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!

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!

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!