POWIP Piece of Work In Progress

Before and After Kids – A Study in Growing Olde

Enoch_Root

AKA. Bobby Donn Brubaker (the most popular man in Mesa, AZ), the Umbrella of Terror, Jack Ketch.

Website - More Posts

Look Who’s Clever 2

Is this more cleverer-er??? Hollywould here I come.

Enoch_Root

AKA. Bobby Donn Brubaker (the most popular man in Mesa, AZ), the Umbrella of Terror, Jack Ketch.

Website - More Posts

Why REAL Conservatives Hate Government – or Why the Pig Must Die

It really begins with the nature of the Beast. The people that make up government. The employees of the People.

Anyone who has visited the local DMV, had to deal with the DNR, has had to rely on the timeliness of the USPS, dealt with the IRS or state bureaucracy knows precisely what I am talking about. Is it not the case that the least hard-working, least customer-centric, least polite, least qualified, least motivated, least self-reliant among us work for government? Can anyone really say that to work for the government is anything but to feed at the trough of his fellow-man? Can anyone say that a bureaucrat has ever gone above and beyond the call of duty - sought to problem-solve, assist, facilitate, lighten-the-load of a compatriot?

This is so much complaining. I am very aware of it. And it is a mite tiresome to repeat one more piece of evidence in support of this assertion - that those who least exemplify the hallmarks of responsibility, discipline, self-reliance, and initiative work and thrive at the government trough. This is to say that the Bureaucracy - those who make a secure, benefit-laden living at the hands of those of us who actually produce - are largely from the dregs of the employee pool. This is not an overstatement. It is so.

I have been blessed enough during these crappy economic times to be employed and scraping a living for to support my family. We do not go to dinner, go to movies, go on vacation - we cannot afford to enroll our kids in cheer leading, soccer, basketball, summer camp. Why, we cannot afford to replace the flooring in our living room. We cannot afford to fix the muffler on my car. But we are making our mortgage, our cars are paid off, we are paying the life insurance policy, putting food on the table, and able to afford gas in the car. Those in the private sector - particularly these days - will know that I mean it when I say things could be much worse for our 7 person clan.  But those in the public sector - those, the least qualified among us - the least crucial to job creation - the least productive, that is - they will count me among the multitude of the dumb. In their eyes, I am a sucker. An idealist. After all, gainful employment isn't that hard to find... after all, there is no threat that they will be downsized or that the business they have poured every ounce of energy into will fail. Why? Simple. The government has great teats - full of milk. And she is never starved. Like a pig, her children suckle as she lay on her side in the shade.

But where does that milk come from? Nary a piglet cares to ask this very fundamental question. They hear her, their mother, chewing on the fresh fodder day and night. She does not starve or exert herself. In fact, not one of the needy little ones has ever sensed her move but her head and her jaw. But as fast as she chews, the little ones suck her nearly dry. And more and more little piglets approach her enormous teats each and every day, nearly trampling one another underhoof. But she turns none away. To the contrary, she seems not to notice at all. Because the only thing she seems focused on these days is her continual feeding. It is said that at one time she was much less voracious. That she would eat only what was placed before her. And that she would patiently await the farmer who tended her pen. It is said she used to actually move about, cute as a button, spry and full of life. It is said she was a faithful beast that loved the farmer very much, so appreciative was she that he fed her and her small troop of piglets. But wheelbarrows full of feed eventually replaced handfuls - truckloads eventually replaced wheelbarrows. She  became fat, lazy, and full of contempt. The farmer is long gone, replaced by a company of men to tend to her shit and daily feeding-needs. Over the years, they have expropriated the neighboring farms - for as far as the eye can see (or so it is said). They have set up conveyors, trucking fleets, rail, poured heliports, dug canals, built boats (a fleet I am told). But there is no end in sight. It seems her appetite is never sated. And as quickly as they place another pile of feed before her, she shits it out the back end. In fact, the entire operation, though not efficient in the least, seems to center around both ends of the beast. Shit comes out the back as quickly as it goes in the front, as I have told you. The operation involved in removing the shit is also substantial. But that is another story altogether.

The best and brightest, we are assured, have been engaged throughout the years to evaluate how to remedy the untenable situation. They have tried most everything - at least ten times over. Exploring every option, we are assured. Generations of men are said to have been lost somewhere at the hind and fore of the creature - observant witnesses claim more men vanish around the pig each day than the whole of the number of lives lost constructing the Hoover Dam or the Panama Canal or on the beaches of Normandy on a day commemorated each year by fewer and fewer other men. But none can say, as the math employed by the pig's (formerly the farmer's) auditors is very, very complicated.

Another major problem, of course, are the piglets themselves. They make such a racket with their non-stop feeding and shitting and struggling to get at the teats that other orphaned (or some may say wise) piglets come from far and wide with the hope of plowing their snouts into the sweaty undercarriage of the creature.

The world's greatest minds have worked on this situation, as I have told you all. And yet, it seems there is nary to do but continue ramping up operations. Accumulating more and more farmland, building more rail, digging more waterways, tearing down her shelter in order to rebuild it to make more room, etc. It seems she has been quite successful - in the sense that she has been able to forget the farmer and yet flourishes to a degree she had never anticipated or even dreamed of. Only a few have seen her in recent years - outside of the little piggies, of course. There are a couple primary care-takers, I am told. Some conveyor has been put in place to keep the feed coming, 24-7. She need only nudge some throttle with her snout, I am given to understand, and like an on-demand drip, the food piles up to a height that suits her.  We are told it takes an act of congress to get near her... and not just for her massive size (she can be seen on clear days), but for the millions of piglets who appear as hoarding mice in a cellar feeding on a pile of tripe - and the starburst of moving parts is so dizzying as to mesmerize any onlooker. What to do?

Many other marvelous and counter-intuitive phenomenon are said to exist - each more improbable that the previous - the closer one gets to the beast. She is said to glimmer as gold. And the piglets are said to never grow to full adulthood. The reason for the latter is said to be because she consumes any that suppose to do so. But who can say?

I was informed by a wise, albeit defeated, man some time ago - that should I hear a far-off rumble - a far-off co-mmotion of unknown origin - neither storm nor war in familiarity to the ear... that this is the sign that things have really gotten out-of-hand. I asked him what he would suggest I do should this come to pass. He said, "if you hear the sound approaching your gate, there is no hope for you. There is no place to hide for your generation." I told him this was an unsatisfactory answer - and fatalistic to boot. To this he said, "there is no way to get out of its path. The only real solution is to kill the beast. And none that I have met are fierce enough to do so in these here parts. Indeed, I have tried to find such men in and they do not exist. Those who have had the chance in generations many days back - failed to do so. When one would raise the mallet (which some say, and I confirm, was placed there by the Farmer) to put her down, another handler would intervene, suggesting a 'less-severe' approach - many are enamored, you see. And many more rely on her now than in that day and age. There is nothing for you to do. You will choose to do the same as recent generations past. You will choose to feed her rather than fight. So do not pretend you will do any other thing. Because it is easier for this generation to let her gnaw on the very carpet and heirlooms of your very homes - to let her shit stew in front of your very hearth - than to bring yourselves to do anything about it."

"It is not right," I said.

"It is a simple function of density, mass and momentum," he said.

"How can this be? You just said she has not the means to move about her range."

"You misunderstand me, you simple-minded fool."

"Who are you to accuse me of such things?"

"I am Liberty. And my counsel you do not warrant. You are only curious. And I have no need of onlookers. Fight and die for all I care. I will be here through all generations. In some shape or another. If you serve me, you will amount to nothing of value in this generation of fatted piglets. But I recall men of smaller size having done much, much more in this very land you call home. In fact, I knew that Farmer very well. I can recall his face even today. But you are not worthy to even speak his name. Oh, you student of what is right and wrong. You will not spill your blood to tell my story as the bodies of martyrs continue to pile up on far-off shores you have never seen but for magazines stowed in airplanes sporting silly logos."

"You say that you are Liberty. If this is so, prove it and I will consider your insults."

"What proof do you need from me? And how is it that you deign to even ask? But I am feeling generous today, so I will prove it if you come and kneel before me."

"Ha! I will do no such thing! Neither man nor beast will I kneel before! Never!"

"You fool. If you do not serve me, you serve the pig."

"Prove you are as you claim..."

"Fuck you."

At that, my eyes got large - I am sure he noticed - and as quickly as I could, I fell to my knees before him... and his eyes glimmered something fierce and knowing.

Enoch_Root

AKA. Bobby Donn Brubaker (the most popular man in Mesa, AZ), the Umbrella of Terror, Jack Ketch.

Website - More Posts