Friday, December 2, 2016

Rollin' Stoned


I Can't Hear You No More


Lovedrive (Live)


Hatred


A Dictator is Dead, But His Repressive Legacy Will Not Follow Him to the Grave

An Apology Letter from Santa?

by Kim D.

Go back in time to the Christmas mornings when you were young. You wake up and fly down the stairs to see what Santa has brought you. Imagine instead of the toy you so desperately wanted, you received an apology letter from Santa. For some children who wanted a Hatchimal for Christmas, this is exactly the bad news they're going to get on what should be the jolliest day of the year.
All I can say is thankfully my son doesn't want a Hatchimal for Christmas, at least he hasn't mentioned it so far. Evidently it is the hottest toy kids are asking Santa for this holiday season and it has literally hatched and flown off the toy shelves.  If you didn't buy one early, good luck finding one.

The company supply is low so for most desperate parents seeking one, the black market is looking like the most viable option. But for the parents who can't afford to pay six times the original price ($80), what is the alternative? An apology letter from Santa:



If a letter shifting the blame to Santa works for you, go for it, but don't expect many smiles Christmas morning. No way I would do that to my son if the Lego at the top of his list could not be found. I'd break it to him gently and early and give him a chance to substitute another toy for that item on his wish list.


The Worst of Nancy Pelosi

Contrarian or simply a finely tuned chucklehead radar?

by Angela Durden

I’ve been accused of being a contrarian. That is, someone who always will take the opposite view of another just because. I can see how these folks could think that seeing as how most folks are aligned with popular opinion. See how I get along with folks? I can see their point of view and that, of course, is the problem. While I can see their point of view, they cannot see mine.
Photo Credit
Not only can they not see my view, mine is an unknown unknown to them. That is, they didn’t know there could be another view other than the one they have. Parrots don’t have opinions of their own. Parrots repeat what they hear. Parrots don’t think. So when I hear parrots my finely tuned chucklehead radar kicks in. Just because my radar kicks in does not mean I open my mouth in response. Sometimes it’s just not worth it. Let’s say I’m at a party and here comes the parrot my way just a-squawking some nonsense. Why, I just smile, sip my drink, and stuff a meatball in my mouth and mumble-mumble. After all, is the party really a time to start an argument or insult a fellow guest? I think not. 
Granted they believe I agree with them, and that silence at the party has later come back to bite me in the butt. That is the price I am willing to pay to make the party a success. See how hard I work to get along with folks?
After I leave the party, though, well I can let the contrarian fly. As a person who has been forced to become Citizen Journalist because the Media Elite have become fancy parrots, I have found it to be my duty to expound.
That expounding, though, is only done after much research. Here’s how that works:
  1. Headline seems too good to be true
  2. Citizen Journalist (CJ) determines if subject of headline has broad implications to business in general and/or is a threat to the safety of the Constitution and Bill of Rights
  3. If yes, CJ reads entire story under headline
  4. CJ identifies gotcha nugget
  5. CJ researches source publication and/or writer
  6. CJ searches for any other source material on same story
  7. CJ identifies truth of situation
  8. CJ expounds in writing
This Citizen Journalist knows she is working in the metaphorical wilderness, but the wilderness is not a bad place to be. There aren’t many distractions out there thus allowing the CJ to focus.
However, in the interests of full disclosure, if one were to ask this Citizen Journalist’s relatives about her contrarianism, they would say, “Oh, she got it from Granddaddy. Nuts don’t fall far from the tree, ya know.”