https://blavity.com/louisiana-father-killed-after-confronting-teen-boy-who-snuck-in-his-home-to-see-his-underage-daughter?category1=news

How much do you know about penguins? Not the hockey-playing kind. The ones in Antartica. I know this sounds weird, but you can learn a lot about marketing from penguins. Here’s what I mean…

Penguins get hungry. A lot, actually. And they eat fish. So they roam around until they come to a hole in the ice. Now they hope there are some fish hanging around that hole. But they also know there are predators that do, as well – sea lions and seals that would love to have penguins over for dinner, if you know what I mean. They have to eat. But they don’t want to get eaten. The penguins crowd around the hole in the ice, hungry, but scared to jump in. As more and more penguins crowd around the hole, eventually, one of them gets pushed in. All the other penguins then wait and see if the “volunteer” survives. If he’s eaten, they go look for other places to feed. If he survives and finds fish, they all jump in. Not long after that, the fish are gone, either eaten or escaped. The penguins get out of the water, and back onto the ice, beginning their search again. So how does this relate to marketing?

Let’s look at advertising. Or television production. Or social media. A company comes up with an idea, maybe it’s using humor in an ad, or a show about a hospital, or a proclamation on how woke they are. Doesn’t mater. They have some success with this plan. Then all their competitors jump in, feet first, to do the same thing. Soon, the novelty has worn off, and the idea is ‘over-fished.’ Everybody abandons the idea and searches for greener pastures. Rinse. Palaver. Repeat.

Ever wonder why you get one TV drama about medicine, then next season there are a half-dozen hospital shows? Or why one insurance company airs humor ads, and then all the competitors jump on that same bandwagon? Or how so many companies are vying for the badge of ‘honor’ to be the woke-est in the land? Well, wonder no more. They’re behaving like penguins. Penguins have brains the size of walnuts. Marketing folk that wait for someone to innovate, then jump on their bandwagons are similarly endowed in the cranium department.

Today, Verizon announced its selling its media divisions off to another company. AOL and Yahoo! are going to another owner, and Verizon is losing big bucks on the deal, selling these properties off for pennies on the dollar. Ouch. You see, they wanted to compete with AT&T, Comcast/Universal, and Google for the almighty advertising dollar. Didn’t work. AT&T has similarly struggled with it’s satellite service.

Here’s my question: wouldn’t it be better to be an original than a copy? Don’t companies that make bold moves succeed far better than those who simply can’t do anything but wait for others to innovate and then create a poor copy of the other’s work?

Of course, there’s one instance where I’d approve of copying. I’d like to see a major corporation proclaim, loud and proud, that they sell whatever they sell, and they plan to keep out of politics and wokeness. They’d get some blowback from the Woke Mob, but that would only last for the duration of their attention span – a week or two at most. And then they’d be free from the shackles of oppressive woke theology. Even better, maybe other companies would see that and emulate them – then we could be rid of these politically-correct, butt-hurt, woke idiots, once and for all.

When I was a kid, there was nothing better than an ice-cold bottle of Coke. My sister and I used to get a dollar from my grandmother, and walk about four blocks with my little sister, down to the Pak-a-Sak, and buy two Coca-Colas, two candy bars, and two comic books. I was six. She was four. We were barefoot and unaccompanied. It would have been around 1963. I can still taste that ice cold drink, feel the thick, green glass bottle in my six-year-old hand, condensation dripping onto my bare feet. I didn’t know it then, but this was what Heaven will be like.

As I got older, things changed. Coca-Cola went from pure cane sugar to beet sugar, to high-fructose corn syrup as a sweetener. It was as if “The Real Thing” became the “Surreal Thing,” as I watched in horror. It just didn’t taste the same. Of course, in the 80’s, there was that disastrous attempt to “be like Pepsi,” known to the world as “New Coke.” Didn’t last long. Soon, “Coke Classic” was back on the shelves, and not long after, New Coke became nothing more than a disturbing memory, an aberration, a wrinkle in the soft drink time/space continuum. Eventually, I discovered the joys of Mexican Coke – imported, king-sized bottles of 12-ounce, pure cane-sweetened goodness. Pricey, but it is the taste of my youth. By purchasing Mexican Cokes (when and where I could find them) I actually saw myself drinking fewer soft drinks – a boon for my waistline. (When you hit your sixties, a waist is a terrible thing to mind. But I digress…)

Every year, as a practicing Anglican (Episcopalian for those of you from Yorba Linda), I give up something(s) meaningful for Lent. As in a dozen years past, I gave up Coke and Liberals. For forty days and forty nights, I give up responding to/arguing with Leftists, and I give up drinking Coke and other soft drinks. And every year I lose a little weight and gain a little peace of mind. This year, things were different.

As you may have heard, Coke has gone Woke. Yes, Always Coca-Cola has bent the knee to the Woke mob, and come out swinging against a voter ID law that Coke’s CEO admitted he’d not read. In fact, he knew nothing about it, other than the fact that the Woke crowd hated it. He (wrongly) assumed that the law was designed to disenfranchise minority voters. So they took a stand against it. To add insult to injury, they then participated in a roundtable discussion with 99 other, similarly craven CEOs of major companies, to see how they might all pile on Georgia and other states who dare to tighten voting laws to prevent fraud. Nice, huh? Of course, these asshats don’t bother to actually read the laws in question. They just want to throw their corporate weights around, like good like oligarchs.

Did you hear what Coca-Cola’s internal “sensitivity” training asks of employees? I’m not making this up – they want people to “Be less White.” Huh. I don’t know how to ‘be less white,’ but I sure as Hell know how to drink less Coke. So my 40 day/night Lenten practice of giving up Coke has now turned into a permanent, personal jihad. I don’t buy Coke. I don’t buy Sprite, Fanta, Mr. Pibb, or any of the other family of products owned by Coca-Cola. They don’t need my money, and I don’t need their products. I ate at a very nice restaurant last night, and they have their own, private-label colas – made with pure cane sugar. I was very happy to have a guilt-free, woke-free beverage for dinner, and avoid fully the Cause that Depresses.

Of course, Coke is now furiously back-pedaling on the Woke Joke, sounding for all the while like Reginald Denny (“Why can’t we all just get along?”) Sorry Coke. Too little, too late. When you back the Hell off from you and your CEO buddies from trying to tell Georgia, Texas, and other states how to rule, I might…MIGHT consider spending my cash on your flavored sugar water. Until then, go screw yourselves.

I’ve always loved newspapers. When I was a kid, I had a paper route. I always had a couple of extra newspapers in the bundle, just to make sure that I had enough, if one got messed up, and every afternoon, I’d take one of the spares, and read it, pretty much cover to cover. Back then, reading a paper was a great way to learn about the world, the nation, and your own area. Newspapers used to have a couple of really important rules: 1) Don’t allow advertisers to influence your news coverage, and 2) Maintain a wall between hard news and opinion. Section A of the paper was always hard news – stories that provided the facts of the subject, in what we in Journalism class called the “Inverted Pyramid.” The idea was to provide all the salient details up-front, with more and more details further in. In a way, this is the opposite of how you’d write a story – in fiction, you want to create a hook at the beginning, to grab the reader and draw them deeper into the story. Well into the tale, you deliver the details and critical information to the story.

In order to keep everything clear and separate fact from opinion, newspapers began publishing two pages, face-to-face: The “opinion” or “editorial” page, and the “op-ed” (opposing editorials) page. The Editorial page provided a way for the paper’s editors to write about important topics, endorse candidates, and explain their take on current events. The OpEd page gave other voices – generally columnists and readers who wrote into the paper – a place to express their views, even if they ran contrary to those expressed on the Editorial page.

While those pages still exist, they exist in name only. Oh, sure, newspapers still use the Editorial page to endorse candidates, express views, and tell readers what they think. But there’s little difference between them and the content on page one of the paper. The “Chinese Wall” between news and opinion has been vaporized, and no longer exists in any real or significant way. This sad fact is the case with print journalism and broadcast news, as well. Reporters regularly express opinion in the way they write stories – they’ll call the words of a President they adore “historic,” “majestic,” and “inpirational,” where a President they abhor will have their speech characterized as “divisive,” “partisan,” and even “fraudulent.” Rarely do we see the mainstream media report on anything in an unbiased manner. Everything seems to include words that slant the news, instead of present it free of spin.

One of the phenomenons of the 21st Century has been the rise of social media, and the role it plays in our everyday lives, especially as it relates to news. More young adults get their news from watching YouTube, Instagram, and comedy bits than they do by reading the Times or watching the evening news. Older adults get a good bit of their news from Facebook, either reading what friends post/repost, or by clicking on videos/stories posted by commercial operations.

In the old days, journalists were held to a higher, ethical standard. Editors required confirmation of claims in a story, even when the source was confidential, before they’d run it. There were consequences for papers if they ran a story that was false, both legal (lawsuits claiming Libel) and moral (Reputations harmed). But today, the media has somehow come to the conclusion that the details don’t matter, and as long as they circle the wagons and defend each other, nothing else matters.

In social media, their somewhat novel approach has been to simply silence dissent. Dredging up the specters of Tiananmen Square, 1984, and the McCarthy Era, social media has been merrily erasing opinions that run contrary to their own. Shadow banning (simply not allowing posts to spread to all those following a writer) was the start. Then came the temporarily blocking of a writer’s ability to post. Finally the social media death penalty: a permanent ban, became the ultimate tool in the bag for the social media oligarchs. And then, of course, is the rise of “fact checkers,” an incestuous arrangement between third parties hired to check posts for factual content, and the social media sites. Unfortunately, so-called fact checkers have been proven, time and time again, to be less interested in facts and far more enamored of their own worldview. Even worse, it turns out that a significant percentage of the big players in the fact checker industry (we can call them Big Fibs) are owned by the very companies they purport to fact check. (Hmmm…let’s see…FB doesn’t like this post we’re supposed to fact check, so let’s call it ‘fake news’ and everybody goes home happy, especially our accounts receivable department.)

Many argue that these social media giants are private companies, and are beholden only to their shareholders. I’ve a big problem with that position. Between Google, Facebook, Apple, Twitter and Microsoft, they OWN virtually the entire landscape of social media. Remember Parler? They were that little upstart company that challenged Twitter as a “Conservative” alternative. Twitter found it difficult to effectively ban anybody (including President Trump) when they could simply move their account over to Parler and continue business as usual. So what happened to them? Big Social(ist) got together and deplatformed them. What is deplatforming? In the analog world, it would be where they evict you from your office, turn off your phone and Internet, refuse to allow you to accept credit cards, and remove your ability to forward your snail mail. Corporately speaking, you become an un-company. Shades of George Orwell. And that’s what they did to Parler. Parler is back – sort of. But not only are they a mere shadow of their former selves, they’ve been forced to buy into the whole Speech is Free for Me, but Not for Thee idea, hiring fact checking companies (see above) to insure that nothing gets said on their plaform that will ruffle the feathers of the Oligarchs.

I actually came up with an easy solution for all this. But it’s one I doubt will ever see the light of day. Instead of “fake news” alerts, shadow banning, and such, all they’d need to do is to create a sticker to label posts “Op-Ed.” Hey – they’re saying then that this post is in opposition to their own, editorial position. What could be wrong with that? Well, to do so, forces them to acknowledge that there is more than one legitimate opinion out there, and that their position is an opinion…NOT a ‘fact.’ I don’t see them EVER willing to do this, because they’ve built their glass houses of lies, predicated on the idea that there is but ONE right answer to everything – theirs. I love the idea of a return to “Op-Eds.” But to do so would expose the intellectual dishonesty of the Left, and as far as they are concerned, that must never, ever happen.

DATELINE: WASHINGTON, April 18, 2021 – The White House has announced a new initiative regarding guns, answering critics on the right who point out that criminals do not obey gun laws, no matter how “common sense” they are, or how well-intentioned. White House Spokesperson Jenn Psaki stated, “President* Biden has noted the resistance to his common sense gun bans…er…um…gun reforms from the Right, with the pundits pointing out that laws only affect law-abiding citizens. So we’ve come up with a plan that will address these concerns. We call it, ‘Midnight Range Time.'”

Psaki continued, “It’s like Bill Clinton’s proposal for ‘midnight basketball.’ We’ll get gun ranges to open from midnight to 4 AM, just for gang members, gang bangers, thugs, and other criminals. We’ll have instructors, on-sight, to teach them gun safety and control.” Psaki explained, “Our goal is, first and foremost, to teach these criminals gun control – to hit where they aim…this alone should reduce the number of innocent bystanders killed in drive-by’s.” Psaki continued, “There’s a couple of dividends from the plan, too. This will keep the criminals off the streets during what’s considered ‘prime time’ for crime, between midnight and 4 AM. And, of course, once we’ve disarmed the law-abiding citizens, these citizens will realize that the criminals are now well-trained, and have a much better chance of killing them in a confrontation, and will therefore make it much more likely that they will surrender rather than fight back.” The Biden Administration* will concurrently release guidelines for the reform of local, county and state laws, reclassifying the voluntary surrender of assets during armed robbery as a “charitable contribution,” thereby instantly reducing the crime stats, and helping reinforce the message that the Biden Administration* is “tough on crime.” In a pre-recorded video shot before his nap time, President* Biden remarked that, “Other countries like China take a similar approach to crime. Come on, man – the only gun violence in China comes from the police and the army, as it should be.”

In an unrelated story, the Biden Administration* announced that, from here forward, the President’s* home office should be referred to as the “Beige House” as the term “White House” has too many negative connotations as a racist symbol of White Privilege. Plans are afoot to repaint the exterior a deep, rich tan, the minute that Vice President* Kamala Harris returns from her forced sabbatical to assume the Presidency, at which time the building will be referred to as the “Tan House.”

– 30 –

What’s in a name? I’m the first to admit my last name can be something of a challenge for some. “Kozak” is a Czech name, from the original Czech word for “cossack” – a fierce, warrior, often referring to a calvary soldier, complete with a rifle, brace of pistols, and a saber. (Ah, for the good old days.) When my great-grandfather came over from Prague at the turn of the century, he (or the guy working the intake desk at Ellis Island anglicized it to “Kozak.” In Czech, it’s actually pronounced “KO-yahk,” from what I understand. I’d have to go by my first name over there, for there is no translation for “Bradford.” But I digress. 

Growing up, my last name was a source of amusement – and a method of torture – by classmates. I was called everything from “Kodak” to “Kleenex,” and even given the name of a popular women’s menstrual product – before I even understood what “that time of the month” meant. For the longest time, I hated my last name, and just wished people would bloody well learn how to pronounce it. When I was in high school, I worked at the Tennis Center in my neighborhood. I often wore a purple and gold cotton football jersey I’d bought at the LSU bookstore. It had my last name across the shoulders, in bright yellow iron-on letters. I was a tall kid – 6’4” and I guess looked as if I could have actually played football. (I did not. My football skills run more to the “immovable force blocking” kind of thing. I have no arm for tossing a pigskin.) One guy came up to the counter, looked at me in earnest, and said, “Wow, do you play for the Cowboys?” This was back when Bernie Kozar played for them. Keep in mind, my shirt was purple, and this was IN Louisiana, so it was only because he misread my name on the shirt that he made the connection. Weird. 

As an adult, I’ve long since made peace with the mangling of my last name. I actually think it’s either kind of funny, or a little sad that people get it wrong. I attribute mistakes to the non-standard nature of the name. People see what they expect to see, and read what they expect to read, making “KOZAK” the linguistic equivalent of a tree root across a jogging trail. 

Now there are a few people I’d expect to be able to spell my last name. My daughter. My sister. My best friend. And my wife. Apparently, I need to recalibrate my expectations. This morning, my betrothed was applying to renew her DL online. Since all the printers are in my office, I knew she was done, when I heard the familiar sound of my laser printer warming up. I grabbed the paper off the printer to take it to her (she’s still perambulatin’ around with a walker after her recent knee replacement surgery). As I looked down, my eye was immediately drawn to her emergency contact listed. Now understand, my bride took my surname when we wed. She got that right. But apparently, I’m now the heir to a photographic and film company, recently emerged from bankruptcy protection. Yep. As far as the State of Texas Driver’s License division goes, April is married to “BRAD KODAK.”

I can’t blame her. Only a slip of the keyboard is at the root of this. And to be fair, my best friend Keith has misspelled my last name on more than one occasion. I actually think it’s kind of funny, and when I pointed out the error, she was appalled, and more than a little contrite. However, just as the Left holds that you should “never let a crisis go to waste,” I believe that you should never pass on an opportunity to recount an amusing story. So, sorry, sweetheart…I couldn’t resist. But hey…you know where I live. 

This whole “color thing” is getting confusing. We’re being segregated into “white,” “black,” “brown,” and “yellow,” as if that should matter. And “white” is supposed to be racist, because in the past, white people referred to people of color “black,” “brown” and “yellow.” In fact, you’re apparently a racist just for being white. But the Left claims you can’t be a racist if you’re black, brown or yellow which, ironically, sounds pretty racist to me. 

So what’s the deal about color? I’m a graphic artist. I mean, if a graphic artist can’t get a handle on this, how will anybody else be able to understand color theory. Let me try to explain…

The country seems to be divided today, into “red” states and “blue” states. The red states are Conservative. The blue states are Liberal. But blue is also the color for police. If you see a “Back the Blue” sticker, it’s to show support for the police, not Liberals. You can argue politics until you’re blue in the face, but if you get really mad, your face is liable to turn not red or blue, but purple.

It’s just as confusing on the other side of the aisle.

Red states are conservative, but red has also historically stood for Communist regimes – the Red Chinese and Russia have an affinity for red. (Perhaps this is why those on the Left – the Media and the Democrats – pardon my redundancy –  are seeing red.) Red is also a color associated with firemen, but I don’t see anybody saying “Red Lives Matter.”

Even more confusing, most of the negative comments about police come from Liberals. So I guess you can’t be blue and “Back the Blue.” But being red and backing the blue is A-OK. And Heaven help you if you opine that “Blue Lives Matter.” Apparently, holding that opinion makes you a racist. Which makes you anti-black, although if you say “Blue Lives Matter” at a Black Lives Matter rally, you’re liable to come home black and blue – and not in a good way. Blue laws prohibited alcohol sales on Sunday, but many Southern Baptist pastors will preach a blue streak on Sunday, often about the evils of demon rum. You can be “true blue” and it’s a good thing. But “seeing red” is usually a bad thing. And nobody likes having the blues, but singing or playing the blues is a good thing. Redlining is bad for your car, and it is racist when loaning money for a home. Being in the red is bad for your books, but good if you like rivers, seas, and major league baseball. And calling someone a redskin is politically incorrect, but being a redneck is even more so.

Crayons are even a source of potential racism, if you believe the woke folk. Years ago, Benny & Smith got rid of the “flesh” colored crayon because people complained that not all flesh was “flesh colored.” Then colors began to symbolize particular causes. One enterprising company has released sets of crayons with names like “Privileged” (White), “Me Color You Long Time” (Yellow), “Golden Shower” (Goldenrod), and “Self-Identify Blue” (Red). As you might expect, most of the reviews from the Woke mob have been highly critical, and were highly offended by their products. I own a box. I plan to buy more.  

Now you’d think that, if you express an opinion not popular with a particular race and it makes you a “racist,” that expressing a preference for a particular color would make you a “colorist.” But that’s not the case. If you’re good at being a colorist though, you’ll earn a lot of green. (Weirdly, gray hair is a sign of both “age” and “wisdom,” yet millions of women do everything they can to avoid gray hair.) Ironically, many that earn massive amounts of green are often accused of abusing the environment, which is, of course, represented by the color green. So apparently green is the color for schizophrenia, since you can both love green and hate green simultaneously. To make that even more confusing, green is also a color of skin associated with ailments of the stomach, particularly those that lead to vomiting, or as it’s sometimes referred to, a “Technicolor® yawn.”

The other colors aren’t safe, either. Yellow represents both a sunny disposition and cowardice. There’s orange juice and Agent Orange. But don’t call orange juice “O.J.” as that’s likely to stir up talk of racism. Browned and blackened are good when it comes to grilling food, but brown and black people getting pulled over and grilled by the police for being guilty of being…well, brown or black is a terrible thing. It’s supposed to be healthy to get a nice tan on your skin, but you wouldn’t want your mom or dad to tan your hide. Purple was once a color exclusively associated with royalty, but purple prose is associated with soft-core porn. 

Health wise, it’s good to be “in the pink,” but those who wear pink at protests are oftentimes militant feminists who will be happy to beat you black and blue. And don’t even get me started on the whole “rainbow” thing, although it is kind of fitting, I guess, that Judy Garland is such a huge gay icon, and her biggest song was about rainbows. When I was a kid, rainbows were said to be a reminder of God’s promise. Today, many people that wear rainbows as a symbol seem to hate God, or at least hate Christians. 

We’ve come a long way from the “united colors of Benetton” and the melting pot of the last century, to a world where grown people seek solace in coloring books. Dr. Ben Carson (a noted neurosurgeon and former Trump cabinet member) says that all brains look the same, regardless of the color of their skin. But the Left insists that anyone associated with Trump is evil, because “Orange Man Bad.” 

I just don’t get it. Lord knows, I’ve tried, but despite my best attempts to be transparent, I still get accused of being opaque. And don’t ever tell anyone accusing you of being a racist that we should all be color blind. Pity graphic designers, who now look at a color palette much like a Marine looks at a box of grenades missing their pins. That thing could go off, any second. 

I don’t know the answer. Color me…confused.

I grew up with parents that taught me that being polite was essential to being a gentleman. I was told to say “Please,” and “Thank you,” as well as calling adults “Mister,” “Missus,” or “Miss” before their last names, and to say “Yes sir” or “No Ma’am” as was appropriate. I was also taught that when I made a mistake, to own it, make amends for it, and apologize to those I hurt or offended. 

Times, sadly, have changed. 

With the advent of the Woke Supremacy, the rules of engagement have changed, and not for the better. In my youth, a heartfelt apology was seen as a mark of proper breeding. Today, it’s a sign of weakness, a mistake meant to be exploited to destroy one’s enemies. Don’t believe me? Read on, MacDuff, and damned be he who first cries “I’m sorry.” 

Take any case of someone who has run afoul of the Cancel Culture choir. Let’s say, sometime in a more innocent age, you dressed up in some ethnic costume for Halloween. Could have been a sombrero and sarape. Could have been a rainbow-colored afro wig. Maybe a native Arab costume. Pictures were taken. Fun was had. Nobody thought a thing about this. But then, a decade later, a photo surfaces, and you are accused of “cultural appropriation,” and “mocking a protected demographic group.” Ruh-rho, Rohge. You’re in big trouble now. For all of about fifteen minutes (the attention span of the Woke Mob. Unless…unless you apologize and show contrition for your insensitive actions. You didn’t know…it was okay back then…you’ll never do it again, promise! Except, it’s too late now. You’re dead. Oh, maybe not in the physical sense, but you’re career is cancelled, your friends are afraid to talk to you, and you suddenly have no life. Congratulations. You made the fatal mistake of being polite and apologizing. 

Donald Trump understood this, instinctively. He never apologized. And for four years, the Left found it impossible to stop him. He did not play by the rules. Compare and contrast this with just about every politician on the Right, who apologized, tried to atone, and found themselves cancelled. 

NOTE: There is one exception to all this. If you are on the Left, and either seriously intersectional or in a position of power, you can ride it out, as long as you don’t apologize. The trick is to allow others to apologize for you. You see, there’s a pecking order in the Woke Nation. The more “marginalized” demographics you belong to, the less you have to worry. So let’s say you use the dreaded “N” word, even in a way that is illustrating how you should never use the word, because of its offensive power. If you’re a Conservative, you’re dead. If you’re a Leftist and a white male, you’re still dead, but they’ll send flowers. If you are a Leftist white female, you’re right on the bubble. If you are Leftist, white, female and straight, say sayonara to your career. But…if you’re Leftist, white, female and Lesbian or claim to self-identify as a male, you will likely survive. Those that are Leftist, non-white, on the LGBTQ/EIEO+ scale, and worship Stalin or Satan, you can use the word with absolute impunity. 

Am I the only one that sees how stupid this is? 

This past week, I was pilloried for using the term “Christian name” instead of “first name” and writing “May God have mercy on us.” 

The horror. 

I interacted with an angry, white, butch-looking atheist. From her profile pic, I’m just guessing, but I’d be on pretty safe ground to add “Lesbian” to that list. Maybe even “transgendered.” I knew precisely what to do. I doubled-down, explained my reasoning using logic, and refused to apologize. Oh, and I blocked her, after repeated warnings to avoid making personal attacks. She didn’t refrain, so I took a page from Orwell and made her an un-person. 

I find it hilarious to hear the righteous indignation coming out of those on the Left, when they discover they are not safe from the Cancel cougars and curmudgeons who demand their pound of flesh. You can just hear the gears turning in their tiny little brains, as they think, “But wait! I’m not a bad person! I’m not a (shudder) CONSERVATIVE! I’m on YOUR side! Why are you picking on me!” By then, of course, it’s too late, they’ve been eviscerated, career-wise, their only hope to find some Betty Ford program for Leftist foot-in-mouth syndrome. 

So here’s my recommendation. Don’t apologize. Ever. Wear your verbal gaffes and photos from the past like a badge of courage. Stand up. Be counted. Because I’ve got news for you. There are more of us than there are of them, and if we simply STOP taking them seriously, the will go away. For good. 

I’ve got an image to insert into your mind’s eye. I have a sister. She’s two months shy of two years younger than I am. We’ve never really gotten along, although I can say that when I was in my darkest hour, she was there for me. When we were very young, my parents tried disciplining us the same way. Didn’t work. When I was naughty, my dad would spank me, usually with his belt. He didn’t have to hit me more than once or twice, and he didn’t have to hit me hard to get the point across. One or two swats, and I was on the path to atonement and redemption. But with my sister, he coulda beat her lily white ass red as a beet, and she’d just stand there, and take it, looking all the while like she was ready to go all Carrie on everybody. Kinda scary really. Eventually, they found that sticking her nose in the corner and forcing her into a time out was a much better punishment. She’d crack like a farm-fresh, Grade-A egg, inside of a couple of minutes. (For me, the nose-in-the-corner trick was not too different from locking me in my room – an opportunity to daydream and do some serious fantasizing.)

But the interesting part of all this was what happened after the punishment was over.

Me? I’d apologize. Profusely. Get a hug, and go on about my childhood. Not my sis. Noooooo. She’d go into her room, get on one of those rocking horses suspended from a metal frame with four heavy-duty springs, and ride as if she were one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. There were photos, with her nostrils flared almost as large as the horse’s, red-faced, eyes full of the devil. Angry? Doesn’t begin to describe it. If you look up “Hell hath no fury” in an unabridged book of quotations, you’ll likely see a similar face.

The point of my bringing up the charming little slice o’ childhood is that this is much like what we’re in the midst of now. Stay with me here.

For eight years of W, we had a sitcom dad for President – well meaning, but slightly befuddled, trying to do the right thing, but just didn’t quite know how to get the job done. And the kids (the public) were constantly pushing the limits to see what they could get away with. Then we had eight years of Obama. Mr. Mom Jeans was like the parent who can’t say “No!” and wants to buy affection by giving the kids everything they want, sometimes even before they want it.

Then there was Trump. Dad, coming home from work, short-tempered, with law-and-order, disciplinary attitude that was a rude awakening for the kids. Not only did Dad say “NO!” But he meant it. He actually told We the People to straighten up, fly right, and take personal responsibility for our behavior. The Horror! The kids didn’t like it – at first – but like most kids, We the People howled in protest, and then most of us got in line. Life got better. We got better. But there was always that bunch, like my sister, over there riding the horse to oblivion, thinking, “Just you wait, Donald J., Just you wait!”

We all know how the election shook out. No need to hash that through again. But who did we end up with? Uncle Joe, the slightly creepy uncle who the angry kids love, because he can’t say “No!” at all. Ever. Period. End of story. Holy crap! The angry kids are now free to roam the country, having the Mother of all Temper Tantrums. And there’s no adults in the room to tell them to go to bed without supper. Bummer.

But here’s the thing. The rest of the kids – the ones who kinda liked limits, and the increased freedoms that went along with the strict parent are standing around, looking at the angry kids going, “What in the Sam Hill is going on?” or “When does this stop?”

So I ask you, is this the Beginning of the End (of our Republic) or is this the End of the Beginning (of this Socialist crap they’re pushing on us)? It could go either way. We could see the angry kids take over, and we’ll end up in a road show revival of The Lord of the Flies. Or…we could see the non-angry kids say, “Okay, we gave you a chance to show us the glories of the Socialist way, and it sucks. You guys shut the Hell up, and we put adults back in charge.

It could go either way. Personally, I think the angry kids – the Leftists – don’t have the word “restraint” as a part of their DNA. I think they are going to gleefully push us over the edge as quickly, noisily, and smugly as possible. Except…I think this is going to empower the other kids (the Right, the Centrists, the Libertarians, et al) and they are going to send the angry kids packing, off to detention, military school, or Club Gitmo. I hope that by overplaying their hand (in such a high-handed manner) they will lose everything in 2022 in the mid-terms – control of both the House and the Senate. Then we’ll have either two years of stalemate until the 2024 Presidential election, or Congress will have the will to set things right, and repeal the Socialist agendas of Uncle Joe and his crazy running mate, Auntie Kamala.

Beginnings. Endings. They look a lot alike. Just depends on your perspective, and which side of the door you’re on. Me? I hope this tantrum by the angry kids gets nipped in the bud, and they get spankings and put in a permanent time out. It’s about time.