Tuesday, July 14, 2009

It would appear that a question is in order!

What ho! It has been an excellent week for Cornelius and I, who had taken some leisure time to go on expedition; there is simply nothing more relaxing than taking a group of your closest chums to plumb the depths of an uncharted rainforest with the aims of conquering and converting the heathen tribes that live within, then taking large amounts of their natural resources to teach the savages the glories of Capitalism. But like all good things, our trip was doomed to end, for we have a duty to the commoners to impart our knowledge upon them! Today's question is political in nature, coming from geo_; it reads: "What is the connection between liberty and privacy?"

geo_, it appears that your question is incomplete, for it lacks a good deal of context; liberty and privacy are but abstract concepts, and are therefore meaningless when existing only in the ether (much like happiness or "love"). Allow me to fill in the missing portions: "What is the connection between your liberty and my privacy?" To allay your confusion, lad, let me assure you that the question is still from your point of view - it is your privacy and my liberty we are concerned with.

Now the question is much more accessible. As I am a man of industry, the liberty I am concerned with is economic; therefore, I am only free insofar as I am able to pursue my business interests to their ultimate ends. As you are a common worker, your privacy comes between myself and my financial ends; as your personal "privacy sphere" expands, my ability to senselessly exploit you is constricted. To show this, some illustrations may be in order:

-By allowing you the privacy of a secret ballot, I am denied the liberty to exert coercive pressure on common voters to ensure the election of the valiant pro-business candidate .
-By allowing you the privacy of doctor-patient confidentiality, I am denied the liberty to create the most efficient workplace by weeding out the sickly and the weak.
-By allowing you the privacy of opaque walls, I am denied the liberty to ensure that my workers are getting no more than the four hours of nightly rest necessary for a keen mind and rested body.

It thus appears quite clear that your "privacy" stands directly in the way of my economic liberty. So what is the significance of this, then? To find this, we must index both your privacy and my liberty to the universal metric - the Holy Dollar. Because my ability to operate freely results directly in the creation of capital, my liberty is quite socially valuable indeed. However, your privacy creates no wealth at all; instead, it merely frustrates my endeavors and therefore inhibits society as a whole. As a result, the exercise of your privacy operates directly counter to the Gospel of Wealth so inherent to the practice of our religion.

So there you have it, young geo_; it appears that your attempts at "privacy" are little more than self-serving acts which only serve to hurt society. Were it up to me, you would be placed in a stockade and stoned publicly for your crimes of greed. Fortunately for you, we are a society of mercy, where all are given an opportunity to repent for one's sins and attempt improvement (except those pathetic, potato-eating Irish, who exist only as a blight upon this great nation). I wish you well in this endeavor, and I have already instructed my finest contractors to replace your walls with the most translucent of butcher paper. Good day!

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Reginald Attends the Nickelodeon!

As my closest traveling companions know, I am quite the fan of films. The light of the projector filling the canvas as I watch in the comfort of my combination home cinema/liquorium, nursing a delicious colorless drink pulled directly from the still while smoking a fine cigar rolled in my favorite banana republic. I've spent many a night watching that faint glow before going to bed, wearing only a look of delight as I watch my favorite characters dance across the screen. Though I must admit it is not the same since the sound was added; watching young maidens tied to railroad tracks as a private pianist pounded away at the keys reminded me of my boyhood, when my father would bring instrumentation on his trips to collect mortgage dues. But I digress; I'd like to take a moment to discuss with the loyal readers a movie I saw just this week.

This movie is a harrowing tale of what happens when the political process goes completely awry, when the political will is subverted by the actions of one perverted individual interested only in promoting his own desires. It is a tale of intrigue and betrayal, with a twist ending so shocking it would make even the finest monocle crack.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is a cautionary tale about the perils doomed to befall us should the "average citizen" ever be allowed to rule. Gone would be the delightful days of the smoke-filled room and the "political plum" appointment that have sustained American politics all these years, instead replaced by a focus on the "common good" and the "will of the public."

This movie revolves around a dashing political boss named Jim Taylor, who watches the death of one of his finest champions in the Senate. This fine martyr is replaced by a young, strong-headed buffoon named Jefferson Smith (aptly played by the dullard James Stewart), a yokel whose previous occupation was to run a young boys' camping outfit. Upon Smith's arrival in the Senate, he is mentored by a fine associate of Taylor's. And what is Smith's repayment? To attempt to create protected parkland for his Scouts - right in the middle of Taylor's dam-building scheme! The nerve!

Soon, Taylor is forced to forgo his trademark calm and mercy in an effort to rein in the chaotic Smith; he proceeds to inform Smith's constituency of his misdeeds and untoward actions in an effort to spur the appointed man-infant to take the gentlemanly path of resignation. But does he take it? Of course not; Smith attempts to filibuster the Senate in order to clear his name and ensure the creation of his inane Boy Scout park, allowing him to take any number of pedophilic ventures into the wilderness with the cherubic youth of America.

I won't spoil the ending for you now, but let me just say that this movie's conclusion so strongly contradicted my natural notions of right and wrong that it left my moustache in a curl for nearly a week! In any event, I would advise this movie to any who dismiss the dangers inherent in a "populist" government, though it is nary for the weak of heart. Good-day!

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Another day, Another Night Spent Atop a Large Pile of Money

Our next question comes from Sillygal20: "My friend has this fear of storms and even if theres rain she gets all freaked out! Can you please give some good advice to my friend to help her?"

Well sillygal20, it appears your name is appropriate, for your query is quite silly indeed! The fearful vagaries of women are as random and inevitable as, well, the rains themselves! Ask a woman to embrace the storm? Why not ask the moon to stop lighting the night, the oceans to cease to ebb and flow, or Thompson's Magic Miracle Elixir to stop tasting so delicious while curing everything from dysentery to the common syphilis. It is simply part of her nature to fear the torrent of the rain, the boom of thunder, and the flash of lightning. However, if you persist in attempting to calm your friend, I can offer some wisdom.

While many know me as a man with the the courage of a lion and the public stoicism that has been the hallmark of the white man's divine rule over all of Creation, I must confess that I do have my fears; the potential for unrest caused by the socialist menace; the possibility of finding myself on one's deathbed without the benefit of a fine moustache comb; and the disjointed, schizophrenic hullaballoo that has been idiotically termed jazz "music." When I find myself within the midst of this panic, I follow these steps:

1. I surround myself with the finest scotches and opium that money can buy; no less than a three-day's supply will be sufficient.

2. I shut myself off from all light and music.

3. I ponder this thought: that we are but small pawns living a meaningless life, doomed to die alone. All of our pursuits of the good and virtuous are for naught, as one's spiritual existence ends only in the anticlimatic wimper of death. Upon considering this thought, I find myself contented; having chosen to forsake love and religious fervor for the greater goods of money and status, I have proven myself to be victorious in the pursuit of the ultimate in humanity.

By this point, I am contented, quite soused, and cradled by the warming embrace of sweet lady morphine. Huzzah! Now that I think about it, I can feel just such a comforting session coming on. I hope that my drug-laced words have helped you, though I know as well as you that your friend is doomed to spend eternity constantly fearing an impending torrent. Good day!

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Another day, another dead Italian... damn malaria.

Hmm, another query was sent to me today by a young whippersnapper interested in the politics.

He writes:

What is your dream president administration?



Hmm, well, Mr. noodle, this is certainly a good question- however, not necessarily one you would need to answer, given your obvious ethnic handicap (do you have your papers in order? The INS will be coming soon) and subsequent inability to have the vote. But, at least you make one hell of a pizza. Anyway, if you ask an old southern gentleman such as myself, the answer is obvious when you examine the most desirable qualities of an office holder.



Dashing Good Looks.

And a keen eye for truth.

Let that image soak in for a bit. Yes, surely no other man could be considered an "ideal" candidate than William "The Wizard" Jennings Bryan. The man has no shortage of ability or political pragmatism, and gets the majority of his lessons from the best guidebook of all- The Bible!

Now, then, in a vice president, you need a loyal, clear-thinking man. Wanna guess? I'll give you two hints:

He's one of the most famous sharpshooters in history.
And for you ladies, he's quite the looker.

If you said Aaron Burr, you've earned a shiny nickel!

Look at that handsome son of a bitch! And such an air of confidence! That sneer just screams "I'm better than you! Mostly because I have money!" That kind of man would never do something insane like, disagreeing with the primary authority, or trying to start his own country. And plus, he took care of that damn federalist Hamilton- if it was up to his leftist policies, we'd be slaves to bureaucracy.

Plus, it would save him from his awful B-movie career- and doesn't everyone deserve a second chance?

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Hark! Another Query!

My word, good Cornelius; it appears our work shall never be done! Our mailpouch is teeming with the queries of the common man, just as any worthwhile steel mill is teeming with the mangled, wretched bodies of the Irish. But while the skilled industrialist is ever saddled with the weakness of the shiftless Papists, we have the ability to address these entries one by one, in the ultimate goal of imparting our superior knowledge to the poor questioners who have made the pitiable choice to be impoverished and stupid. To this end, I shall field another question, this one coming from Pebble: "What works best for dark circles under the eyes?"

My renoun as an expert in the fields of health and the handsomely sciences clearly precedes me, and I am positively delighted at the prospect of being able to use this expertise to debunk commonly-held myths about the human body. There are many who believe that the appearance of dark rings beneath one's eyes is a physiological effect of exhaustion, most notably physical exhaustion, such as that caused by several long days in a strenuous working environment. These individuals are the same who believe that physical exhaustion is responsible for illness, anxiety, hypertension, and extensive strain on the heart. However, as any well-educated industrialist knows, the only effects of a hard day's work are a sufficient paycheck, a good night's sleep, and the satisfaction of contributing to the efficiency of the American economic super-engine.

The notion of work-related illness is but another myth promoted by the so-called "worker's rights" movement, a group of anarchists, socialists, Euro-fascists and secessionist sympathizers hell-bent on destroying the prosperity necessary to our humble hegemon's success. These individuals have similarly promoted the inane ideas that children should be denied the educational opportunities that can only be afforded one on the assembly line, that the work week should be limited to a paltry sixty hours, and that workers wish to unionize in order to be able to effectively strike. As if workers wish to cease working - they should hardly then be termed "workers" at all! But such is the Communist nonsense being fed to the worker today by anti-American liberals such as the "Great Traitor of Ohio," William McKinley.

Instead, what causes the appearance of these dark circles is the psychological distress caused by one's preoccupation with an undue rise through the economic caste system that makes this nation great. When one is obsessed with becoming the wealthy man he was simply never fated to be, his mind becomes wrought with fatigue, and this begins to show in his face. The first signal of this is the aforementioned discoloration beneath one's eyes. Other symptoms include a furrowed brow, crow's feet, an ingrown moustache and the typhus. So, to answer your question, how best do we prevent against the appearance of these rings? The answer is both simple and clear. Each individual has his own place within American society; some are to be rich, the rest to be poor. Once one accepts one's fate both wholly and unconditionally, his mind shall be at ease, and his face free of those unseemly rings.

I appreciate your curiosity, Pebble, and I wish that this information is communicated to your father, your husband, or whichever gentleman caller is presently paying for your and your brood's sustenance.
Good show there Reginald! My ideal woman is a good listener... one with a single black eye. Now then, on to the most serious crisis of our time: The environment!


If you are to compare the situation of mother earth today to an object, what would it be and why?


Well there Kelley, it appears that you are asking me for my thoughts on "Mother Earth." As is the case with all women, I would say it's best place would be in the kitchen. However, as a mother, its duties in life are as follows:

1. Be obedient to the father, husband, and any male children in the family.
2. Pass on the teachings and duties of the mother to the women children.
3. Be pleased as all your hopes and dreams are fulfilled: You get to provide food and cleanliness so that the men may concentrate on running the world!

All important though, is the general rule of silence. Women should be seen and not heard... just like mother earth. So, as Mother Earth's favorite children, we should be prepared to help our mother into her grave. So, I suggest we knit a bonnet to make Mother Earth more comfortable. While this would require an immense amount of yarn, I believe that we as a planet can "go green" and find a solution- recycling comes first! Let's start by using that AIDS quilt for something productive.

Now then, for the answer to your question, may I suggest that Mother Earth is much like a hatching egg. As the chick sees the light of day and begins to crack through the eggshell, so has mankind seen the light of industrialism, allowing us to do away with such useless things as plants and national parks (Damn that socialist Roosevelt! Yellowsto ne's land could be used for at least 50 shirtwaist mills!)

Now that I've answered your question Kelley, might I ask you a question: Why are you out of the kitchen? And where is my dinner? I leave you these to ponder as I enter my mighty zeppelin, The Spruce Goose and go off to take over a new colony in Near East.

Bolly! Those Hashimites are quite the strong laborers!

Saturday, June 27, 2009

A Question of the Romantic Persuasion

I cannot help but agree with Cornelius on the previous question: divinity is found and found alone within the sacred tenets of a free market. Carnegie be praised! Our next question comes from Raviisher, a teenage girl who proclaims her "individuality and independence," quite the plucky trait considering the unyielding glass ceiling she most assuredly will face should she fail in her womanly duties of attaching herself to a wealthy man for the sake of procreation, and thus be forced to join the poorer masses in the occupations of manual labor. She asks: "What makes a woman truly beautiful?"

Now, I feel that I am excellently qualified to field this question, as I have been known to gallivant with quite a few fillies in my day. While those days are for the most part over now, having found myself both a caring wife and a capable mistress, I believe that I can quickly illustrate the perfect woman. A woman's "true beauty" comes not only from her looks, but from her personality and demeanor. To be adequate, she must possess a straight posture, a strong notion of deference to her male, and a quiet disposition. As I have often noted, the key to an excellent relationship is a healthy dose of silence. Personally, I require at least four hours of uninterrupted reflection with my newspaper, pipe and brandy. As a married man, though, I have adjusted my habits to include the lady in my activities more, allowing her to watch the fire from the opposite chair as I read. Physically, she would require child-rearing hips, a healthy bosom, and the most chalky of complexions. My, I can feel myself becoming blushed just thinking of a beauty I saw the other day, her skin kissed only by the faintest of candlelight as she sat knitting for all the day's hours.

I hope that this tips were of help, young Raviisher, and wish you well in your pursuits of maternal glory.