(Kimball's Unauthorized Perversion)

• Modernized Fairy Tales
• The Ant and the Grasshopper Revisited
• Fixing a Flat
• What if There Had Been Consultants Two Thousand Years Ago?
• One Story, Four Perspectives
• Ain't It the Truth
• A Modern Prayer
• A Serbian Fable
• Sometimes, Change is Hard to Accept . . .
• A Neighborly Lesson
• Your Tax Dollars at Work
• The Original Warning About a Trojan Horse
• The Y0k and Y1K Crises
• Two Heroes
• The Tears of a Clown
• Two Gems from Mark Twain
• How To Do Nothing
• Teaching a Horse to Talk
• The Evolution of Conservatives and Liberals
• The Wild and Free Pigs of the Okefenokee Swamp
• The Ambulance Down in the Valley
• The Eagle and the Chickens

One day, as she was eating dirt and gravel in her front yard, she was approached by a handsome prince riding a magnificent steed. "Want to marry me?", the prince asked. "Sure", she answered, and away they rode to the palace, where they lived happily ever after.

Then she dumped the prince, took all his money, and moved to another village to set up the "poor peasant girl" scam again.

The frog hopped into the princess' lap and said: "Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper, young prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and setup housekeeping in yon castle with my mother, where you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children, and forever feel grateful and happy doing so."

That night, as the princess dined sumptuously on a repast of lightly sauteed froglegs seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled to herself and thought:

"I don't [expletive deleted] think so."

OLD VERSION: The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks he's a fool and laughs and dances and plays the summer away. Come winter, the ant is warm and well fed. The grasshopper has no food or shelter, so he dies out in the cold.
MORAL OF THE STORY: Be responsible for yourself!

Wait a minute! This isn't how things work today. Time to update that story:

MODERN VERSION: The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks he's a fool and laughs and dances and plays the summer away. Come winter, the shivering grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving. CBS, NBC, and ABC show up to provide pictures of the shivering grasshopper next to a video of the ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food. America is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be, that in a country of such wealth, this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so? Kermit the Frog appears on Oprah with the grasshopper,and everybody cries when they sing, "It's Not Easy Being Green."

Jesse Jackson stages a demonstration in front of the ant's house where the news stations film the group singing, "We shall overcome." Jesse then has the group kneel down to pray to God for the grasshopper's sake. Nancy Pelosi & John Kerry exclaim in an interview with Larry King that the ant has gotten rich off the back of the grasshopper, and both call for an immediate tax hike on the ant to make him pay his "fair share." Finally, the EEOC drafts the "Economic Equity and Anti-Grasshopper Act," retroactive to the beginning of the summer. The ant is fined for failing to hire a proportionate number of green bugs and, having nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes, his home is confiscated by the government. Hillary Clinton gets her old law firm to represent the grasshopper in a defamation suit against the ant, and the case is tried before a panel of federal judges that Bill appointed from a list of single-parent welfare recipients. The ant loses the case.

The story ends as we see the grasshopper finishing up the last bits of the ant's food while the government house he is in, which just happens to be the ant's old house, crumbles around him because he doesn't maintain it. The ant has disappeared in the snow. The grasshopper is found dead in a drug related incident and the house, now abandoned, is taken over by a gang of spiders who terrorize the once peaceful neighborhood.
MORAL OF THE STORY: If you trust in politicians to take care of you, remember how well they took care of the American Indian.

Keeping a nervous eye on the inmate, the driver took out the spare tire, and the tools he needed. He removed the lug nuts and placed them in the hubcap. Then he took off the flat tire and fitted on the spare. All this time he wondered, "Now why is that guy up at this hour, and why is he staring at me?"

Then disaster struck. As the driver went back to get the lug nuts, his foot stepped on the side of the hubcap, sending the nuts fluying into the grass. After considerable groping around in the darkness, he only managed to find one. It was then that the inmate finally spoke.

"Take one nut from each of the other tires. Four nuts on each wheel. That will be enough to get you to a service station."

"Good idea," said the driver. "Hey, that's a great idea! If you can think like that, what are you doing in there?"

"Hey pal, I'm in here for being crazy," answered the inmate. "Not stupid."

Jesus ben Joseph
Woodcrafters Carpenter Shop
Nazareth, Galilee 25922

Dear Sir,

Thank you for submitting the resumes of the 12 men picked for management positions in your new organization. All of them have taken our battery of tests, and we have not only run the results through our computer, but also arranged personal interviews for each of them with our psychologist and vocational aptitude consultants. The profiles of all tests are included and you will want to study each of them carefully. As part of our service we have made some general comments much as an auditor would include some general statements.

This report is given as a result of staff consultation and comes without any additional fee. It is the staff opinion that most of the men are lacking the background, education and vocational aptitude necessary for the type of enterprise you are undertaking. They do not have the team concept.

Simon Peter is emotionally unstable and given to fits of temper. Andrew has absolutely no leadership qualities. The two brothers, James and John, sons of Zebedee, place personal interest above company loyalty. Thomas demonstrates a questioning attitude that would tend to undermine morale. We feel it is our duty to tell you that Matthew has been blacklisted by the "Greater Jerusalem Better Business Bureau." Thaddeus and Simon definitely have radical leanings and they both registered high scores on the manic depressive scale.

One of the candidates, however, shows great potential. He is a man of ability and resourcefulness, meets people well, has a keen business mind and has contacts in high places. He is highly motivated, ambitious and responsible. We recommend Judas Iscariot as your controller and right hand man. All of the other profiles are self-explanatory. We wish you every success in your new venture.

Sincerely,

Jordan Management Consultants

The New York Times: God Announces He Will Destroy Earth In Two Days. Details on Page D-38 (after the book reviews, of course).

The Wall Street Journal: World Scheduled to End in 48 Hours. Stock Market Slump Predicted.

USA Today (a paper known for writing short stories): WE'RE DOOMED!

The Washington Post: End of World Expected in Two Days. Women and Minorities are Likely to Suffer the Most.

They're admiring the sights when, all of a sudden, the Pope's hat (zucchetto) blows off his head and out into the water. The Secret Service guys start to launch a boat, but President Bush waves them off, saying, "Wait, wait. I'll take care of this. Don't worry."

Bush then steps off the yacht onto the surface of the water and walks out to the Holy Father's little hat, bends over picks it up, then walks back to the yacht and climbs aboard.

He hands the hat to the Pope amid stunned silence.

The next morning, the headlines on BBC World News, The Guardian, LeMonde, Reuters, Al Jazeera, New York Times, Boston Globe, Boston Herald, Buffalo News, Milwaukee Sentinel-Journal, Minneapolis Tribune, Denver Post, Albuquerque Journal, Los Angeles Times, San Francisco Chronicle and Washington Post proclaim:

So far today, God, I've done all right. I haven't gossiped, haven't lost my temper, haven't been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish or over-indulgent. I'm very thankful for that.

But in a few minutes, God, I'm going to get out of bed. And from then on, I'm probably going to need a lot more help.

When it felt the warmth, the bird began to revive. Soon it started moving, and after a while it even started chirping. About this time, the Serb walked past a pile of fresh manure, which was warm enough to be giving off steam on that day. He took the bird from his coat, placed it on top of the manure, and went on his way.

The bird's behavior didn't change when this happened. In fact it kept on chirping, until a cat came by and ate it.

1. The one who puts you in it isn't always your enemy.
2. The one who takes you out of it isn't always your friend.
3. If you happen to be in it, keep your mouth shut!

Martin Van Buren
Governor of New York

Once upon a time, a man found a dead possum in his backyard. Unwilling to dig a hole and bury the dead possum, he went out that night and flung the dead possum over the fence into his neighbor's yard.

Several days later, the neighbor found the now somewhat, shall we say, "ripe," dead possum. He was also of the lazy variety and decided to go late that night and chuck the somewhat ripe dead possum into a second neighbor's yard.

And so it came to pass that after a week or so (for these were very large backyards), the second neighbor detected the now wildly overripe dead possum. The second neighbor was a civic-minded individual and therefore acquired a shovel, dug a hole, and buried the overripe dead possum. While digging the hole, he found a large diamond in the rough. He sold the diamond for a significant sum of money and promptly bought a nice house in a better neighborhood, where the neighbors no longer threw dead possums over the fence into his yard.

The moral to this story is twofold:

If you bury the dead possum you find you will maintain neighbors who will likely lend you a shovel, and possibly help you dig the hole, and you may find a treasure.

If you persist in throwing possums over the fence, all of the nice neighbors will probably move away.

(My own comment: I'm not sure what this has to do with investing, but I see a clear parallel with every Internet community I've been in. Some people work to make the World Wide Web a better place, while others go online to throw dead possums at their neighbors in the global village.)

Once upon a time the government had a vast scrap yard in the middle of a desert.

Congress said "Someone could steal from this yard at night." So they created a night watchman's position (GS-4 level) and hired a person for the job.

Then Congress said, "How does the watchman do his job without instruction?" So they created a planning position and hired two people: one person to write the instructions (GS-12 level) and one person to conduct training classes (GS-11 level).

Then Congress said, "How will we know the night watchman is doing the tasks correctly?" So they created a quality control position and hired two people: one to do the studies (GS-9 level) and one to write the reports (GS-11 level).

Then Congress said, "How are these people going to get paid?" So they created a timekeeper position (GS-9 level) and a payroll officer (GS-11 level).

Then Congress said, "Who will be accountable for all these people?" So they created administrative positions and hired three people, an Administrative Officer (GS-13 level), an Assistant Administrative Officer (GS-12 level), and a Legal Secretary (GS-8 level).

Then Congress said, "We have had this command in operation for one year, and we are $18,000 over budget. We must cutback overall costs."

So they laid off the night watchman.

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WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
IF YOU RECEIVE A GIFT IN THE SHAPE OF A LARGE WOODEN HORSE DO NOT DOWNLOAD IT!!!! It is EXTREMELY DESTRUCTIVE and will overwrite your ENTIRE CITY!

The "gift" is disguised as a large wooden horse about two stories tall. It tends to show up outside the city gates and appears to be abandoned.

DO NOT let it through the gates! It contains hardware that is incompatible with Trojan programming, including a crowd of heavily armed Greek warriors that will destroy your army, sack your town, and kill your women and children. If you have already received such a gift, DO NOT OPEN IT! Take it back out of the city unopened and set fire to it by the beach.

FORWARD THIS MESSAGE TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW!

Poseidon

******************************

RE: Greeks bearing gifts

Laocoon,

I hate to break it to you, but this is one of the oldest hoaxes there is. I've seen variants on this warning come through on other listservs, one involving some kind of fruit that was supposed to kill the people who ate it and one having to do with something called the "Midas Touch".

Here are a few tip-offs that this is a hoax:

1) This "Forward this message to everyone you know" business. If it were really meant as a warning about the Greek army, why tell anyone to send it to the Phoenicians, Babylonians, and Egyptians?

2) Use of exclamation points. Always a giveaway.

3) It's signed "from Poseidon." Granted he's had his problems with Odysseus but he's one of their guys, isn't he? Besides, the lack of a real header with a detailed address makes me suspicious.

4) Technically speaking, there is no way for a horse to overwrite your entire city. A horse is just an animal, after all.

Next time you get a message like this, just delete it. I appreciate your concern, but once you've been around the block a couple times you'll realize how annoying this kind of stuff is.

Bye now,

Hector

Message from: Rome
January 18, 1 B.C.

Dear Cassius,

Are you still working on the Y zero K problem? This change from BC to AD is giving us a lot of headaches and we haven`t much time left. I don`t know how people will cope with working the wrong way around. Having been working happily downwards forever, now we have to start thinking upwards. You would think that someone would have thought of it earlier and not left it to us to sort out at the last minute.

I spoke to Caesar the other evening. He was livid that Julius hadn`t done something about it when he was sorting out the calendar. He said he could see why Brutus turned nasty. We called in the consulting astrologers, but they simply said that continuing downwards using minus BC won`t work. As usual, the consultants charged a fortune for doing nothing useful. As for myself, I just can`t see the sand in an hourglass flowing upwards.

We have heard that there are three wise guys in the east working on the problem, but unfortunately they won`t arrive till it`s all over. Some say the world will cease to exist at the moment of transition. Anyway we are continuing to work on this blasted Y zero K problem and I will send you a parchment if anything further develops.

Plutonius

Canterbury, England. May 27, 999 A.D.

An atmosphere close to panic prevails today throughout Europe as the millennial year 1000 approaches, bringing with it the so-called "Y1K Bug," a menace which, until recently, hardly anyone had ever heard of. Prophets of doom are warning that the entire fabric of Western Civilization, based as it now is upon monastic computations, could collapse, and that there is simply not enough time left to fix the problem.

Just how did this disaster-in-the-making ever arise? Why did no one anticipate that a change from a three-digit to a four-digit year would throw into total disarray all liturgical chants and all metrical verse in which any date is mentioned? Every formulaic hymn, prayer, ceremony and incantation dealing with dated events will have to be re- written to accommodate three extra syllables. All tabular chronologies with three-space year columns, maintained for generations by scribes using carefully hand-ruled lines on vellum sheets, will now have to be converted to four- space columns, at enormous cost. In the meantime, the validity of every official event, from baptisms to burials, from confirmations to coronations, may be called into question.

"We should have seen it coming," says brother Cedric of St. Michael's Abbey, here in Canterbury. "What worries me most is that 'THOUSAND' contains the word 'THOU,' which occurs in nearly all our prayers, and of course always refers to God. Using it now in the name of the year will seem almost blasphemous, and is bound to cause terrible confusion. Of course, we could always use Latin, but that might be even worse -- The Latin word for 'Thousand' is 'Mille' - which is the same as the Latin for 'mile.' We won't know whether we're talking about time or distance!" Stonemasons are already reported threatening to demand a proportional pay increase for having to carve an extra numeral in all dates on tombstones, cornerstones and monuments. Together with its inevitable ripple effects, this alone could plunge the hitherto-stable medieval economy into chaos.

A conference of clerics has been called at Winchester to discuss the entire issue, but doomsayers are convinced that the matter is now one of personal survival. Many families, in expectation of the worst, are stocking up on holy water and indulgences.

By ©2000 Carol Dean
LT. CDR EDWARD H. "BUTCH" O'HARE

13 Mar 1914 - 26 Nov. 1943
Winner - Congressional Medal of Honor

World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Butch O'Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to an aircraft carrier in the South Pacific. One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet.

As he was returning to the mothership, he saw something that turned his blood cold. A squadron of Japanese Zeroes were speeding their way toward the American fleet. The American fighters were gone on a sortie and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor, could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet. Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 calibers blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch weaved in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until finally all his ammunition was spent. Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the Zeroes, trying to at least clip off a wing or tail, in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible and rendering them unfit to fly.

He was desperate to do anything he could to keep them from reaching The American ships. Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction. Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet.

He was recognized as a hero and given one of the nation's highest military honors. And today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.

******************************

Some years earlier there was a man in Chicago called Easy Eddie. At that time, Al Capone virtually owned the city. Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic. His exploits were anything but praiseworthy. He was, however, notorious for enmeshing the city of Chicago in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution . . . to murder.

Easy Eddie was Capone's lawyer and for a good reason. He was very good! In fact, his skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big; Eddie got special dividends. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago city block. Yes, Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocities that went on around him.

Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had the best of everything; clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object. And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Yes, Eddie tried to teach his son to rise above his own sordid life. He wanted him to be a better man than he was.

Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things that Eddie couldn't give his son. Two things that Eddie sacrificed to the Capone mob that he could not pass on to his beloved son, a good name and a good example. One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Offering his son a good name was far more important than all the riches he could lavish on him. He had to rectify all the wrong that he had done. He would go to the authorities and tell the truth about "Scar-face" Al Capone. He would try to clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity.

To do this he must testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. But more than anything, he wanted to be an example to his son. He wanted to do his best to make restoration and hopefully have a good name to leave his son. So, he testified. Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago street. He had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer at the greatest price he would ever pay.

What do these two stories have to do with one another?

Well you see, Butch O'Hare was Easy Eddie's son.

One evening in 1808, a gaunt, sad-faced man entered the offices of Dr. James Hamilton in Manchester. The doctor was struck by the melancholy appearance of his visitor. He inquired:

"Are you sick?"
"Yes, doctor, sick of a mortal malady."
"What malady?"
"I am frightened of the terror of the world around me. I am depressed by life. I can find no happiness anywhere, nothing amuses me, and I have nothing to live for. If you can't help me, I shall kill myself."
"The malady is not mortal. You only need to get out of yourself. You need to laugh; to get some pleasure from life."
"What shall I do?"
"Go to the circus tonight to see Grimaldi, the clown. Grimaldi is the funniest man alive. He'll cure you."
"Doctor," said the sad-faced man, "I am Grimaldi."

(I believe Grimaldi got over his bout of depression, as the dates suggest he lived twenty-nine more years after that.)

No one can tell me what is a good cigar--for me. I am the only judge. People who claim to know say that I smoke the worst cigars in the world. They bring their own cigars when they come to my house. They betray an unmanly terror when I offer them a cigar; they tell lies and hurry away to meet engagements which they have not made when they are threatened with the hospitalities of my box. Now then, observe what superstition, assisted by a man's reputation, can do. I was to have twelve personal friends to supper one night. One of them was as notorious for costly and elegant cigars as I was for cheap and devilish ones. I called at his house and when no one was looking borrowed a double handful of his very choicest; cigars which cost him forty cents apiece and bore red-and-gold labels in sign of their nobility. I removed the labels and put the cigars into a box with my favorite brand on it--a brand which those people all knew, and which cowed them as men are cowed by an epidemic. They took these cigars when offered at the end of the supper, and lit them and sternly struggled with them--in dreary silence, for hilarity died when the fell brand came into view and started around--but their fortitude held for a short time only; then they made excuses and filed out, treading on one another's heels with indecent eagerness; and in the morning when I went out to observe results the cigars lay all between the front door and the gate. All except one--that one lay in the plate of the man from whom I had cabbaged the lot. One or two whiffs was all he could stand. He told me afterward that some day I would get shot for giving people that kind of cigars to smoke.

The rabbit thought it looked fun and then asked, "Can I also sit like you and do nothing?"

The crow replied, "Sure." So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the crow, and rested.

All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.

Management Lesson: If you want to sit and do nothing, you must be very, very high up.

Once upon a time a man was accused of a crime. For the purposes of the story, it doesn't matter what he did. The king of that land sentenced the man to death, and he pleaded for his life, offering to teach the king's horse to talk if he would be spared. The king agreed; if the accused could teach the horse to talk in two years, he would be pardoned. Otherwise, the original sentence would be carried out.

Sometime after that, the man's best friend asked him why he made a promise he couldn't keep, and why he was acting so cheerful about the whole business. The would-be horse teacher said, "A lot can happen in two years. The king could die. I could die. Or the horse could talk."

The division of the human family into its two distinct branches, liberals and conservatives, occurred some 20,000 years ago. Until then all humans coexisted as members of small bands of nomadic hunter/gatherers. They lived on deer in the mountains during the summer and would go to the coast and live on fish in the winter.

A thousand generations ago, in the pivotal event of societal evolution, beer was invented. This epochal innovation was both the foundation of modern civilization and the occasion of the great division of humanity into its two distinct subgroups.

Once beer was discovered, our prehistoric forebears decided it was time to settle down. Making beer required grain, and securing a steady supply of it ordained the invention of agriculture.

After that was accomplished, ancient man quickly, and unfairly, consigned actual cultivation to women.

Men couldn't just run off, willy-nilly, however. Neither the glass bottle nor the aluminum can had yet been invented, so it was necessary to stick pretty close to the brewery. That's how villages were formed.

This left our male ancestors with a lot of time on their hands. Some men tried to conserve remnants of the old way of life (hence the term "conservative") by spending their days in the open field in the dangerous pursuit of big game animals. At night they would roast their prey at a big barbecue, and afterwards sat around the fire drinking beer, passing wind and telling off-color jokes.

Other, more timid, souls stayed closer to home. They are responsible for the domestication of cats and the invention of group therapy. Mostly, they sat around worrying about how life wasn't fair and concocting elaborate schemes to "liberate" themselves from inequity (thus their designation as "liberals"). From this came the concept of Democratic voting, to decide how to divide the meat and beer that conservatives provided.

In the evening they gathered around their fire, nibbling on fruit and nuts, sharing their innermost feelings. Some liberal men did sewing, fetching, and hair dressing, and eventually evolved into women. The rest became known as "girlie men."

Over the years conservatives came to be symbolized by the largest, most powerful land animal on earth, the elephant. Liberals were symbolized by the jackass.

Today some liberals try to pretend they're really sort of conservative, and sometimes succeed in confusing people. Here is how to distinguish the two types.

By definition liberals believe in big government and high taxes. Life is unfair and the government is there to do something about it. Most people are too stupid to spend untaxed income wisely, they say, and high taxes allow liberals in government to do a better job of it.

Conservatives don't like government, and, aside from the military, wish it would just go away. They hate taxes, regulations, speed limits, and small cars.

Typical conservatives are Arnold Schwarzenegger, Rush Limbaugh, Dennis Miller, Ted Nugent, Drew Carey, Bruce Willis, Chuck Norris, and, up there with the Big Man in the Sky, Charlton Heston, John Wayne and Ronald Reagan.

Typical liberals are Dustin Hoffman, Shirley McLaine, Pee Wee Herman, Martin Sheen, Sean Penn, Barbra Streisand, Whoopi Goldberg, Rosie o'Donnell, Ted Turner and his former wife, the traitor Jane Fonda.

All conservatives like beer. American beer.

Some liberals like imported beer (with lime added), but most prefer white wine or foreign water from a bottle.

Liberals like to drive Volvos and Saabs because they're made in socialist Sweden. They like to eat sushi, tofu and French food because it's un-American.

Your basic conservative vehicle, especially in Alaska, is the Chevy Suburban. It's big, it's American, it's four wheel drive, and it sucks up the gas. Conservatives eat red meat, which they (surprise!) like to barbecue.

Liberal women have more testosterone than liberal men. Liberals like deviant sex and want others to like it too. The first successful liberal city governments were in Sodom and Gomorrah.

Conservative men still provide for their women. Two of the most successful conservative city governments were in Sparta and Rome.

Big game hunters are conservative. Interior decorators are liberal.

Liberals invented the designated hitter rule in baseball because it wasn't "fair" to make the poor pitcher take his turn at bat.

Conservatives, inspired by a remark of the legendary Pittsburgh Steeler linebacker Jack Lambert, believe quarterbacks should be required to wear skirts, so they can more easily be distinguished from real football players.

Except for k. d. lang and the Dixie Chicks, country and religious singers are overwhelmingly conservative. Most artists in other genres of music are liberals. Alice Cooper is a conservative, believe it or not! And I already told you about Ted Nugent.

Liberal jurors distrust the prosecutors and police. Conservatives figure the defendant must be guilty or he wouldn't be on trial.

Most conservatives not only believe in the death penalty, they would cheerfully implement it, personally, if called upon to do so.

Liberals think capital punishment is a barbaric relic, and unfair to boot.

Most ranchers, lumberjacks, soldiers, and construction workers are conservatives. Conservatives who own companies hire other conservatives who want to work productively for a living.

Most social workers, personal injury lawyers, journalists, and group therapists are liberals. Outside of the arts, liberals produce little or nothing. Because they prefer to "govern" the producers and decide what to do with the production, most of the liberals remained in Europe when conservatives were coming to America. They crept in after the Wild West was tamed and created a business of trying to get more for nothing.

Conservatives believe in self-defense, both at home and abroad. They own guns and use them to discourage liberals and common criminals.

Liberals do not believe in self-defense, for either individuals or nations. They think the United Nations is the ultimate answer to any problem.

Liberals believe Europeans are, generally speaking, far more enlightened than Americans. Conservatives think they're basically decadent, because of their absence from recent wars.

Typical conservative movies are "Red Dawn," "Patton," "Conan the Barbarian," and most films starring or directed by Mel Gibson.

Typical liberal movies are "Prince of Tides," "Last Tango in Paris," "The Big Chill," and anything directed by Oliver Stone.

Conservatives have principles, believe in a Creator, and the rule of law. They practice charity and give to the poor, normally through their churches. When in doubt on an issue, they check both the Bible and the Constitution, which they use as a constant reference in a changing world. They believe in the concept of truth.

Liberals do not have principles; whatever is best for them is considered right. They cultivate the poor like a cat cultivates a field of mice. Instead of giving to charity, they get the poor to vote for them, and give them a portion of the tax money they take from conservatives.

The quintessential liberal is the modern judge. They do not produce anything except chaos, and are paid with confiscated tax money. They will enforce any statute from a liberal in Massachusetts or San Francisco, no matter how boneheaded, but consider it against the law to make reference to the Bible or Constitution.

The cowboy, of course, is your basic, full bore conservative. Around 1900, an Englishman in South Dakota was trying to find the owner of a huge cattle ranch. He rode up to one of the ranch hands and asked, "Excuse me, but could you tell me where to find your Master?" To which the cowboy replied, "That sumbitch hasn't been born."

Here ends today's lesson in world history. It should be noted that a liberal may have a momentary urge to angrily respond to the above before forwarding it. A conservative will simply laugh and forward it immediately to those who believe it really happened this way.

(From the webmaster: I've been to the Okefenokee Swamp, and it's a wild place, all right. Once I heard that the county containing the swamp has the lowest population of any county in Georgia; only critters like Pogo Possum would want to live there.)

Some years ago, about 1900, an old trapper from North Dakota hitched up some horses to his Studebaker wagon, packed a few possessions -- especially his traps -- and drove south.

Several weeks later he stopped in a small town just north of the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia.

It was a Saturday morning -- a lazy day -- when he walked into the general store. Sitting around the pot-bellied stove were seven or eight of the town's local citizens.

The traveler spoke. "Gentlemen, could you direct me to the Okefenokee Swamp?"

Some of the oldtimers looked at him like he was crazy.

"You must be a stranger in these parts," they said.

"I am. I'm from North Dakota," said the stranger.

"In the Okefenokee Swamp are thousands of wild hogs." one old man explained.

"A man who goes into the swamp by himself asks to die!"

He lifted up his leg. "I lost half my leg here, to the pigs of the swamp."

Another old fellow said, "Look at the cuts on me; look at my arm bit off!"

"Those pigs have been free since the Revolution, eating snakes and rooting out roots and fending for themselves for over a hundred years. They're wild and they're dangerous. You can't trap them. No man dare go into the swamp by himself."

Every man nodded his head in agreement.

The old trapper said, "Thank you so much for the warning. Now could you direct me to the swamp?"

They said, "Well, yeah, it's due south -- straight down the road."

But they begged the stranger not to go, because they knew he'd meet a terrible fate.

He said, "Sell me ten sacks of corn, and help me load it in the wagon." And they did.

Then the old trapper bid them farewell and drove on down the road. The townsfolk thought they'd never see him again.

Two weeks later the man came back. He pulled up to the general store, got down off the wagon, walked in and bought ten more sacks of corn.

After loading it up he went back down the road toward the swamp.

Two weeks later he returned and again bought ten sacks of corn.

This went on for a month. And then two months, and three.

Every week or two the old trapper would come into town on a Saturday morning, load up ten sacks of corn, and drive off south into the swamp.

The stranger soon became a legend in the little village and the subject of much speculation. People wondered what kind of devil had possessed this man, that he could go into the Okefenokee by himself and not be consumed by the wild and free hogs.

One morning the man came into town as usual. Everyone thought he wanted more corn.

He got off the wagon and went into the store where the usual group of men were gathered around the stove. He took off his gloves.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I need to hire about ten or fifteen wagons. I need twenty or thirty men."

"I have six thousand hogs out in the swamp, penned up, and they're all hungry. I've got to get them to market right away."

"You've WHAT in the swamp?" asked the storekeeper, incredulously.

"I have six thousand hogs penned up. They haven't eaten for two or three days, and they'll starve if I don't get back there to feed and take care of them."

One of the oldtimers said, "You mean you've captured the wild hogs of the Okefenokee?"

"That's right."

"How did you do that? What did you do?" the men urged, breathlessly.

One of them exclaimed, "But I lost my arm!"

"I lost my brother!" cried another.

"I lost my leg to those wild boars!" chimed a third.

The trapper said, "Well, the first week I went in there they were wild all right."

"They hid in the undergrowth and wouldn't come out. I dared not get off the wagon."

"So I spread corn along behind the wagon. Every day I'd spread a sack of corn."

"The old pigs would have nothing to do with it."

"But the younger pigs decided that it was easier to eat free corn than it was to root out roots and catch snakes. So the very young began to eat the corn first."

"I did this every day. Pretty soon, even the old pigs decided that it was easier to eat free corn."

"After all, they were all free; they were not penned up. They could run off in any direction they wanted at any time."

"The next thing was to get them used to eating in the same place all the time. So I selected a clearing, and I started putting the corn in the clearing."

"At first they wouldn't come to the clearing. It was too far. It was too open. It was a nuisance to them."

"But the very young decided that it was easier to take the corn in the clearing than it was to root out roots and catch their own snakes. And not long thereafter, the older pigs also decided that it was easier to come to the clearing every day."

"And so the pigs learned to come to the clearing every day to get their free corn."

"They could still subsidize their diet with roots and snakes and whatever else they wanted. After all, they were all free. They could run in any direction at any time. There were no bounds upon them."

"The next step was to get them used to fence posts."

"So I put fence posts all the way around the clearing. I put them in the underbrush so that they wouldn't get suspicious or upset."

"After all, they were just sticks sticking up out of the ground, like the trees and the brush. The corn was there every day. It was easy to walk in between the posts, get the corn, and walk back out."

"This went on for a week or two. Shortly they became very used to walking into the clearing, getting the free corn, and walking back out through the fence posts."

"The next step was to put one rail down at the bottom. I also left a few openings, so that the older, fatter pigs could walk through the openings and the younger pigs could easily jump over just one rail."

"After all, it was no real threat to their freedom or independence. They could always jump over the rail and flee in any direction at any time."

"Now I decided that I wouldn't feed them every day. I began to feed them every other day."

"On the days I didn't feed them the pigs still gathered in the clearing. They squealed, and they grunted, and they begged and pleaded with me to feed them."

"But I only fed them every other day. And I put a second rail around the posts."

"Now the pigs became more and more desperate for food. Because now they were no longer used to going out and digging their own roots and finding their own food. They now needed me. They needed my corn every other day."

"So I trained them that I would feed them every day if they came in through a gate. And I put up a third rail around the fence."

"But it was still no great threat to their freedom, because there were several gates and they could run in and out at will."

"Finally I put up the fourth rail."

"Then I closed all the gates but one, and I fed them very, very well."

"Yesterday I closed the last gate. And today I need you to help me take these pigs to market."

-- end of story --

Moral: The price of free corn may be our liberty!
"Federal welfare, in its myriad forms, has reduced not only individuals to a state of dependency. State and local governments are also on the fast track to elimination, due to their functions being subverted by the command and control structures of federal 'revenue sharing' programs. [Within the story] if you use [the words] federal handouts in place of corn and [the words] people in place of the pigs - how close are the American people to having the final rail put in place?"
"Just say NO to federal corn. The bacon you save may be your own."

'Twas a dangerous cliff, as they freely confessed,
Though to walk near its crest was so pleasant;
But over its terrible edge there had slipped
A duke and full many a peasant.
So the people said something would have to be done,
But their projects did not at all tally;
Some said, "Put a fence 'round the edge of the cliff,"
Some, "An ambulance down in the valley."

But the cry for the ambulance carried the day,
For it spread through the neighboring city;
A fence may be useful or not, it is true,
But each heart became full of pity
For those who slipped over the dangerous cliff;
And the dwellers in highway and alley
Gave pounds and gave pence, not to put up a fence,
But an ambulance down in the valley.

"For the cliff is all right, if you're careful," they said,
"And, if folks even slip and are dropping,
It isn't the slipping that hurts them so much
As the shock down below when they're stopping."
So day after day, as these mishaps occurred,
Quick forth would those rescuers sally
To pick up the victims who fell off the cliff,
With their ambulance down in the valley.

Then an old sage remarked: "It's a marvel to me
That people give far more attention
To repairing results than to stopping the cause,
When they'd much better aim at prevention.
Let us stop at its source all this mischief," cried he,
"Come, neighbors and friends, let us rally;
If the cliff we will fence, we might almost dispense
With the ambulance down in the valley."

"Oh he's a fanatic," the others rejoined,
"Dispense with the ambulance? Never!
He'd dispense with all charities, too, if he could;
No! No! We'll support them forever.
Aren't we picking up folks just as fast as they fall?
And shall this man dictate to us? Shall he?
Why should people of sense stop to put up a fence,
While the ambulance works in the valley?"

But the sensible few, who are practical too,
Will not bear with such nonsense much longer;
They believe that prevention is better than cure,
And their party will soon be the stronger.
Encourage them then, with your purse, voice, and pen,
And while other philanthropists dally,
They will scorn all pretense, and put up a stout fence
On the cliff that hangs over the valley.

Better guide well the young than reclaim them when old,
For the voice of true wisdom is calling.
"To rescue the fallen is good, but 'tis best
To prevent other people from falling."
Better close up the source of temptation and crime
Than deliver from dungeon or galley;
Better put a strong fence 'round the top of the cliff
Than an ambulance down in the valley.

When someone mentions an eagle, what do you think of in your mind?

Many people imagine a big bird, soaring high in the air, with its wings spread out, moving around gracefully with so little effort.

The eagle has very sharp eyes which can see a long distance. When it sees a meal, like a rabbit on the ground, it can come down very fast and grab the animal with its sharp claws.

The eagle is called the king of the birds. It has great strength, super vision and really strong claws.

A story is told of a farmer who found an eagle’s egg. He took it to his chickens and put it in a mother hen's nest.

Soon the egg hatched. The young eagle grew up with all the other chickens. Whatever the chickens did, the eagle also did. He thought he was a chicken, just like them.

Since the chickens could only fly for a short distance, the eagle also learned to fly a short distance. He thought that was what he was supposed to do. So that was all that he thought he could do. And that was all he was able to do.

One day, while pecking for corn on the ground, the eagle saw a bird flying high above him. He was very impressed, and thought it would be neat to fly like that. "Who is that?" he asked the hens around him.

"That’s the eagle, the king of the birds," the hens told him. "Pay no attention to him. He belongs to the sky. We belong to the earth. We are chickens."

So the eagle lived and died a chicken, for that’s what he thought he was.

© Copyright 2009 Charles Kimball