Tag Archives: stupidity

Walls are wise

I’M A FAN OF border walls as long as they are walls to keep people out, not to keep people in, which is like a prison wall.

Do you lock your house doors at night? Sure you do. You don’t want strangers sneaking in while you snooze.

There are already many miles of walls along the southern border of the United States, so Trump’s vow to build a wall was, to a great extent, pure campaign blather.

All nations need to control their borders, and the more successful nations are in particular need of walls. The United States has been very successful, so it definitely needs walls.

Mexico is successful too in comparison with nations to its south, so a high wall along our border with Central America is very advisable. Alas, we have not built that wall.

Some people say walls don’t work, which is silly. After Israel built a wall to  keep out wily Palestinians, the mayhem that Palestinians so love plummeted. Walls work.

The video illustrates beautifully how a nice, high wall along a particularly enticing stretch of the California-Mexico border reduced crime and other problems immensely.

San Diego’s wall works wonders.

Walls are sweet. Around your house. Around your nation.

Man versus beasts

Photo shot April 12, 2017. Almost high noon.

IT’S SPRINGTIME, and the two banes of my life are muscling up in the yard, threats sans mercy. Monster thorns.

On the left is what I imagine is the world’s biggest nopal tree. Perhaps I should notify Guinness. On the right is the bougainvillea that, of the four in the yard, I let fly out of control.*

It’s hardly the biggest in the world, however. Bigger ones abound in my town. They never, ever stop growing.

I inserted myself into the photo to provide perspective. I planted both the beasts when they were tiny tykes.

Click on the photo for a closer look. Yes, the grass is mostly brown due to our being in the dry season. All is dark and dusty. The sky is not dark. It’s blue and beautiful.

The house is off to the left. The pastry kitchen and Nissan carport are off to the right. The sex motel is behind that wall. It’s what appears to be a white stripe. Actually, it’s yellow.

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* The other three I keep firmly under my green thumb.

Grading The Donald

HERE’S HOW I see Trump’s work so far:

  1. Healthcare reform. Grade of D.  Going along with Paul Ryan’s dusting off his crappy, old proposal was a rookie move. Back to the drawing board, Don. Jeez.
  2. Muslim Brotherhood. Grade of F.  Going wishy-washy on the terrorist designation is ridiculous and dangerous. I mean, really. They’re Mohammedans.
  3. Pipelines. Grade of A+.  Opening the Dakota and Keystone pipelines is great. Jobs. Energy. What’s not to like?
  4. Israel. Grade of A+.  Supporting the sole democracy in the Middle East, a place where women walk free, unmasked and heavily armed is the proverbial no-brainer, just the opposite of Weepy Barry’s abominable stance.
  5. Supreme Court. Grade of A+.  Nomination of Neil Gorsuch is excellent. May other nominations be of equal caliber.
  6. Terrorist nations. Grade of A.  Beefing up security regarding visitors from known terror nations is common sense. That hippie judges are blocking it is absurd.
  7. Border wall. Grade of A.  He’ll get an A+ when the wall is complete. All nations should protect their borders.
  8. Federal regulations. Grade of A+.  Trump has ordered that for every new federal regulation, two existing ones must be eliminated. It’s difficult to praise this too much.
  9. Hiring freeze. Grade of A+.  Trump has put a freeze on hiring new civilian federal employees. There are some exceptions. This will slow governmental bloat.
  10. Blocking Hillary. Grade of double-A+.  Keeping the Clintons from returning to the White House may be Trump’s greatest accomplishment of all.

Bonus grade

11. Shock value. Triple-A-Plus.  The Trump presidency has leftists in a state of perpetual horror. You can hardly put a high enough value on that. We’ve never seen their favored epithets of racist and sexist regurgitated so frequently.

Fun times!

Gone, not forgotten

AS LEFTISTS continue to swoon, roll their eyeballs and riot in the streets over the presidency of Donald Trump, let us pause and gaze back at the Barry Obama years.

A tip of the sombrero to The Beltway Times for bringing this video to my attention.

Sweet diversity

ALL YOU need is love. This nutty notion was born in the 1960s with the hippies, and it’s traveled down the years branded into the hearts of the hippies’ children and grandchildren.

The concept’s basic error is that all cultures are of equal value, that people around the world think the same.

The basic error is why so many support open borders, both literally and figuratively.

Open borders in Europe has led to Amsterdam and Sweden and Paris where Mohammedans run amok.

Closer to home, it’s led to places like Dearborn, Michigan, where now live lots of people who want to murder you.

Blame the Beatles. And ignorance.

Poor black folks

LEFTISTS LOVE to scream racist at all contrary opinions.

And they love all black people and know them to be oppressed by whites. Problem is that black folks in America have not been oppressed by whites since around the 1940s.

That’s the early part of the previous century. And then only in some neighborhoods.

Here’s a video by an intelligent woman who will ‘splain to you why so many blacks in America are poor.

Nutshell: It ain’t racism. It ain’t lack of equal opportunity.

It’s bad behavior. It’ll get you every time.

Change of scenery

houston
Where I lived for 15 years. Houston.
street
Where I’ve lived for 17 years.

THE FIRST five years of my life, I resided in the countryside, a farm not far from Sylvester, Georgia.

The latest census puts Sylvester’s population at about 6,000 souls. Lord knows what it was in the late 1940s when I was toddling around there in the dirt.

My current mountaintop pueblo is home to about 80,000 folks, dwarfing the population of Sylvester, but 80,000 is a far cry from the 6 million you’ll find in Houston’s metropolitan area or even the 2 million in the city itself.

Before moving to my mountaintop, Houston was where I lived and worked. I don’t work anymore unless you count pulling weeds and watering veranda potted plants.

I play and relax.

The switch from Houston to this mountaintop pueblo was a drastic move. I’m a big-city boy. And my child bride is a big-city girl. Why are we here?

Lack of communication.

One morning, about two years after constructing and moving into the Hacienda, we were sitting on the veranda in our wicker rockers, talking. We discovered that we’d both have preferred settling in a big city.

How did we not know this? Answer: I assumed she wanted to live here because relatives live here, especially her favorite sister. She assumed I wanted to live here because I was here and had moved here intentionally.

But we never discussed it specifically. Dumb, huh?

Why not sell the Hacienda and move elsewhere? Actually, about that time, I did advertise it online, and got an offer for twice what we had paid to build this place.

But I chickened out because I love our home, and there is a large city nearby, the capital down the mountainside. But, aside from weekly Costco shopping jaunts, we rarely go there.

We’ve become small-city folks. But every time I see a photo of Houston, I sigh. And she likely does the same when we make our twice-a-year visits to Mexico City, which is where she lived when I found her.

But we can stand in the yard on dark nights and see stars from horizon to horizon. And I never heard roosters at dawn or burros anytime in Houston.

Just occasional gunfire.

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(Note: We’ll be home this afternoon from San Miguel de Allende where we fled on Sunday to avoid the worst of Carnival in our hardscrabble neighborhood.)

The yearning biker

AS MENTIONED a time or two in the past, I’ve been hankering for a motorcycle. This hankering started last year, and I wrote about it in the appropriately titled Geezer Dreams.

I came perilously close to buying a bike, but common sense prevailed. I’m no spring chicken, and I’m enjoying life too much to jeopardize it for a few cheap thrills.

The dream still erupts occasionally, and I tamp it down.

I considered Honda, Kawasaki and Suzuki, all of which are sold in Mexico. There are dealers for the three makes down the mountainside in the capital city.

I also seriously considered Italika, which is the largest-selling motorcycle in Mexico. It’s not sold above the border. It does export to a few other Latin American nations.

Italika is 100 percent Mexican in spite of its name, and the bikes are made in a factory in Toluca. You can buy one online, and it’s delivered directly to your front gate.

A crash helmet is included!

You see Italikas everywhere. They don’t make big bikes, just small to what once was considered mid-size. They very recently added a new bike that is their beefiest at 300 cc.

It’s called the Vort-X 300,* and there’s no price yet.

The first motorcycle I ever drove on a regular basis was my Air Force roommate’s 305-cc Honda Hawk.

I barreled it 100 mph down a California freeway one black night, and I wasn’t even drunk, just young and nuts.

Italika bikes are pretty, and I think I would look quite sporty astride one. They are remarkably affordable.

This likely will remain an unfulfilled desire.

But maybe I could start a biker gang, the Gringo Geezers. We could terrorize anthills and roof dogs.

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* In the course of my “extensive research” for this piece, I discovered there is also an Italika Vort-X 650.  It debuted last year. However, it is nowhere to be seen on the Italika website, and it is not made in Toluca. It is made in China, imported, and has a BMW design although BMW plays no part in its manufacture. It’s something of a mystery.