pelosi maintained that Democrats implemented ‘the toughest ethics reform in a generation’ when they took the house 2006. “Drain the swamp we did, as this was a terrible place” was part of her 2010 speech, but from there her speech became more like Obama without a teleprompter; especially, when she tried to explain “Drain The Swamp” did not include individual ethical violations like those committed by Rangel.

In fairness to Pelosi, she did finally see the corruption in a congressman being caught with a freezer full of cold cash in Louisiana and after an interminable phase of time, she asked Congressman Jefferson to pack up and leave. In sharp contrast to Congressman Lee, whose picture of a “naked” torso made Speaker Boehner tell him to pack his tack the same day. A much tamer photo that appeared on the internet than the famous Weiner photos, that featured a nude Weiner and an out of control ego.

Lee gets an immediate bum’s rush and Weiner gets Pelosi as leader of the Minority calling for another fake ethics investigation while she recovers from an attack of vapors.

The American public is seeing the difference between Republican actions and Democrat hypocrisy. Pelosi and her Weiner Member are taking the brunt of the criticism, but in 2012, there will be plenty to go around.

The clock is ticking Nancy…

The Congressman That Wouldn’t Quit

Sexual perverts are never really healed and never trustworthy. Would you trust them around your kids. Weiner is actively trying to preserve his House Seat: his first method was to deny allegations by lying to Congress and the nation, he then claimed that his Twitter account had been hacked, but neglected to call in the FBI who said they could prove the hack within minutes, he later tried to accuse Andrew Breitbart of setting him up in a conspiracy, a charge that could have meant criminal allegations against Breitbart. Now that all his previous attempts to deflect blame for his cyber perversions have failed and new charges involving an underage teenager are emerging, Weiner is now resorting to the Lindsay Lohan defense of counseling and rehab. When all else fails, there is always the last resort of the degenerate, but wait it might just be a ruse, could Weiner be clever enough to say he will get rehab, now that he has been caught, to secure his congressional seat in perpetuity.

In fairness to the Democrats, they realize Weiner will hurt their prospects in the coming elections and they are telling him to get out of Dodge. The election will be tough enough without the issue of protecting a pervert working against them. They are already dragging the effects of Obama with them when they go home to campaign, Weiner will just complicate the issues even more.

Wiener has made an ass of himself and the Democrats realize that they need to get rid of this dead weight if they are going to be a viable party after the next election. But since Wiener has no other job skills other than a crossing guard, and who would trust him to be a crossing guard, he is not going to give up.

“Congressman Weiner has the love of his family, the confidence of his constituents, and the recognition that he needs help. I urge Congressman Weiner to seek that help without the pressures of being a Member of Congress,” Pelosi said in a statement released this afternoon.

Wasserman Schultz called Weiner’s continued service in Congress “untenable,” and added that “this sordid affair has become an unacceptable distraction.”

Today’s statements were the first time party leaders called on Weiner to step down in the wake of the sexting scandal, and came only after the embattled representative admitted that he sent private Twitter messages to a Delaware teen.

Earlier this morning, Weiner denied he had any inappropriate online contact with the 17-year-old, but did not deny that he’s seeking counsel from Bill and Hillary Clinton about the scandal.

“Nothing explicit. Nothing indecent. Absolutely nothing inappropriate,” the embattled Congressman said as he left his Forest Hills apartment and went about routine morning errands, fetching his shirts at the Smile Often dry cleaner on nearby Austin Street.

Pelosi, Hillary, and Wasserman Schulz all know the best part about their asses is that they are behind them and they realize Weiener the ass should be behind them also.

He would have been happy to let the issue slide if Breitbart were in criminal court spending a fortune to defend himself against the criminal allegations of Weiner, yet now that he is seeking treatment he thinks America’s heart will melt for the lying pervert. America has selective memory and forgiveness; unfortunately, perverts and liars are rarely included in that group.

Weiner has found support from one House Member, Charley Rangel, who is no stranger to controversy:

Weiner did pick up support from U.S. Rep. Charles Rangel, a New York Democrat who was censured by the House last year for ethics violations.
Rangel suggested that other members of Congress had done things more immoral than Weiner.
Rangel said Weiner “wasn’t going with prostitutes. He wasn’t going out with little boys.”

It’s reassuring that Democrats are reaffirming their ethics and morals through their representatives.

The longer that this tragedy of Democrat hypocrisy drags on the more we of the opposition are enjoying the spectacle. When Weiner goes before that great moralist and sexual philosopher Bill Clinton and his opportunist wife, who happened to marry president, for counseling, you may trust that the entire world is enjoying a good belly laugh at Democrat expense.

It is truly a great comedic tragedy with a surreal plot that couldn’t have been written with better timing. We have Weiner at the antagonist who is so sanctimonious with his spirited and dramatic outbursts accusing Republicans of gross malfeasance and the wife who works for Hillary who adopts the familiar oblivious attitude of the faithful and innocent wife who stands by her pervert. The Democrat leadership who proclaims Weiner’s innocence and indignation that anyone would even consider such despicable acts be attributed to their up and coming golden boy, a paragon of civic virtue.

The plot continues and the truth emerges; Weiner is a serial pervert and he even is preying upon teenage girls with his perversions. It is no longer an issue that would have blown away if had resigned; no not at all, now he may be arrested if he sent the underage teenager the same naked images that he sent the grown women. He swears it was all innocent, but who in their right mind believes Weiner.

Can a congressman keep his seat if he is doing time in a federal penitentiary? Apparently Wiener is willing to test this possibility, if his texting proves to be just a little bit on the wild side, because he doesn’t want to lose the only job he can ever get.

We have all enjoyed watching the Wieners sizzle and puff up on the grill, this one is even more fun to watch. The election is coming up and the longer this story is on the front page with the Lying Democrat Pervert refusing to quit, the dumber and more unscrupulous the Democrats are looking to the voters. Go Weiner!

Read more: http://www.nypost.com/p/news/local/nothing_explicit_weiner_denies_rated_wMW8sl5M1w8ie0mwldmzdJ#ixzz1P0O2Nmko