WWH~~ Wake'N'Bake 101: Treats

Ayn Rand's name and ravaged visage keep popping up like turds in the cultural punchbowl that they are. Rand is merely the contemporary configuration of the template for the eternal right-wing/conservative-bourgeois imperative to justify selfishness and rationalize the oppression by the powerful of the powerless. Rand unfailingly delivers to any literary or philosophical enterprise the same delicacy of sentiment and sensibility in her prose which coprophagy bestows on cuisine.

She is epistemically part and parcel with the ancient, cherished, obvious delusional doctrine of the "elect," that wealth directly and perfectly correlates with "virtue." It's perpetual appeal and readership by (actual, or comparative) 15-year-old White boys is thereby guaranteed.

My most persistent memory of the one time I read Atlas Shrugged, at about age 13 or 14, was of a regular boner accompanying ardent descriptions of throbbing, gleaming, pulsing locomotives ploughing ahead, irresistibly, relentlessly, surging into and through steaming, convulsive tunnels....

Whew, I need ANOTHER shower...

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Unsurprisingly to anyone, Dr. Woody agrees: Medicare for ALL would be A WONDERFUL thing, if--big word, that: IF--anybody in or near power actually planned or wanted to actually provide actual health care for USers.

But they don't. They--the Owners, bosses, etc--don't give a runny bucket of snot about you or your health or that of your family. Only the money you represent.

That's right: The Owners and their parasitic toadies and scurrying mininions want average USers to die too poor to pass on any inheritance. The bastards WANT USers to die wholly and totally indebted to the Health Insurance Parasites, doctors and hospitals, so they can plunder the pitiful estates, scoop up any assets, and prevent any possible escape by the heirs from the toils of indenture to the owners and bosses.

It's working like a charm.

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A PARABLE: A Mage in the service of an Emir carelessly let himself be apprehended in flagrante in the ruler's hareem. He was hailed before the Emir forthwith, and immediately pronounced a sentence of death. Then, relenting a bit, as befit a useful servant, the Emir asked his Mage how he would prefer to die.

In reply, the Mage--sensing an opening--beseeched: Lord, give me a year to live, and I shall teach your charger to talk! Should I fail, I will still be at your disposal, to do with a you please. But should I succeed, your Eminence will outshine all under the eye of Allah.

The Emir, a proud and boastful man, beguiled with his own beauty and importance, paused, and pondered...and then agreed. Satraps led the Mage away. At length, one of the Mage's assistants could contain himself no longer.

Sire, you cannot teach a horse to talk!

That, replied he, is as may be...but I have a year, and much may transpire. I may perish, despite. Or the horse may die. Or the Emir might die.

...Or the horse may talk.