The Return of the Revenge of the Son of "Bush is a crook"

Great Debates
161

Scylla, I’ve been hearing this forever: nothing can be done, that’s the way of the world, only fuzzy thinking dreamers believe otherwise. It ain’t God, it ain’t Fate, it ain’t the Way of the World. It’s us.

Impossible? No, going to the moon is impossible. Eradicating smallpox is impossible. Peace, freedom and justice are equally impossible.

Mother Theresa ain’t running for Pres. Cute. Paul Wellstone was running for Senator. He wasn’t Mother Theresa, but he wasn’t Phil Gramm neither. Simply a decent man who gave a damn. And that’s all it takes.

How much of our energy, our money is devoted to nothing more than loud shiny crap? No one is suggesting that you dress yourself in sackcloth and spend your days bathing leper’s feet. But you can do better. You’re already half-way there: you know you can do better.

It’s not even “capitalism vs socialism” any more, those doddering political concepts are shuffling towards the ashheap, and good riddance. Enormous amounts of human suffering were engendered by the Industrial Revolution, but that’s a wash: they would have suffered anyway. Subsistence farming isn’t a bucolic idyll in the warm bosom of Mother Nature, it is misery and shit, waiting for three bad crops in a row to wipe you out.

But it has been done, the investment, however unwilling, has been made. For the first time in human history, the ridiculous has become the just barely possible. The science, the talent, the intelligence: all at hand, all within our grasp. And more is available, waiting to be rescued and exploited. Einstein starved to death in Gabon yesterday, Neils Bohr died of cholera. We start by rescuing the human resources: the children. The power lying dormant there is awesome, totally, to the max, dude. Some schools, some food, some basic (and I do mean basic) medicine. Of course, it might mean some scrimping in our budget for dog food and cosmetics. I think we can manage.

Decent people, giving a damn. That’s all it takes. Sign right here. Welcome to the Revolutiom, Comrade Scylla. Day care is available.

162

Kum-ba-yah, my lord…kum-ba-yah… :rolleyes:

What does all that namby-pamby, touchy-feely, fuzzy-wuzzy nonsense have to do with the OP?

163

Ah, poor Dewey. Bereft of intelligent response, he can only trot out sclerotic old slurs and publicly preen his worldly cynicism. Dont worry about it, we don’t get you, we’ll get your kids. After all, who do you think Big Bird works for? Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!

But seriously folks: I am content with Scylla’s examination of the facts at hand, as well as his assessment of Our Leader’s character. Ultimately, that assessment of character, or the lack thereof, is more to the point. I feel no need to defend his view of the Ranger stadium deal, it is merely standard Texas politicking. You got a beef with that, take it up with him.

What a great idea! Let’s you and him fight! I’ll hold your coats. And your car keys. No need to thank me, least I could do.

164

Translation: I have utterly failed to make out any kind of case against Bush on the Harken deal, so I will now post a bunch of platitudes about making the world a better place – heck, I’ll even throw in a line about children being our most precious resource; when someone points out that this is a bunch of fluff, I’ll say they are incapable of intelligent response.

What’s your next post gonna be?
“Arms Are For Hugging”?
“War Is Not Healthy For Children and Other Living Things”?
“Good Planets Are Hard to Find”?
“Think Globally, Act Locally”?
“Save the Humans”?
or perhaps the old standby “Visualize World Peace”?

Really. Your post was basically a very long bumper sticker.

165

Hey, I hadn’t heard that “Good planets are hard to find” one. Thanks!

I come by it honestly, Dewey. First time on a picket line, I was three. They lost that one, and the one after. Third time lucky.

Grandfather drove a bus in Waco, TX. When the signs were still up “Colored Will Move to the Rear”. I would ride with him, sometimes, turn the crank that sorted the change. The rules were very different, very strict. Colored folks couldn’t call him by his given name, they had to include “Mr.”, as in “Mr. Bob”, or “Mr. Dewey”. The standard was to call them familiar, but he stretched the point just a bit, saying “Ms. Smith” and “Mr. Jones”. Some were a bit uncomfortable, didn’t want to be seen as being “uppity” (a disgraceful word now gone from our vocabulary, and good riddance). But he made his point, a little one, to be sure. But made.

My grandmother wouldn’t know a Trotskyist to save her soul, probably would think it was a an obscure branch of the Baptists. It wasn’t about politics, as far as she was concerned. It was about being Christian. Jesus loves them, and that settles it. No dialectic need apply. I said the “n-word” in her presence exactly once. You know what “whale the tar out of” means? I do.

Common decency. All it takes.

166

So I take it you’ve completely abandoned the OP in favor of folksy remembrances of your youth?

167

elucidator:

Thank you.

168

No prob, Scylla. When you’re right, you’re right.

Gosh, Dewey too preachy for you? Tell you what, pardner. Come back tomorrow and I’ll do it to you again.