THE HARD WAY

     The morning after the election, I went through a range of emotions.  As you can imagine it went something like this; shock, disbelief, fear, anger, and then on to varying degrees of depression.  On the way to work, I even quietly wondered to myself "What's the point of even going?"  For a brief moment I seriously considered turning the truck around, going home, and spending the day playing board games with my kids.  Then I thought, "No, that would make me one of them."  I'm a worker.  I work.  That's what I do.  I'm not ruled by emotions, jumping at every chance to use my feelings as an excuse to get out of doing something less than entertaining.
     With that, I went on to a day of sucking it up, and moving on with my life.  Of coarse, this did not cure my near-crippling depression and nagging sense of impending doom, but I still managed to keep all 18 wheels between the lines without aiming them at the first Prius with an Obama sticker that came into my view.

     For the next three days, I instituted a total media blackout at casa de Roadhouse.  With the exception of non-news oriented shows and channels, I shunned both my TV, and radio.  During my self-imposed exile, it occurred to me that what's happening in our country can be compared to a similar dynamic happening in my own home.
     I have two children, each representing one half of the population.  Despite being part of the same family, and living under the same roof, both have vastly different ways of approaching life...much like our current electorate living in America.
     With one child, I can tell her to not put her toy on the toilet tank because it will probably fall into the bowl.  In most cases, she will examine the likelihood of that, compare it to my warning and put the toy in her room.
     With the other, he will determine that he knows better, ignore my warning, put more toys on the tank, and soon, you can guess who will be fishing for a die-cast John Deere tractor and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure...PRE-flush.  If you guessed "Roadhouse", you win the prize.
     True, it's not my tractor or action figure, and it's not my feelings of regret, shame, and humiliation after the fact, but it is my hand that gets to go elbow-deep into a pool of unmentionable biology in order to fix the problem. 
     The flaw in my analogy is that my son can fall back on his young age and eagerness to be independent as a reasonable excuse for his short-sightedness.  But for Americans of voting age in this country...not so much.  So, though I am not looking "Forward" to it, I realize that there is little I can actually do about the fact that for at least the next four years, we are all going to be fishing for toys in a of bowl of poo.

 
    

THE NEW BUNKER MENTALITY

     For those who care, there are many reasons I haven't blogged for more than a year.  My family is my priority, and how I spend my free time reflects that.  There's been no personal tragedies in my life, and my schedule hasn't changed that much since my last post.  Truth be told, I've just been tired.  After years of shouting in the wilderness, I had decided my family would be better off if I spent more time getting a good night's sleep, and less time trying to save liberals from themselves.  But the pendulum swings on.
     Looking back at the events of 2012, I can't seem to shake this nagging feeling of guilt that I associate with doing nothing as the neighborhood burns to the ground.  Considering my very limited resources, I opted to ease back into the world of political debate.  Curious to see if I still "got it", I figured I would fire some ideological shots over some metaphorical bows over at www.democraticunderground.com and maybe re-light the furnace here at my little right-wing oasis.  Who would have thought that after only two...yes, TWO comments, they would kick me out of their web site.
     Was I insulting?  No.  Was I making threats of any kind?  No.  In fact, I didn't even have a chance to start a polite debate with anyone there.  Not being one to go quietly into the night, I prepared an E-mail response to the site moderator that was meant to illustrate their lack of confidence in their positions, and challenge them to a debate on their own turf.  As I readied my index finger to click the "send" icon, I suddenly remembered who I was dealing with...liberals.
     I thought back to the countless incidents of liberals going off the deep end around the world over the past few decades.  From UAW workers attacking a disabled T.E.A. Party member, to "occupy" activists crapping on police cars, E.L.F. arsonists, Greek rioters, Sierra Club vandals, and even my own personal experiences with our "tolerant" advocates of peace.  
     I decided that people with skin that thin, and so willing to wall themselves into such an easily challenged ideology may not be reasonable enough to be trusted.  Do I know that they would find my address and "try something"?  No.  But like I said, my family is my first priority...so why risk it?
     Besides, I took their reaction to me as a sign of panic, and verification that I do in-fact still "got it".          

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

I've been occasionally checking in on some of the footage of the post-pubescent children who constitute the "occupy Wall Street" mass mooch-ins that are infecting various cities in America this week. Originally, I wasn't planning to dignify them with my valuable typing time, but then I started to wonder...could these human parasites actually survive in the world they want to create? I doubt it.
Let's assume for the sake of discussion that their vague-yet-hilarious demands were met, and suddenly the "rich" were forced to hand over their wealth for equal distribution among those unwilling to work for a living. With profit now off the table, there would be no reason for anyone to continue advances in industries including, but not limited to health care, energy, transportation, security, housing, or even food production. What's the worse that could happen? Right?
Obviously I don't claim to know what such a future would look like in any accurate detail, but logic demands a scenario somewhere between the Great Depression and Orwell's "1984".

Could a person solely dependant on others, live and thrive in a world that would in all likelihood demand resourcefulness, personal motivation, and testicular fortitude? Could this particular brand of riff raff meet those standards? It seems to me that having a personal philosophy that leads you to believe you have some claim or entitlement to other's wealth would make you a pretty successful thief or gang leader in a Road Warrior-esque, post revolution, progressive/anarchistic utopia. Except for one little problem. These over-feminized, hyper-sensitized, vegetarian, latte swillers don't have enough muscle, backbone, or sufficiently thick skin to last a week in the future of their own creation.
In fact, it's more likely that if these "men" were lucky enough to survive the riots, viral epidemics and famine in the early years of lib-topia, they would never be able to escape being gang-raped by marauding bands of motorcycle gangs. After all, a true "progressive" would never carry a gun to protect themselves. And a true "liberal" wouldn't even think of hunting deer for meat. I simply assume that an un-armed, physically weak nineteen year old boy with green hair, "skinny jeans" and a Che Gueverra T-shirt, might be at a slight dis-advantage in the food chain of the future.

Just what does a parasite do when there is no more blood, or no more host? What do those who depend on hand-outs do, when there are no more hand-outs to take? Who do you steal from once you've made everyone poor? Once you kill the cow, where do you get your milk?
Oh well, I've never accused the left of being "forward thinkers". I guess they better just hope that "Bubba the biker" has a gentle side.

DANCING WITH THE FRAUD

One of the bonuses of being a truck driver is that I get to meet a wide cross-section of people every day. Inevitably, this exposes me to many varying opinions relating to any given subject. One such subject has risen in popularity lately with the announcement that Chastity Bono is going to be a contestant on "Dancing With the Stars". As expected, and according to plan, the resulting controversy about her appearance on the show sparked headlines and commentary from pretty much everyone in the media, as well as some of my co-workers.
You can safely assume what some of the more common thoughts on Chastity might be, but the theme I find most interesting comes from the "unsure" crowd. These are your friends or relatives who know that there's something wrong, but can't quite put their finger on it, let alone explain it. Thankfully, I'm here to do the heavy lifting on this one.

The reason there's a problem with Bono's appearance on the show is not so much that she's gay...it's because she's a fraud. The last time I checked, with the exception of actors playing a role, undercover police work, or Halloween costumes, pretending to be something you're not is a form of deception. And also the last time I checked, deception was something that was supposed to be frowned upon. I can assume Bono was the producer's choice because Bernie Madoff is currently...indisposed.
You see, Chastity Bono is no more a man than I'm a seven foot tall black guy. Sure, I could have my skin dyed, or take melanin injections, but would that change the fact that my family tree hails from parts far north of Africa? Does "feeling" like I should have been born a seven foot tall black man justify having femoral extensions implanted into my legs to make me taller? What does it say about the ethics of any doctor who would do such a procedure?
What if I decide that I "feel" like a police officer? Does that give me the power to arrest someone?
There are many accomplices taking part in this fraud. Starting with Chastity, a woman pretending to be a man, then having the audacity to expect and demand that everyone play along. Then, anyone who enabled or played along with the charade. This list includes anyone who refers to her as "him" or "Chaz", and ends with any member of the medical profession who had a hand in the mutilation of her body.

It's very simple folks. You play the hand you're dealt in life. If you're dealt a penis, you live life as a male, because that's what you are. If you're dealt a vagina, you live life as a woman. To do it any other way is to live a lie.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for my NBA tryout.

CURING THE CULTURE

First, I'm not dead, I'm a Dad... and a husband. Since my last post, life has dealt me some interesting hands that have kept me from my blogging duties. Not to worry though, aside from a hale storm/tornado giving our house a good ol' fashioned ass whoop'n, and a work schedule that went into hyper drive at around the same time, everything has been going pretty well at the Roadhouse...house. And thanks to taking the time to research my choice in homeowners insurance policies when I bought our home ten years ago, the storm damage was well covered and since fixed.

I've written often about how being a conservative is not always easy. Let's face it, part of the mass appeal of liberalism is that it requires little in the way of intellect, foresight, reason, or personal ambition. On the flip side, conservatism is based in the idea that an individual is duty bound to pull his/her own weight, handle his or her own problems and do everything in their power to not put themselves in a position where they would need to depend on or mooch off of others. As expected, actually living this philosophy usually means some type of work and/or sacrifice.
Case in point; recently, we had a major problem with Mrs. Roadhouse's car. As opposed to taking it to the dealership, or "certified" mechanic, I opted to fix it myself. After all, that's what a conservative would do. Especially one who actually knows what those things under the hood do.

No do-it-yourself car project would be complete without a trip to ye-old auto parts store. For many shade tree mechanics, a parts store is also a place to socialize and catch up on local gossip. On this day, another local guy came into the shop as I was waiting for my parts. The conversation turned to what new venture he was starting, as he is known to be involved in various different enterprises. He told the guys behind the counter that he was getting into raising honey bees. I was not really paying attention to any of this until he proudly proclaimed that the government was going to give him $1000.00 per hive.
At that moment he had inadvertently pressed my "on" button. I calmly turned to him and said "I think you meant to say that WE are going to give you $1000.00 a hive...right?" as I motioned to everyone in the store. While looking at me as if I just grown a second head, he asked me what I meant. I reminded him that the government can not spend one plug nickel on anything, until it takes it from someone else first. I suggested to him that by rights, everyone in that store would be entitled to some of the honey from the hives we would be helping to finance, and we would be anxiously awaiting our first jar. Un-amused, he took his quarts of oil and left the store.

This incident, coupled with our government's child-like understanding of free market principals and the actual role of government supports my theory that nothing is going to change for the better in America until we break our addiction to Uncle Sam's ever-helping hand being expected to wipe our ever-dependant rear ends.

ARE WE SUPPOSED TO FORGET...?

One of the great things about the Internet, books, magazines and newspapers is that they are a permanent record of opinions, ideas, and things that happened in the past. In recent weeks, I have come tho the conclusion that the Obama administration has either forgotten this, or they are simply to arrogant to care.
After September 11, 2001 I, like many others here in America became fixated on the news and what was happening around the world. Speaking for myself, that hasn't changed. Though I don't watch the news to the extent I did nine years ago, which lead to the FOX NEWS icon being permanently burned into the bottom left corner of my TV screen, I still pay close attention to what's going on out there. And though I don't have the photographic memory of my lovely wife, I do recollect a few things from recent years. One such thing is the war in Iraq.
From nearly day one, the media amplified the talking points of the anti-American left. We were treated to daily doses of screeching pacifists comparing President Bush to Adolph Hitler, and the invasion of Iraq to imperialism. We were told that going to Iraq was going to create more terrorists. We were told that despite the broad coalition of countries who were helping, it was still a "unilateral" invasion. We were told that despite the finding of mass graves, known use of weapons of mass destruction, the invasion of Kuwait, attempted assassination of a sitting President, support of terrorism, and active attempts to acquire nuclear weapons, Saddam Hussein was no threat to the United States.
Flash forward to today and the "whatchamacallit" we're doing in Libya. Don't get me wrong, you will never hear me complain about Mohmar Quadafi being taken out of power...but. Where are the accusations of being "bogged down in a quagmire"? Why no cries of this being an "illegal invasion"? Where is Code Pink and Cindy Sheehan? Who's whining about "exit strategies" now? Where are those ever-pennywise Democrats that were so concerned about cost of the war in Iraq now? Are fighter planes and missiles free now?

Personally, my issue regarding Libya is less about the total and absolute hypocrisy from the left, and more about the apparent "let's see what happens if we do this" approach we seem to be taking there. It's one thing to help the townsfolk fight back against an infamous street gang such as the "Bloods". But what if there was a pretty good chance that most of those "townsfolk" were actually made up of of members of the "Crips", and/or "MS-13"? Imagine being that U.S. fighter pilot who's job it is to take out Quadafi's forces, but you know in the back of your mind that in all likelihood, you're actually helping the Taliban, or Al Queda take over another Middle Eastern country. On top of that, you can also assume that according to our justification for going to Libya, we'll be going to Syria, Yemen, Darfur, and every other totalitarian society on the globe in the next few months as well. After all, it wouldn't be fair to only pick on Libya, when so many other countries treat their people so much worse. Right?
Such moral dilemmas are part of the reason I have so much respect for our military. Following orders that you know are going to bite you in the ass later is just one of many indignities our military are forced to put up with. If it were me in that fighter plane, I think I'd be tempted to just say "screw it" and pull the eject lever. That's the difference between someone serving in the military, and a civilian puke like me.

LOVE THY BULLY

When I sat down this evening in hopes of pounding out a brilliant think-piece about America's latest bout with Libya, I realized immediately that it just wasn't going to happen...at least not tonight. I did make a half-hearted attempt, but putting such massive amounts of hypocrisy, incompetence, and short-sightedness into one article was going to take more time and patience than I happen to have tonight. For now, "ROADHOUSE ON LIBYA" will have to wait. In the meantime, I offer the following substitute.

In recent months, it's been hard to miss the growing trend of anti-bullying messaging in the media and throughout my daughter's school. When President Obama referenced bullying in one of his many "let's talk about this so you won't focus on my total lack of competence" speeches last week, I knew I had to address the topic. And as usual, I will be taking a road less traveled on the issue.
Let's face it, being bullied is no fun. Yes, I do speak from experience. The effect it can have on your dignity and self esteem can be devastating and emotionally crippling. On the other hand, being bullied can be a lesson in life that you will draw on for the rest of your days. The choice is almost always that of the "victim".
As with most problems in life, liberals are under some weird impression that lots of your money, legislation, regulation and public service propaganda campaigns will somehow magically end bullying. Even if bullying could be ended with the wave of a hand, Jedi mind trick style, I think it is in our children's best interest if we take a minute to ask if bullying actually should be stopped.
Consider this. What lesson does a child take away from a scenario where he/she is bullied, and an all-powerful third party steps in and saves the day? Did the child learn self-reliance and the value of knowing how it feels to overcome adversity? No, he/she learned how to be totally dependent on some other person or group, reinforcing and solidifying his/her low self esteem.
Now, what lesson does the same child take away from being allowed or even forced to handle the bully on his/her own terms? Win or lose, the child will never be 40 years old, still living with the regret of not at least trying to stick up for themselves.
Personally, being bullied was probably the most influential factor in shaping my personality to this day. I don't even remember how many months I suffered, fearing my bus ride to middle school because of my bully. Thankfully, I had parents who were wise enough to push me into standing up for myself. So one day, shortly after he started his daily routine of pushing me around, my bully was met with a fist in the face, resulting in his blood on the bus floor. From that day on, he never bothered me, or anyone else on that bus again.
As far away as that day is now, I still reflect back on that particular bus ride whenever I have a challenge to face in my adult life. Call it survival of the fittest, call it natural selection, or call it the school of hard knocks, but my bully has saved my self esteem and maybe even my life many times over in the decades since that encounter. Looking back, I realize that being bullied was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.