The Ballad of James Tobin: Innocent Beleagured Republican --NOT!!

sung to the tune of, Ghost Riders in the Sky:


In New Hampshire Justice was a probin'

And they found out about James Tobin.

Seems that James had jammed the phones

Tryin'to keep the Democrats home.

Their bogus scheme it was uncovered.

"I didn't do nothin' ", Tobin blubbered.

James's calls went to Mehlmans phone

But Mehlman dropped James like a doo-doo scone.

Now Tobin lies convicted in jail.

For jammin' phones he was nailed.



Yippee- yi- AAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY!!!!

Yippee- yi- OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

James Tobins iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnn

the POKEY>>>>>>>>>>> Rideout>>>>>>>>>>>>

Republicans are to blame for illegal workers: CEO's should do jail time!

The following is from a letter in the Seattle Times from 4/10/2006. The letter was written by Don Sly of Seattle:

OUR NATION'S METHODS of DEALING WITH ILLEGAL WORKERS SHOW HYPOCRISY


Editor, The Times:

" Because our fractured society doesn't confront the, "hordes of illegal immigrants ... running amok in our streets", letter writer Warren Wilson [ April 2nd ] of Kirkland is moved to ask: "Have we become a nation of sniveling cowards?"

Actually, illegal immigrants have made us a nation of sniveling hypocrites. On two fronts.

First, we bleat how the "illegal hordes" are needed to do work Americans don't want to do. This is total garbage. Listen. In my checkered career as an industrial chemist I have at times been up to my ankles inraw sewage. But, I was happy for the work because I was paid a living wage. There is no work Americans won't do: THERE ARE ,HOWEVER, SALARIES THAT DEGRADE THE HUMAN SPIRIT and Americans rightly refuse to prostitute themselves to make some employer rich for a minimum wage.

Second, instead of crouching in the hedges and bushes of a deserted border, the Minutemen types would be better to deploy themselves within the boardrooms of the corporations that use immigrant labor to avoid paying Americans a living wage. The problem for the Minutemen is that they would target not illegal immigrants,but illegal employers : that is: their fellow Republicans.

And when is that going to happen? Not any time soon.

Pattannica Pancakes, cont'd.:

So as I said, mother had made a dinner of potato pancakes, porkchops,and green beans --- with a little apple-sauce on the side. Everyone loved potato pancakes and my mother was kept busy making more pancakes and sipping wine.

Dad asked, "Oh, Dot! Could I have a few more pancakes?"

" 'Fraid not dear. I just gave the last one to your son!"

My father must have been stressed that day. He usually was. Most of the time about work and occassionally about Democrats and Communists --- whom he felt were about equally to blame for Socialistic Programs, the sexual revolution, and the Rolling Stones --- and generally anything he disliked or that went wrong with his life.

He blew his cork this time.

" Goddamn-it-all anyway! Why, in the name of Sweet Bleeding Jesus, can't I, the guy who busts his ass forty hours a week so you all can have a roof over your heads and all the food you can eat -- for free -- get a few extra potato pancakes?!?!"

My mother was standing next to Dad's large, long, red apoplectic head and casually poured a half a glass of wine over it. "You're a blithering idiot!", said she.

His head, already red from anger turned an almost alarming shade of purple as the wine dripped over the wispy hair on his balding head and dribbled over his face and eyes as he screamed:

" ALL I WANTED WAS A LOUSY P-P-P-PATTANNICA PANCAKE!!!"

Generally, Dad's outbursts were greeted with fear and trepidation. Bad things could happen when he lost his cool. But this time it was different. We all looked at him with suppressed grins and someone asked, "What was that you said? Pattannica Pancakes?"

To this very day me, my three sisters, my children, their children and their spouses will, when someone gets red-faced angry over some small thing, look at each other with amusement and say:

"Pattannica Pancakes!"

Pattannica Pancakes, cont'd: My Son: The Internet King

I've got this one almost finished in longhand. I'll post the rest of it later. It has , partially, something to do with a cardboard Burger King crown that I converted to an Internet King crown...

He may not want to wear it while working on the computer, but I think that wearing a crown while working on the computer will convince him in his subconscious that he is, indeed: the Internetking!!!!

The Pattannica Pancakes Incident, as I remember it,happened like this: We were having a family dinner of an evening in the summer. It was in the early 1960's, so my older sister and I were in our early teens, my younger sister was about eleven or twelve and my youngest sister was still a toddler. Mother had been drinking a little wine that day.

Families ate dinner together in those days

Pattannica Pancakes: how they got that way

My youngest sister is forty five. I'm fifty seven and my oldest sister is two years older than me and the sister directly behind me is two years younger. I was born on January 1st. The first official information that the Federal government received about me was on April 15th of that year. My father reported on his income tax form that I had been born on December 31st of the previous year.

Dad got the full year's deduction for me anyway. After all, why let one day stand in the way of a full year's Federal tax deduction? My father, Carl, was a Boy Scout about morality and was never particularly proud about it, but my pride in his action was enough for the both of us.

But, more about that later.

The really important thing about my family, the Rosetta Stone of all incidents, is still -- to this day -- the Pattanica Pancake incident. Oh, I could tell you only my version of the events, but to get the full picture you would need the independent viewpoints of my sisters , as well. I need to e-mail them and get their recollections.

Point of view is so telling in a story such as this. I am certainly not the first person to have this insight, but I think the telling of the story will reveal the unique position that families like mine occupy in the social landscape of America.

The story is all about a serving of Patannica pancakes...

U.S. Media Controlled by Billionaires

Grover Norquist, whose corrupt ties to "Casino Jack" Abramoff and Tom DeLay become more apparent daily, has a Wednesday Morning Group of 80 billionaires that meet once a week to set the media's agenda for that week and, since the 1994 Republican takeover of Congress, to actually write ( for their own benefit of course ) the laws of the nation.

Norquist, a chubby "inherited-wealth boy" from Boston, learned his attitude toward taxes at his rich daddy's knee. According to Norquist himself, when he was but a tyke, his father would give him an ice-cream cone and with each bite instruct little Grover to imagine it as a GOVERNMENT TAX. Little Grover learned his lesson well and learned to hate taxes, for, if there were no "taxes" he could forever possess a useless, melted ice-cream cone!

Really, I don't think Grover or his Dad were capable of that amount of forethought.