You Don’t Say! (Sexism Edition)

05 Sunday Sep 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

America, BLM, feminism, politics, racism, sexism, USA

What are some things you don’t say?

Here are a few that occur to me.

We say, “He won her.”

We don’t often say, “She won him.”

And, when I do hear them, it seems to me it has a definitely different set of connotations. The first statement, “He won her.” Is un-marked. At least for me, I don’t feel I know any more about the person than I did before that statement. But all of the immediate connotations, vague as they are, are positive. He may have won her by a show of strength or competence. Maybe he slew a dragon. Maybe he outwitted all his rivals (notice their implicitly has to be at least one). Maybe he won her by being open and honest or showing how much he cared. It’s all good.

Now, what stories come to my mind when I see, “She won him.” First, to be honest, there is a bit of a double take. Did I read that right? OK, well, sure, that can happen. Probably far more than men realize. What did she do? Did she use deception? And, what about him? Why didn’t he win her? I’m not saying I can’t overcome these connotations.

Notice, I don’t think she did use deception. I don’t have any evidence about that. And there are many other ways to “win” someone. But why does it come to mind? It did not come to mind when I read the first sentence. Yet, I can think of numerous instances where men have used all kinds of deception, not to mention, cruelty, gaslighting, murder, drugs, kidnapping, rape to “win” someone.

It is really an upstream swim not to fall for the bull$hit your culture inculcates into you about age, gender, race, etc.

Do you think there is any practical significance to this?

Let’s consider one recent example. In the “2016” campaign for US President, you may recall that the democrats chose one of the best-qualified candidate in US History on the basis of her intellect, experience, and character. Yet, her opponent, one of the very least qualified in US history on the basis of what he actually accomplished (mainly losing millions of dollars), his character, or his intellect, called her “Crooked Hillary” and it stuck for many people.

You may notice that in the previous paragraph, I put “2016” in scare quotes. Why? Because both sides began the Hilary (or Anti-Hilary) campaign years before 2016. The Republicans realized early on she was their best candidate and attacked her character mercilessly and with zero evidence. Zero. But it worked.

But what if Hillary would have called Donald Trump “Crooked Donald” first? Would that have helped her? No. About 40 % of America, as we now know, would have simply said, “Yeah, so?” They don’t care that he is a tax-evader. They don’t care that he is a pu$$y grabber. They don’t care that he had a fake university or that he defrauded a kid’s cancer charity. They don’t care. It’s what guys do. There’s winners and losers. And a guy’s gotta do what he’s gotta do to win or he’s not really a man. So if he’s stupid, maybe he has to bend a few rules to win. So what. That just makes him street smart. Since he’s a guy, all that is just fine. It’s fine to be a real crook if you’re a guy, but not okay to be untruthfully branded as a crook if you’re a woman.

Gee. That sounds fair.

The thing is this. It isn’t just unfair to Hillary. It was unfair to America. And every time our presumptions trump reality, we all lose. We are all the poorer because we have not made the best decision in accordance with reality but merely comforted ourselves with the lie that we were right all along.

————————————-

Essays on America: Wednesday

Essays on America: My Cousin Bobby

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: What about the butter dish?

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Author Page on Amazon

Organizing the Doltzville Library

27 Thursday May 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

BLM, coup, insurrection, politics, racism, satire, superficiality, USA

“Hey, you guys remember how good air-conditioning felt?” Ted, wiped the copious sweat above his eyes onto the back of his hand. It was immediately replaced by more sweat on his brow.

“Hell, yes,” drawled Mitch. “Thanks for reminding me. You’re a real a-hole, you know?”

“Thanks, Mitch! I appreciate that. It helps me feel cooler when I think of it; that’s all.”

Josh shook his head. “You two quit your jawboning and help me move this stack into the shade. It’ll be cool there.”

Ted snorted. “Not by much. Matt, give us a hand.”

The four walked over to the jumble and grabbed about four or five each and wandered over to the remaining shady corner of the rubble-strewn building that had once been the Doltzville Library. They struggled, but managed to get their bodies onto the painted concrete floor. Mitch struggled the most. Basically, he fell the last foot and a half, lost his balance and spilled his stack into Matt who spilled his stack into Ted who spilled his stack into Josh who spilled his stack onto Mitch’s lap.

“Thanks a lot, you idiot! You dropped your whole frigging stack onto my ball sack!”

“Yeah. Yeah. Like you have one. Let’s get this done so we can get back home for our bourbon ration!” Ted winced and swallowed hard, once again wondering how he had ever ended up with these three dolts sorting books.

He grabbed the closest two tomes and held them up next to each other. It was a tough choice, but the left hand book was definitely a bit more reddish and the one on the right, was a bit more orange. Easy enough choice. He mentally patted himself on the back. But in doing so, he mentally hurt his rotator cuff. He winced but managed to shake off the imagined pain.

Ted picked up two more. Another tough choice. He chewed on his tongue but finally decided the one in his left was more of a pine green while one in his right hand was almost a dark khaki. He glanced around the room. “Hey guys, where the hell is the khaki stack?”

Josh spat on the floor. “Find your own damned stacks, Ted. We have our own work to do.”

Mitch shuffled his stack this way and that way trying to start with the easiest pair. “Screw it,” he muttered under his breath. This is too hard. “Hey guys! Let’s not go too fast. What the hell is that racket?”

The racket grew to an almost deafening roar. Ted covered his ears to try to block out the noise. It didn’t work. Josh squeezed his eyes tight hoping that if he made it dark enough, he wouldn’t notice the noise. That didn’t work. So, he made it even darker by covering his eyes with his hands as well. Still the noise grew in intensity. None of them had heard anything this loud since — since before. It bothered Matt so much he felt nauseated so he quickly used his soiled hands to cover his mouth. Mitch thought it might help to cover up the noise with more noise so he screamed as loud as he could.

Photo by Somchai Kongkamsri on Pexels.com

At long last, the noise abated. Had any of the four actually served in military combat, they might have recognized the noise for what it was — a helicopter landing on the expansive treeless lawn of the Doltzville Library. Once the noise stopped, they didn’t show the least bit of curiosity about what had caused the ruckus and went back to their book sorting task.

Josh’s brows knitted as he struggled with a particularly difficult distinction between a purplish black cover and another one that was more of a blackish purple. Their deliberations were interrupted as the front door of the library swung open. In marched a platoon of heavily armed guards.

The soldiers formed into two parallel lines and stood at attention. The commanding officer strode down the line and over to where the four sprawled on the floor. “What in the name of all that is holy is this mess? This library isn’t in order at all! You were supposed to have been done organizing the books a week ago.” He glanced around the room. “What the holy hell? The books aren’t even in the stacks. Which one of you — gentlemen — is in charge?”

Ted glanced at Mitch who glanced at Josh who glanced at Matt who glanced at Ted. It constituted a Circle of Jerks. But no-one would claim to be in charge. At last the three younger men pointed at Mitch. As though on cue, they said in unison, “He is!”

The colonel walked over and stood in front of Mitch. He put his strong arms beneath Mitch’s forelegs and jerked him upright. The colonel felt a twinge as he did so but nothing registered on his deadpan. “Well?!” Barked the colonel. “What do you have to say for yourself? I’m not a frigging librarian, but these books don’t look organized to me! They certainly aren’t in the stacks, are they?”

Mitch swallowed hard. All these guns made him nervous. He had always wanted lots of guns in the hands of ill-trained malcontents. But not in the hands of trained soldiers.

Well, he consoled himself that he had lied his way out of worse jams than this, so he began to answer with one of his six distraction patterns. “Well, Sir, our orders were to put the books in stacks and this, as you can clearly see, we have done. There are some edge cases we really need more expertise to settle on. Josh here, for instance is trying to decide on whether this book is more of a purplish black or more of a blackish purple.” Then, he added as an afterthought: “Sir!”

“What exactly do you think all those shelves are for?”

Mitch followed the line of the colonel’s hand. “Shelves? For…knickknacks I suppose. My wife collects knickknacks. I’ll bet yours does too.”

The colonel shook his head and muttered inaudibly. “Those are — never mind. You’re extremely behind schedule, but how are you cataloging them? By Dewey Decimal or Library of Congress?”

Josh’s eyebrows shot up incredulously, “Congress has a library?”

The colonel’s eyes darted back to Josh like the mythical Jewish Space Lasers used to light forest fires. Josh looked down and bit his lip, regretting he had said anything.

Ted spoke up. “Sir, is that a trick question? We organized them as they should be organized. By color.”

“What?!” Screamed the colonel. “By color? What the hell is wrong with you people? They’re supposed to be organized by what the book is about — what’s inside. Good Lord, my four year old grand-daughter knows that!”

“But Sir,” objected Matt. “How do we … what do you mean? What a book’s about? What does that even mean?”

“You read the books, decide what each one is about and categorize it. What’s wrong with you people?” The colonel glared at them each in turn, beginning with Matt and ending with Mitch.

Mitch straighten his shirt against his sagging plastron and frowned. “A reed? Like in a clarinet?”

Matt chewed on his lip, savoring the taste as though he were painfully biting the lip of a teenage girl. “Maybe you mean like a reed that grows by a riverbank?”

The colonel strode over to Josh and snatched the blackish purple book out of his hand. (Or, maybe it was the purplish black one). He snapped the book open to a seemingly random page. “Here! Read! Like this.”

The colonel’s strong baritone rang out as he recited the paragraph.

“What made that an interesting situation to discuss for my intro psych class was that it was never the people who actually had the right of way who did the honking and screaming. It was always (so far as we observed) the people who sailed right through the new — and unseen — stop signs! These stop signs were in plain view.”

The colonel stared. Then, he shook his head. “Look here. Here’s a title.” He jabbed his finger on the title to emphasize his point. He did a neat little toss of the book in the air and flipped it a half turn. Then he pointed to the back. Here’s a description of the author. Here’s a summary of the book. You read these to help you decide what the books about. But in all the time you’ve had, you could have read the books cover to cover. Or at least skimmed them. That’s how you categorize it. Not by the color of the cover. I’ve never heard such a stupid thing in my life. Anyway, get your gear.”

The four stared at the colonel and then at each other. But no-one moved. Not until the colonel shouted, “MOVE!”

The four of them grabbed their gear and scrambled onto the bus. The only seats left were at the back, near the toilet. Which stunk.

Once they were under way, Mitch said, “Read. How ridiculous.”

Matt nodded. “I agree. That’s what we did in college. There’s no need to do that now.”

Josh nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Ridiculous. Think how much work it would be to understand what’s inside a book and organize them by what they’re about. It’s absurd. Putin never told us to read.”

Ted added in hushed tones. “Hey, something is going on. Did you guys see the markings on this bus? No confederate flag. No swastika. Not even a bloated orange deer tick. Just an old style American flag. What’s that about?”

That sat in silence for a time.

Ted couldn’t recall the last time he had ridden a bus. Then, it hit him. He had been in high school. Yes, he had read back then, he remembered. In fact, he admitted to himself, he had actually enjoyed it.

But it was hard. Much harder than simply following orders. He looked over at Mitch and whispered, “Do you think our coup could have failed? Is that what’s going on? Otherwise, why the American flag?”

Mitch seemed to retract his head down into the folds of his high-necked sweatshirt and he pulled the hood over his pate.

After getting no response from his co-conspirator, Ted stared out the window. It rained heavily and the windows fogged ever more during their ever-darkening night ride. He liked the fogged windows. It helped him block out his worries as well as the stench of the over-used toilet. The rumble of the wheels gradually lulled him to sleep.

He awoke to the screech of the wet brakes as they pulled up to their final destination. He stared outside. The monochromatic sodium flood lights lent an air of magic and mystery to the black barbed wire atop the high concrete walls of the maximum security prison outside. Still half-asleep, he wondered idly whether someone had made a wrong turn along the way.

Someone had. And that someone was Ted himself.

———————————

My Cousin Bobby

Tales from an American Childhood

Essays on America: Wednesday

The Update Problem

The Invisibility Cloak of Habit

What about the Butter Dish?

You Bet Your Life

A Query on Quislings

The Stopping Rule

Freedom of Speech is Not a License to Kill

Come Back to the Light

The Walkabout Diaries: Racism is Absurd.

25 Thursday Mar 2021

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

BLM, racism

Metaphors for just how absurd Racism is:

I send Stupid Stu to the Store to purchase kidney beans for my chile. He can’t find the kidney beans so instead he comes back with three kidneys from the butcher. “Kidney” and “Kidney beans” according to him, must be closely related because they have the same label.

Handy Handsome Hal and I are hanging a picture. I am holding the picture in place and it’s centered, but when I ask Hal to hand me the hammer, it turns out, the hammer is not in the toolbox. I ask Hal to go into the laundry room and get the hammer hanging there — the one with the wooden handle. Instead, Handy Handsome Hal goes into the kitchen and brings me a wooden spoon. “Here you go!” He says. “It also has a wooden handle.”

Marvelous Marvin has decided that the science and math required are too difficult for him so instead of architecture, he decides to become an artist instead. Here are his first three paintings:

(All three paintings look exactly the same and are entitled: “Proper Shades”)

Marvelous Marvin’s silly sister Silvia has decided to become a composer. Here’s is a short selection from her Second, Sixth, and Seventh symphonies. (Each symphony is exactly the same).

White-noise-sound-20sec-mono-44100Hz.ogg

In our Tennis Tournament, Timmy the Tennis Player and I draw each other as partners. Our opponents, new to both of us, are two lefties. We know nothing else about them — not their records, not their rankings. Timmy comes over to me and says, “It’ll be easy to beat them! I played a lefty once in high school. He hit everything cross court! All we have to do is cover the cross-court angles! When I serve, you’ll never have to worry about him going right up the line. Just poach right away!”

Me: “Well, Timmy, I’ve played against plenty of left-handers and I can assure you that they don’t always hit cross-court! Have you ever watched Nadal?”

Timmy: “Oh, Nadal’s an exception! He’s brilliant! But your typical lefty hits cross-court. They just can’t or won’t hit down the line. I think the fact that the net is higher there throws them off.”

Me: “Why on earth would it be harder for a lefty to hit down the line than a righty?”

Timmy: “I don’t know. I think it probably has something to do with the earth’s rotation. It’s clockwise like being a right hander. It’s the right way. So, the lefty is just unnatural. So they can’t hit down the line. Believe me! I know! I played a left-hander, like I said.”

Me: “Yes, I know Timmy, but I’ve had lots of experience with left-handed players. My brother is left-handed. My son is left-handed and though he doesn’t play tennis, he’s extremely coordinated. He plays musical instruments, draws, juggles — and I’ve watched plenty of left-handed pros on TV. They’re perfectly capable of hitting any shot a righty does.”

Timmy: “You’ll see!”

————————————

Which one of these is different?

Flora the Flubbing Florists says the one in the last one is different. Why? Because it’s a shade darker.

Come on people. Grow up. We’re adult humans, not viruses. We have brains. Let’s use them.

————————————

Essays on America: Labelism

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Life is a Dance

Race-Place-Space-Face

Answers to your Many Questions

Blood Red Blood

The Only Them That Counts is All of Us

https://petersironwood.com/2020/02/26/race-place-space-face/

https://petersironwood.com/2020/04/05/imagine-all-the-people/

https://petersironwood.com/2020/05/24/blood-red-blood/

https://petersironwood.com/2020/06/15/answers-to-your-many-questions/

https://petersironwood.com/2020/11/19/the-tree-of-life/

https://petersironwood.com/2020/07/25/the-only-them-that-counts-is-all-of-us/

https://petersironwood.com/2020/10/26/fascism-leads-to-chaos/

https://petersironwood.com/2020/12/17/bounce/

He is the Very Model of a Modern Consigliere General

29 Wednesday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, politics, story, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

America, Barr, BLM, Corruption, COVID-19, Democracy, Election, pandemic, parody, politics, racism, satire, treason, USA

{Satirical Impressions from the Consigliere General House hearing on July 28th, 2020.}

Gym “I see no child abuse” Jordan: “Let the man answer the question! You brought him here to hear his answers. Let him answer!”

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

House Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “OK, I will ask you again. Did you or did you not discuss with the President where you would deploy storm troopers to suppress the vote in blue states?”

Bilious Barr: “Hmm. Discuss. Discuss. Well, I’m not sure what you mean by ‘discuss’ — there are many kinds of discussions. I don’t think discussing things is a crime. Not in my book. It’s a free country. A country is larger than a state but smaller than a continent. But still a lot bigger than a city. Well. Typically. You see, the Vatican is actually, in many ways, a country. But it is inside the city of Rome. Which is inside the country of Italy. Which is inside the continent of Europe. What was the question again? I know I’ve forgotten and hopefully so has most of the TV audience.”

Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “Did you discuss with the President where you would deploy storm troopers to suppress the vote in blue states.”

Bilious Barr: “Hmm. Is your time up yet? No? Ok, well, in that case, let’s discuss the word discuss. Or did you say ‘debate’? Because ‘discuss’ and ‘debate’ are similar but different.”

Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “I reclaim my time. I ask you a simple question. Yes. Or no. Did you — or did you not discuss with President Trump the deployment of troops to suppress the vote.”

Bilious Barr: “I will not reveal the details of my discussions with the President. I might accidentally reveal important — you know — it could compromise the security of the country. Excuse me. Can I have a five minute break? I really am having trouble keeping a straight face here. Just let me go laugh for five minutes in the rest room and I can come back out here and lie and obfuscate a bit more. And — you know — keep up the “sincerely trying to help” face.

Jerry Nadler: “We’re almost done. You need a break right now?”

Bilious Barr: “Well. Yes. It will seem unseemly to laugh about national security but Jesus H. Christ, you’ve got a traitor in the White House, plain as day. I mean why the … why do you think Putin put him in the White House? So he could learn golf? I can’t talk about national security issues. I really need a break or I am going to fall down on the floor laughing. Trump’s about to be dictator and you are acting like we’re going to be all polite and ask and answer questions. Is your time up yet? Can I have a break? Just five minutes.”

———————- (five minute break. To simulate that break, you could read this short story and return). ——-

Plans for us some GRUsome

—————————————————-

Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “Did you discuss with the President sending troops to suppress the vote in November?”

Bilious Barr: “November of this year? Did we discuss troop deployments in November? No. It’s only July. We haven’t discussed anything in November yet. Did you know that the days of the week are named primarily after pagan gods. I think we should change that. Wednesday, for instance, is much like “Wodin’s Day” or “Odin’s Day.” And yet we have a Christian nation, under the one true God so…”

“Reclaiming my time.”

Photo by Lum3n on Pexels.com

Gym “It wasn’t my kids who were abused” Jordan: “Let the man finish the answer! You ask him a question but you don’t want to hear the answer!”

Person Who Believed in a Democratic Process: “Did you or did you not discuss with President Trump, with regard to the upcoming election in November, deploying troops to suppress the vote?”

Bilious Barr: “Well, that assumes we will have an election. That’s a hypothetical. I don’t really answer about hypotheticals. And I definitely don’t rat out on other traitors in the White House, so I think that pretty much falls outside the scope of the inquiry.”

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Person Who Believed in a Democratic Process: “Did you talk with the President about deploying troops to suppress voter turnout?”

Bilious Barr: “When? Today? I haven’t even seen the President today.”

Person Who Believed in a Democratic Process: “Any time! It doesn’t matter when! Have you had discussions with the President about using troops to suppress voter turnout?”

Bilious Barr: “It’s an election year. So, I’ve been in Cabinet meetings. And in the Cabinet meetings, we naturally discuss what are important problems for the country and how to solve them.”

Democrat: “So what were the topics of important problems to solve? The pandemic? The economy? The Black Lives Matter movement? What?”

Bilious Barr: “Did you know that police shot more white people last year than black people? That’s the score. Only 8 black people needlessly killed and 11 white people! Seems to me, there’s no evidence of racism in this country. Why would you think there is any racism?”

Photo by Lucxama Sylvain on Pexels.com

Democrat: “But… but black people are only 14% of the population!”

Bilious Barr: “That’s exactly my point. Why don’t we pay attention to the other 86%? What about them? The forgotten Americans. The poor, beleaguered white people who never get a break. If black people would just respect the police and not do stupid things like jog, or hang out, or walk out their front doors, or reach for their ID when the police demand to see their ID, or have roommates who own a gun, no-one would get hurt! By the way, have you ever tried to read a book that’s all black? No. I didn’t think so. You can’t even read the words, without the white space around the letters. I’m not prejudiced. I’m just stating facts.”

Democrat: “Let’s return to this question. Did you — or did you not — discuss with the President the deployment of troops or police or whatever to suppress the vote?”

Bilious Barr: “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘whatever’. We certainly did not discuss the deployment of B-36 bombers or any of the carrier groups. But who can say about whether we discussed ‘whatever’? You know – that’s a pretty big category! As I say, we talked about important things. Of course, the most important is the upcoming re-election and how to make sure that the results are secure.”

american flags and pins on white background

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Democrat: “We’re in the middle of a pandemic. There are 150,000 Americans dead. Science says it’s important to wear masks and to socially distance. The best way to let people vote safely would be to let everyone vote by mail. Yet, you’ve said, you’re against it. You claim there’s a chance of voter fraud if we have vote by mail.”

Bilious Barr: “Oh, yes. Substantial risk. Outsized risk. A virtual certainty. You know, other countries could easily print up ballots and forge signatures and the next thing you know, Putin would lose his re-election.”

Democrat: “Putin?”

Bilious Barr: “What about Putin?”

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

Democrat: “You just said ‘Putin would lose his re-election.’”

Bilious Barr: “I never said that.”

Photo by Nikolay Ivanov on Pexels.com

Democrat: “Well, you did just say exactly that.”

Bilious Barr: “Exactly what? What are we talking about? I thought you asked me a question about how wonderful our great President is. He’s saved billions of American lives with his speedy and brilliant actions about the pandemic. OKKK?”

Democrat: “My question is a simple one. Did you and the President discuss using troops or police to suppress the vote?”

Bilious Barr: “I can’t answer the question because I’m not sure what the scope of the question is. Are you asking me about something we might have discussed in a cabinet meeting? Or, just an off-hand conversation? Are you talking about a phone call? If it’s a phone call, are you asking about a secure line or a mobile phone or — you know I have four different phones? And, also I have four different e-mails? My favorite is consigliere@us.gov but are you including e-mail in the scope of the question?”

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Democrat: “I reclaim my time. It’s a very simple question….”

Gym ‘once you’ve covered up for a buddy’s sexual abuse, it’s easy to lie for Trump’ Jordan: “Let him answer the damned question!”

Democrat: “Yes, by all means! Answer the damned question. Have you at any time in any place in any manner discussed using police or troops to suppress voter turnout?”

Bilious Barr: “Turnout as in ballet? My wife’s a big fan. I don’t go very often. But it is amazing how much they can turn….did you know they put their feet parallel to each other but not … but they are pointed 180 degrees from each other. Amazing! I couldn’t do that. Could you?”

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Democrat: “I reclaim my time. Did you discuss with the President using troops to suppress the vote?”

Bilious Barr: “Hmmm. ‘With’ is a problematic word, isn’t it?”

Democrat: “No, not really. Just answer the question.”

Bilious Barr: “So, let’s say, hypothetically, we are discussing important business for America such as launching investigations into the President’s political opponents. And then, a phone call comes in. And it’s a alarmed phone call meaning it’s top priority. So, naturally the President puts it on speaker phone so we can all listen in. And a general on the phone is talking about troops moving in Russia. We hear the word ‘troops’ and then he says, ‘Won’t it be great when black people aren’t allowed to vote any more?’”

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Democrat: “Did he say that?”

“Bilious Barr: “Did he say what?”

Democrat: “Just answer whether you talked with the President about voter suppression and using troops or police to accomplish that!”

Jim “All bullies are cowards” Jordan: “Let him answer the question! I have never in my 355 years as Congressman ever seen anything so rude in all my life. Let the man answer! Let him answer. Let him answer! These proceedings are a farce. A hoax. A fake news. There’s no proof I saw him in the shower doing those things to those boys who probably liked it anyway. They were pals for God’s sake. It’s not like being queer you know. Just because guys get sweaty wrestling and then…”

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

Jerry Nadler: “You are out of order. You are not recognized. The witness will answer the question.”

Bilious Barr: “Thank you. I have been trying to answer for a long time. I was pointing out the substantial irregularities and ambiguities with the word ‘with’ — honestly, we may outlaw that word after Putin’s re-election.”

462C8C26-5000-4E05-8687-CF39C8A0D3CA_1_201_a

Democrat: “You said ‘Putin’ again.”

Bilious Barr: “Don’t be ridiculous. I said no such thing. Anyway, we all call him Vlad the Bad. We never refer to him as Putin in our strategy meetings so I definitely wouldn’t have called Trump ‘Putin.’ You know, secretly, we all have our pet names for Trump. It’s so funny. I wish I could share them but — not now. Of course, we have to be careful he doesn’t overhear us. And, the best part is, Vlad the Bad’s in on it too. He has — well, frankly, his names are the nastiest, but never mind all that.”

Jerry Nadler: “I see our time is up. I’d like to thank the witness for his thorough display of the entire spectrum of lies, deceit, and misdirection. Any last comments from the Consigliere General?”

Bilious Barr: “Nyet. Spasibo.”

—————————————————-

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

At Least he’s Our Monster

———————————————-

Purely Fictional Stories about a Child Sociopath:

Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man

Donnie Visits Granny

Donnie Gets a Hamster

Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon in Spelling

Donnie Boy Plays Soldier Man

Donnie Boy Plays Captain Man

Donnie Gets his name on a Trophy

Donnie Lets his Brother Take the Fall

ANTIFA?

06 Saturday Jun 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, management, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

America, ANTIFA, Democracy, fascism, life, politics, racism, relationships, truth, USA, work

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/twitter-fake-antifa-acount-white-supremacists-removal/

The content of the article corresponds to the URL. This got me to thinking: why has no-one ever asked me to be in ANTIFA or at least send them money?

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I’ve had junk email from all sorts of organizations asking me to join and send them money. Most of them are on the left but I get such stuff from the right as well. I get spam for products and services I’ve never asked for and have no interest in. Spam-friendly e-mail tells me about conferences and journals completely outside my field.

In all this sea of e-mail, I have never once had anyone ask me to join ANTIFA or send them money. I didn’t think we needed an organization dedicated to being against Nazis. I thought our country is anti-fascist. Or, at least it was from 1941 through 2016.

We fought a war. Millions died. We won. The Nazis lost. As well they should. And, in the end, as they surely must. Like cancer, they are incapable of life on their own. The body’s immune system rejects the cancer — usually. If so, then the cancer dies. Sometimes, however, the cancer kills the host. And then it dies anyway. Cancer always loses though sometimes it destroys innocent life along the way.

Cancer always loses in the end.

If you put power as a higher value than truth; if you think “might makes right,” then all you are is a parasite on the cooperation, hard work, good will, and creativity of others — the country around you now, the inventions and productivity increases of those who contributed before you — people inclined to do the best job they could.

You also owe a hell of a lot to the moral position of America in the world. And by “owe” I mean you literally would not have a lot of the stuff you love about your life if it hadn’t been for those people who worked to make American products and services world class.

If fascism replaces democracy in America, many of those good things will disappear. It’s cancer, pure and simple. Such a philosophy of “might makes right” makes nothing. All they can do is steal effectively.

Yeah. Fine. You may hold a gun to a baker’s head and get him to bake you bread. But the quality of that bread will deteriorate over time and the first chance the baker gets, they’ll poison the damned bread.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Even if you’re one of the thieves, you’ll have to look over your shoulder every minute of your pathetic life. You never know who is going to betray you or who made a side deal with whom. You are going to put way more energy into making sure you know who is on whose side and how the winds are shifting and how to kiss your boss’s a$$ most lovingly, and you’ll have almost no energy left over to improve your craft or care for your family. And, whenever the choice comes between explaining to your boss why his idea won’t work and simply keeping your mouth shut, you’ll keep your mouth shut and as a result, productivity will go down, or service will suck, or lives will be lost. Over time, if you value compliance over effectiveness, then eventually, you will have a very ineffective, very compliant workforce. Less and less will get done. Don’t you remember the pictures of East and West Berlin before the wall came down? We don’t have to guess what happens in dictatorial regimes. We know what happens. A very few people live very well and everyone else is much more miserable. It’s no accident. It’s designed that way. You will suffer from fascism. Your family will suffer from fascism.

abstract barbed wire black white black and white

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Speaking of family, since power trumps love at work, you will find yourself being more short-tempered and crueler to your kids and your spouse. At first, you might even think this is cool because you get your own way now by screaming and pounding your fist and if that doesn’t work by pounding the people in your family. And when those kids grow up, they are predisposed toward cruelty, and violence, and a$$-ki$$ery. But you won’t care because torn-apart families that hate each other is just fine with a totalitarian regime. Parents turn in their kids and vice versa. Spouses turn in each other. The fascist state loves that.

Fascism doesn’t want sufficient power in order to get things done. It wants all power because all it wants is power.

Cruelty is the point.

Photo by Thuanny Gantuss on Pexels.com

There is no reason Trump needs to be cruel to people in order to accomplish things. Whether it’s attacking his opponents or chastising his lackeys, he doesn’t name call and attack dead war heroes because he thinks it’s necessary to accomplish something for America. He does it because he loves to be cruel himself and he loves to evoke cruelty in his fans.

And that folks, is a Trumputinistic AmeriKKKa in a nutshell. Nut’s Hell? Needless (?) to say, racism fits right into the Nazi world view. It doesn’t matter what people do, or contribute. All that matters is how much they are “in favor” with the “powers that be.” It fits right in with mistaking a hat slogan such as “Make America Great Again” with — you know — actually making America great again.

Labelism

Meanwhile, in the civilized world, where one’s word still means something (and people value truth, love and contribution more than hatred, death, and power), people are curing diseases; inventing new sources of energy; having fun; loving each other; creating new recipes and dances and games; planting trees and building bridges.

Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

Alas, we don’t want any part of that party! We’re going to stay over here in our dark little corner of the basement and do whatever master says we should do and feed on whatever scraps he throws us.

I don’t think so.

The vast majority of us are still anti-fascist.

Photo by Marlon Schmeiski on Pexels.com

———————————————

Trumpism is a new religion. Now turned to suicide pact/death cult.

You Bet Your Life Are some so enthralled with the entertainment value of the drama, they fail to act in their own interests?

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

A Profound and Utter Failure

Rejecting Adulthood

What about the butter dish? (Think *whether* to defend before thinking *how* to defend)

The Truth Train

Absolute is not just a vodka

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions

The Temperature Gauge (on transparency in government)

Where does your loyalty lie?

You Know (which wolf do you feed)

America

Life is a Dance

Author Page on Amazon

Index to a Pattern Language for Collaboration

Essays on America: Poker Chips

02 Tuesday Jun 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ Comments Off on Essays on America: Poker Chips

Tags

America, Democracy, Dictatorship, life, poem, poetry, prejudice, racism, solidarity, truth, USA

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Oh, the pride, the swelling swell of pride

To be a chosen for the window side

On this long and deadly suicide ride,

This pact of humanity’s genocide!

Photo by j.mt_photography on Pexels.com

Thank God you’re white! You’re white!

It proves you’re bright! You’re bright!

A Poker Chip of Whitest White!

That shows that you will win the fight.

Photo by Thuanny Gantuss on Pexels.com

Poker Chips of Red and Blue

Have nothing whatever to do with you!

You were born perfect – a White Chip too!

And Male to boot! How clever of you!

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

And, if you’re straight, that’s really great!

All will cheer when you find your mate!

If you can’t find, just buy your play date.

If you can’t afford that, just masturbate.

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

If you’re dumb enough to say what’s true,

We may shoot out your eye, your orb of blue.

Turn it into gooey goo. You can’t sue,

Just ‘cause you did as you’re free to do.

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

Be glad you’re a White Chip; they’re the best!

Till the game is over and then, like the rest.

You’ll also be subject to false arrest.

Swept away and put back in the chest.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

How do you like being a Poker Chip, friend?

Red, White, or Blue — all killed in the end.

Our bus careens round another tight bend!

An exciting plunge is what will send

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Us to our cliffside fall of fabulous fame.

At last to extinguish the last of our flame.

There’s no-one left but ourselves to blame.

Do you like “Poker Chip” now for your only name?

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Poker Chip” — doesn’t it have such a nice ring!

We must be grateful for our chance to sing!

The praises of our mad, inept, & orange king!

Putin’s Puppet, Mini-Hitler, Russian quisling!

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He’s out to kill us all, don’t you see?

He’s putting an end to democracy.

Poker Chips: we’ve now no rights nor any dignity.

Regardless of our skin’s chromaticity.

Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

We were just toys to move and check and slay.

He told us so from his very first day.

But you only heard he’d put them away.

You thought Poker Chips White could stay up and play.

Photo by Minervastudio on Pexels.com

That’s not the way it works, dear Poker Chip buddy,

Your thinking’s been muddied by Fuddy-Duddy.

And soon you’ll see we’ll all be sick and bloody,

Look around you! It isn’t Great. It’s cruddy!

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

Take my hand; let’s break boxed greed.

Regardless of color; regardless of creed.

It’s everyone’s time of greatest need.

Stand together. At least, it’s a seed,

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Of what we can do with Red, White, and Blue.

Working as one to get everyone’s due.

Working as one to grow out of this goo,

It’s up to me. And up to you. It’s what we do.

Author Page on Amazon

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

Where does your loyalty lie?

Rejecting Adulthood

My Cousin Bobby

Labelism

A Mere House of Mirror

19 Sunday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, politics, psychology, story, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

bias, Carnival, COVID19, empathy, fiction, Fun House, insight, Mirrors, prejudice, racism, relationships, religion, short story, truth

Chapter One: Mere Mirror

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The hot, humid, cloudless August day offered not the slightest breeze of comfort. The girls had finished their snow cones only three minutes ago, and they already felt the stifling heat. They looked around for some shade. Jean jumped up and down and pointed excitedly at the large wooden structure ahead of them.

“Jean, I don’t want to go in there. I hate Fun Houses.”

“This one’s cool, Wilm. Totally! Outstanding mirrors.”

The sun shimmered on the Rye Playland sidewalks. Sweat beaded on Willamette’s forehead. “Some old pervert’s always trying to grab at you in there.”

Photo by Harm Jakob Tolsma on Pexels.com

Jean nodded and then laughed. “Maybe some cute young guys too. Ever think of that? Come on!”

“I don’t want to be groped by anybody, Jean!”

“No, me either. But, you know we might meet some cute guys. What say, Wilm?”

Willamette half-smiled in surrender. They sauntered over, trying to time their arrival to coincide with any nearby hunks. Sure enough, a couple cute guys were about to get in line behind them when two white trash hillbillies slid in first.

Willamette rolled her eyes, knowing that some stupid skeleton would flash in front of her and make her scream and she told herself she wouldn’t but she always did anyway. She wondered why she had let Jean talk her into this.

This time was no different. She screamed when the skeleton jumped out, just as she knew she would. She cursed at herself for it. Then, she nearly fell flat on her face when they stepped onto the stupid steel rollers. She was about to protest to Jean that she still hated these places. But Jean had disappeared. Willamette could see the house of mirrors around the corner. At least, she thought, this part won’t be scary.

Willamette looked in the first mirror. Her eyes Zombied. In the mirror in front of her stared a horrified old man with pasty white skin and unkempt dirty black hair. What an illusion! She laughed. But the laugh that came out was an old man’s whisky-roughened laugh. Her eyes slowly gazed down at her hands.

Her hands were gone.

In their place were the gnarled fingers of an old man, white skin, blue veins, dirty fingernails.

She screamed.

And, then she screamed at the gravely sound of her own voice.

—————————————-

Chapter Two: Mirror, Mere

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“Come on, y’all’ll enjoy it.”

“Sounds stupid. Ain’t been in a ‘Scare Houses’ since I was twelve.”

“This here one’s great!” Jay-Bob snickered and winked at his buddy, Willard. “’Sides, you can cop a feel.”

Willard’s pale skinny finger fluttered toward the facade. “Looks like the same stupid grinnin’ clown and the same ugly witch as back in ‘Bama.’ What’s so special about this’n?”

“These New York dudes got themselves some whiskey cool mirrors.”

“One’s thang’s for danged sure. These here Ryeland tickets costs ’bout ten times our state fair for the same danged rides.”

“Come on, Willard, give it a go.”

“Fine.” Willard spied two teenage girls joining the line, and sidled in behind them. One had tight slacks but the other wore a loose cotton dress. Didn’t she know about that blast of air? Or, maybe she did. Liked, in fact, showing off her panties. Pink? Black? He wondered to himself.

The dark, the pop-ups, the rollers. Willard’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dark. The youngsters eyes adapted much faster and they immediately sped ahead out of groping range. What’s next? Stupid House of Mirrors. Willard turned the corner. Where the hell was Gene?

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“Screw him,” he muttered aloud and wondered whether he’d be a beanpole or a midget.

He looked in the mirror.

Willard didn’t want anyone else to hear his question so he used a stage whisper — though he had no idea what that term meant.

“What the — ! Gene, how they do that?”

But Gene had disappeared.

Willard blinked again at the cute, black teenage girl gaping at him in the

mirror; blinked; stared down to see skinny black hairless arms and the bluely

sparkled fingernails; screamed in that high girly voice; watched the ample

heaving breasts.

Then he screamed even louder at the sound of his thin soprano voice.

————————————————-

Chapter Three: Mirror, Mirror

“So, how’d we do, Gene?”

“Mmmm. The conditions were there, but no insight. No change. No enlightenment. Frankly, I think we’re in trouble, Will.”

“Drat.”

“Maybe the thing with human beings is…. I don’t know. If they’re too freaked out, they can’t reflect on their own prejudices. In fact, I don’t think they can reflect on anything. They just become scared bunnies.”

“But if they are too comfortable, they never change. They just sit and — whoa! — Gene? What was that kind of trumpet blast sort of noise?”

“What do you think? We’re being called into judgment.”

“Already? Where? Over there? It’s so damned bright!”

“God is light. No surprise there. Hey, we gave it our all.”

“Small comfort, Gene, when we both fry to embers. I can’t see a thing.”

“It’s too bright. There are brilliant lights omnipresently. All places seem to be light, bathed in light, reflecting light. I can’t see where I’m going.”

“All paths lead to the one path.”

“What? Oh, great, we’re about to be fried and you’re waxing philosophical. Not to mention Zen. Wrong religion. What is it about you people?”

“We what people? Black people? Is that what you mean? People of color?”

“Christ, Will, how many millennia have you known me? No, of course I don’t mean because you’re black! I mean, ‘you people’ as in you intuitive types. You have to learn to think things through logically.”

“Excuse me, Gene, but you have to learn to listen to your intuitions! God IS ZEN.”

“COME HITHER!” trumpeted God.

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———————————

Chapter Four: Mere, Mere

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“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re the real black.”

“You’re the real whitey.”

“You’re just a youngster.”

“You’re old.”

“You’re a thievin’ female wench. Give me my body back!”

“You pervert dirty old man! Your body disgusts me!”

“You stole my body!”

“Man! What?! Why on God’s green earth would I covet this ancient body? Why? I had my whole life ahead of me. I hate crappy wrinkled fingers — fatty yucky sides!”

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“Yeah, well I miss my –. Never mind. I liked bein’ a man.”

Photo by Avonne Stalling on Pexels.com

They sat on very separate stumps in an unending forest of stumps. Overhead, the sky shone pale blue. No crows cawed in the distance. No planes vapor-trailed. No faraway cars hummed along the Interstate. They stared into the infinite horizon of flat waveless ocean. They sat silent for a long, long time.

Finally, s/he spoke. “Does it really matter? I mean, here, does it matter?”

“Maybe it don’t. You might have a point.”

They sat for a moment looking out silently at the endless sea.

“Did it ever really matter? Really?”

“Dunno. But we need water. Fer sher. Not sea water. Fresh water.”

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“Check. I’ll search that-away. Yell if you find anything. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Willamette and Willard took ten steps apart; turned back simultaneously, stared, shook their heads in unison and laughed. It can’t be truly said that it was a hearty laugh, or even a pure laugh, but it was a laugh. It was a beginning.

How to find water? If water reflects sky, might not sky reflect water to those with open eyes and open hearts …when human survival depends upon it?

One may hope. One may hope.

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—————————

Essays on America: Labelism

Pattern for Collaboration: Find and Utilize Diversity

America

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: Addictions

28 Friday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

addiction, America, greed, inequality, racism, story

Photo by sergio souza on Pexels.com

“Brad! Glad you made it. A glass of Dom P to celebrate?”

“Great! Nice tie.”

Brad smiled; poured the drink; gestured out the penthouse window. “Should be, Taylor. Two hundred bucks at Bellini’s.”

Glasses clinked. Taylor smiled. “Well, Brad, the market liked your move. Up 4 and 3/8. Not bad.”

“Just the beginning, Taylor. Once we announce the ‘synergies’ between the two companies, we’ll make real money on our options.”

“How many ‘synergies’ are you talking about?”

“At least 50,000 off the payroll,” said Brad, pausing to take another sip. “Machines do most of the Amazon clear-cutting now anyway.”

“Cool. Mary, I take it, will be bidding on a few more Monets?”

“Mary’s ‘on vacation’, Taylor. Put her up in a private place. Good doctors, the right drugs, etc. It’s cheaper than a divorce.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.”

“She found out about Jenny and temporarily lost touch with reality. Even started talked divorce. My doctors are calling it a dissociative disorder. I don’t want any negative publicity to queer our deal. Hopefully, she’ll be back to her senses by Christmas, or she can just stay there. Anyway, are we still on for next Thursday at Pebble Beach?”

“Try to keep me away!” Taylor chuckled.

Taylor and Brad stared into the sparkling streets of Manhattan, laid out before them like attractive derivatives.

“Oh, Christ. Taylor! Look at that. Addicts. I hate that crap. Jewelsananny should clean junkies off of the streets permanently.”

“No kidding. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have your life run by addiction. Those people will do anything to get their drug. Pathetic.”

“Amen.”

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration

Race, Place, Space, Face

26 Wednesday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

love, peace, poem, poetry, race, racism, time

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Space

Allowed the growth of Race.

Race is all about crossing Space
In the shortest Time.

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To save Face,
Many of one Race
Insist they own Space;
Want their own Place.

To win Face,
Someone might fake the Time
It took to cross a Space
And claim a Place
On the winner’s stand and Time,
Their grand Smile
For awhile, so in Style.

Style is a sign of Race,
Of Place,
What kind of Face
Do you want to Grace
What comes into and on your Place?
Your Face?
Your Grace?

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Is there any kind of Reason or Rhyme
To the Time
That we spend trying to Smile —
Trying to use Style
To win Face over Face,
If it means that Life
Is Rife with Strife?

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If there were more Time
And we listened for the Rhyme
Would we finally See
Eternity?
Infinity?
The ultimate futility
Of Racing Race over Race,
Face over Face?

How Odd of God
To give us Life
And then program us to a Life of Strife.
Perhaps the Miller’s Wife
Was right all Along —
The Strong
And stupid “Might Makes Right”
Is just another way of saying: “Fight Fakes Sight.”
For if we could truly See
The Space
The Time
That separates you and Me —

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Is nothing but illusion and a sick Joke
Not worth the Choke
Of atomic Fire
Ruining Desire
Forever and forevermore
(It isn’t worth the bleeding sore).

We could reach our hands Out
Across the Space
And Shout:

“Race
Has gone! We’ve won, we all shall Live!
Place?
We do not care; we all shall Give:
Love to our common planet, our Space.
Love to our common people, our Race.
Love each moment of our common Time,
Echo, echo each to each our common rhyme.
Our common rhyme.”

I think, it’s about Time.
Let’s save this Place!
Let’s forget Race.
Face it, Face
Is a Race that can’t be won;
We’re already one.
We are already One.

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We can pull and we can Push;
We can blow ourselves to Mush —
But the fact remains that we are One
So whoever wins hasn’t truly Won.
They are only has-been nth Place.
We are all the Human Race,
And we all share this little Space.

Listen to the echo of our common Rhyme
Let’s use Love — Love to fill our common Time.

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———————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration

Finding the Mustard

12 Monday Aug 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

environment, experiment, Feedback, learning, life, politics, racism, truth

{A departure from the Myths of the Veritas, this is just some thoughts while making dinner}

MustardJar

To the best of my ability, this is the view I had when I was poaching salmon for dinner tonight and realized I had almost forgotten the mustard. I spied it immediately.

Then, (while using the mustard) I began to ponder a blog post from a few weeks ago on the importance of making sure that you looked for “the whole enchilada.” But just now, I relied on a small number of cues and it all worked out fine. What’s the difference?

The difference is that I am looking in my refrigerator for something that I know I have. Even in a large grocery store, there are a limited number of products in jars. But in my fridge? Very few. And, let’s face it; much of modern life is like this. We spend time at work, at home, at the gym, on our commute and we are on familiar ground. We see familiar things. We talk to familiar people. So, all these little algorithms we develop *work* pretty well most of the time.

But — they do not work very well at all if applied to *new* situations, or *new* places, or *new* knowledge or *new* people. If I were to find myself looking in the refrigerator in Italy or Malaysia and relied on the exact same cues, it would be far less likely to work!

It isn’t so much that these little algorithms or pattern recognitions don’t work. They don’t. But so what? The problem comes when we *assume* or even *insist* that they still work. Mostly, they don’t. So, when you are in different situations, you need to slow down and search & ask for help & think & test. And, if you do, it’s mostly all OK.

But if you insist that your knowledge *should* work in situations where it does not…you are going to make yourself uncomfortable much more than you need to.

Quite apart from the unfairness that xenophobia wreaks upon “others”, it is sad to me that it prevents so much that is interesting and wonderful about living in the 21st century. We have this *astounding* and *amazing* opportunity to learn from a thousand cultures and peoples. Instead, we are ignoring them, or destroying them, or sometimes incorporating a useful piece of technology.

Left to their own devices, people from different places, cultures, races, etc. can generally work it out. But if a rabble rouser preys on your feelings of discomfort and helps you focus on it, they destroy that natural accommodation and mutual learning. Of course, they are doing it to gain power over you, and they don’t care that they are blinding you to a cornucopia of possibilities.

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Once the flames of hatred are sufficiently fanned, you will never be able to see that “other” as a human being who is fundamentally just like you, but whose ancestors and cultures learned different skills and customs in order to survive. You will never see all that you can learn from each other. You will never see that you have been manipulated into fearing, and hating, and even killing so that someone else can become richer, or more powerful, or be able to flout laws that they don’t like. And that is a very sad thing.

Myths of the Veritas: Book One

Myths of the Veritas: Book Two

Myths of the Veritas: Diversity as a Testament to Our Success as a Species

The Whole Enchilada

Author Page on Amazon

petersironwood

~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

Tag Archives: racism

You Don’t Say! (Sexism Edition)

Organizing the Doltzville Library

The Walkabout Diaries: Racism is Absurd.

He is the Very Model of a Modern Consigliere General

ANTIFA?

Essays on America: Poker Chips

A Mere House of Mirror

Essays on America: Addictions

Race, Place, Space, Face

Finding the Mustard