Wednesday, February 27, 2013

AH, SWEET MYSTERIES OF LIFE

I have been approached to host an internet talk radio show. The only hang-up is that it requires a certain level of sponsorship in order to get started.

If you own a company, sell a product or provide a service, or if you know someone -- preferably someone dedicated to conservatism -- who owns a company, sells a product or provides a service, who would be willing to consider sponsoring my show, please contact me at BurtPrelutsky@aol.com, and I will be happy to answer any and all questions.


In the meantime, you will all be alerted once I get airborne.

Best of all, if the show does well, I will be able to quit dunning you folks for donations to the Fund to Keep Burt Prelutsky From Pursuing a Life of Crime!

by Burt Prelutsky

With all the questions swirling around in my brain, it’s a wonder I can ever fall asleep. Some nights, the only solution is for me to count Senate Democrats jumping over a fence.

For instance, liberals regard themselves as the salt of the earth and view conservatives as a bunch of cold-hearted rotters. And, yet, research has shown that not only do conservatives donate far more to the needy, but they do it out of the goodness of their hearts. On the other hand, it always seems as if the only way that liberals can be persuaded to cough up anything for charity is through the purchase of concert tickets. Remove Bono, Bruce Springsteen and Elton John, from the mix and liberals would forget that Africa even exists.

Liberals insist that no nation is better than any other nation and no culture is superior to any other. In both cases, they have America in mind. They even go so far as to state that rock, rap and hip hop, isn’t inferior to the music created by Beethoven, Bach, Copland, Prokofiev, Gershwin, Debussy, Porter and Kern. The clodhoppers insist that if the kids like it, that’s really all that counts. It seems to me that if the only standard that matters is if the lowest common denominator likes something, a strong case could be made for cannibalism. After all, if it all comes down to personal taste, who’s to say that those who prefer chicken and fish or fruits and vegetables are any higher up the food chain than those who hanker after parboiled people?

Speaking of food, I recently came across a list of last dinners requested by serial killers on Death Row. I found it interesting. Timothy McVeigh opted for two pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Ricky Ray Rector ordered steak-fried chicken, a glass of cherry Kool-Aid and a slice of pecan pie. In the end, he passed on the pie, with the cryptic comment that he was saving it for later. Victor Fequer, who must have taken a leaf from Cyrano de Bergerac, ordered a single olive, but insisted it be served on a ceramic dish. John Wayne Gacy, who had been a KFC manager, ordered a bucket of original recipe chicken, along with a dozen fried shrimp and a side of French fries. Apparently he hadn’t heard that fried food will kill you.

You can’t imagine how many attachments, links and videos, well-meaning, but seriously misguided, people send me every day. Al Gore always claimed he invented the Internet, but I have to believe that God invented the Delete key, and God knows I’ve been thanking Him ever since.

Come to think of it, one reason that I tend not to join groups is because too many people are enamored of their own voice, and they don’t come with a Mute button. When I was on the Board of the Writers Guild, sometimes as many as 12 or 13 of the 16 members would let the president know they wished to address a certain issue. Two hours later, the motion would be called and the final vote would be 16-0, which is exactly what it would have been if nobody had uttered a word. I doubt if I’m the only person who is convinced it works the same way in the House and Senate.

Socrates allegedly said to one of his young disciples, “By all means, marry. If you get a good wife, you’ll be happy. If you get a bad one, you’ll become a philosopher.”

To which, I suspect his wife, Xanthippe, replied, “The trouble with being married to a philosopher is when you tell him to hang up his toga, and not leave it on the floor, he says, “Hush, woman! Can’t you see I’m philosophizing?”

One of the great mysteries of modern life is how it is I keep hearing that there are 11 million illegal aliens in America today, which is exactly the same number that was being tossed around a dozen years ago. Are we expected to believe that none of them gave birth and that, moreover, in spite of there not being a fence at our southern border, Mexicans anticipated there would be an economic collapse seven years before it actually happened and simply stopped sneaking in?

Speaking of our terminal financial condition, one has to pity Obama when you realize that as bad as the economy he inherited in 2009 may have been, the one he inherited in 2013 was even worse.

Whenever I hear the Republican mucky-mucks talking about re-branding the GOP, I’m reminded that re-branding is what cattle rustlers used to do, adding an extra squiggle or two here, turning an “S” into an “8” there. I’m also reminded that someone once pointed out that if you don’t stand for something, you’ll likely fall for anything.

One mystery that continues to elude me is how it is that in spite of satellite surveillance, we never seem to be able to find and destroy all those terrorist training camps we keep hearing about. And how it is that thousands of those Islamic freaks can make the trek from Libya to Mali, not only more safely, but more quickly, than I can get across the San Fernando Valley? Are they cleverly disguised as sand fleas? Or, perhaps, even more cleverly, as sand?

Finally, I recently heard that Obama intends to visit Israel for the first time since moving into the White House. That’s what happens when the Jewish vote for the Democrat in a presidential election falls below 70%.

And believe me, if it had dipped below 69%, I’m sure he was prepared to undergo a circumcision.
©2013 Burt Prelutsky. Comments? BurtPrelutsky@aol.com.

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