We are NOT a divided country !

We are a country controlled by Right-Wing Conservative Billionaires' MONEY! Vast amounts of it. In street terms, which may be offensive to nerds, we are fucked!

The problem is that the Republican Party of "Born Again MAGA Juvenile Delinquents" sucks at that fountain of GREED for their daily substance. And, Man are they getting FAT, Jack!

Republicans are addicted to CORRUPTION, stupidity and Fox TV Network FAKE NEWS for their "free TV publicity, and don't give a damn if they are hurting their constituents. Their ONLY goal is to stay in elected office by kissing the rings of billionaires. 

Oh, yes there are others; Independents and Democrats that indulge, too. But lately, they have been cut off for the most part, except for Senators Sinema and Manchin, "Turn Coats" in full public view, who longer pretend that they are loyal democrats, or to their country.

It is all about the "MONEY, HONEY," and they don't give a rat's patootie where it comes from, even if it is Russian, Saudi's, China or any tin-horn dictator.

Republicans at all level of government are getting rich from their elected office.
 
In my view, squinted and colorized by 8 decades of decadence, I have witnessed our nation change at the grassroots level, not always for good. Since Nixon it has turned into a handbag, probably a "Knock Off" from Communist China, sold on the streets of Mur-ri-KKK-a by illegals, taking good jobs from our recently released felons.

I was born, if you wanted to call it that, during Winter of FDR's last three years in office.

I slid out at a salute, according to my eldest sister Edith, who was 9 at the time, and never got any older. Taller, more attractive, but, like the princess she was then, and now, remained 9 years old. Or, so was informed by one of my many hallucinations, (MTG, aka, "the Hag"). She (MTG) was very fugly-ugly, scary and mean. The 12 other imaginary friends were all great fun.

 Although, I would have preferred to be born during JFKs administration, my mother, an impatient woman, said she couldn't wait that long. So, I had to go with the flow.

"You are coming out of there, now," she allegedly screamed at Nurse Ratchet, which turned her into such a "bi-ot-cha," later in her life, even making her into a late blooming movie star, that Jack Nichols tinkled! 

And, so it was declared on January 18, 1942, the day I squeezed through the birth canal, that I would be ordinary.

It seems like only yesterday. I don't remember any of it, except for that doctor's slap. I have always thought there was something old about that.

I was the only offspring born in a hospital, St. Elizabeth, in Dayton, Ohio (in case someone wants to place a bronze placard commemorating the event. I won't object. Just spell the name correct: Johnnie Roberts", aka "Little Johnnie Jump Up". (Apparently, I was an opinionated child).

My five sisters, and one brother, Jack, were born in cardboard boxes in the cold of Alberta, Minnesota, which was the custom at the time.

I was enthralled by their childhood stories, of the early 1930's during those wonderful days of "The Great Depression", where people got to ride on trains for FREE! I always envied that.

I grew (sort of) into an adolescent under the Truman Administration, instantly turned into a "smart ass," juvenile delinquent. That was the last time anyone ever referred to me as "smart". Short, stubborn, even cute, but never "smart".

After WWII was over, or so I was instructed by Right-Wing Conservative White Nationalists, at the that time, that they wanted to take over the world, and needed a lot of "non-smart" recruits.

I was a High School graduate when Eisenhower stepped down and warned everyone about the "Military-Industrial Complex". Like most people I had no idea what he was talking about.

Apparently, not too many elected folks did either. Now we reap what Ike sowed.

Well, it was the 1950s and everyone wanted to make money, dance the Jitterbug, sing Rock N Roll, smoke "Lucky Strikes," and watch the Ed Sullivan's Show.

Boy, those were the days. Oxford shoes, hoop skirts, "necking".

As a college student, and a fan of JFK in the early 60s, I became a Civil Rights activist, and joined the local NAACP branch of our college. I was one of the six students in the group, and the only white one.

I joined because, since it was a predominantly black university, I figured that I might win some "brownie points" (excuse my pun) with my Afro-American professors, who were referred as "Negro", or "Colored people, while I was called, "Whitey," which I kind of liked because I had kind of a mousey brown hair color, that looked dull.

It was an eye-opening experience. In my H.S. there were only 6 Black students, now in college there were only six pale, white guys, who kept whispering to each other, "What the hell are we doing here?"

My roommate Winthrop Merrideth, The III, was from Allentown Pa., from a wealthy family. When I asked him privately, why he was here, he said, "I was kidnapped!"

I never knew it was a joke until I graduated. I despised him ever since, and used his name as the flounder of Eat the Press Do Not Read It, in case I got busted for something I said or wrote. He was going to jail as the fall guy.

My mantra was "Fool Me Four Years in a Row", I will be fooled for four years. It has hurt every day since then. 

I switched roommates immediately.

After a year and a half, my new roommate, Don Jonson was a poet, a writer, and an intellectual.

We felt that we had mastered this thing called "college," dropped out, we wanted to experience the real world. You know the cold, hungry, real world of hopes and dreams and hitch hiking, reading books, writing poetry, and looking for pussy. We hitched hiked to Greenwich Village and got a new kind of education. It was fun, exciting, and unbelievably alive with artists, musicians, sculptors, comedians, writers, poets and coffee clubs where everyone performed, except me, of course. I wanted to, but, was too intimidated to try it.

I worked at the "Gaslight Cafe" on MacDougal Street, and Don got a job around the corner, "Bleaker Streets".

After our clubs closed around midnight, we hung out in the afterhours beatnik joints, where emerging musicians jammed all night, poets performed, singer, dancers and artists did their thing, while I pondered "what is my thing?"
 I followed my idol, Timothy Leary's mantra, during the   Summer of Love,  "Drop Out - Turned On," there upon, set upon a decade-long journey from Ohio to Texas, to New York City, New Jersey, Canada, the Greenwich Village, to backpacking throughout Europe, always searching for something...but, I never knew what.

I was somewhat relieved, when I got sober, and a little optimistic when Gerald Ford (R. Mi.) ascended to the crown; hopeful that perhaps there was an opportunity for my country, and me, to move forward, only to be set back by Carter's naivete! I would never play poker with that man.

I was impressed with Carter's intentions, deeply saddened by his dependence on his old back-hills, back-woods, Evangelical, bible-thumping, "Talkin-In-Tongues, Evil is all Around Us", especially if you are not one of them theology.

"Jimmy" was known as a micro-manager who worked his peanut farm in Georgia very successfully. Once he entered politics it created problems when he became governor and a disaster, as President! So, once again, I said, "to Hell, with Jimmy," and dropped out again.  All my life I have been a drop out.

Like so many of my Lesbian/Gay, Beatnik/Hippie-Drop Out- Delusional-Young-Americans, in their early 20s, just beginning to feel their "oats", I plunged into despair driven, I assumed by all of the internal and external mess bombarding the world, and horrified, stunned by Carter's disastrous rescue attempt in Iran.

Little did it occur to me that the alcohol, drugs, coke, "Mary-Jane", LSD, wanton, wild-sex episodes had anything to do with my profound depression.

It was first diagnosed in the Army by a psychiatric aide who had a tendency to rub my thigh as he spoke to me. 

I thought it was some kind of New Wave, Hippy Medical Treatment. But, when he wanted to stick his dick in my mouth, I was compelled to tell him, "I am not gay, but thanks for the offer."

He gave me a prescription for a mild medicine that seemed to calm me down, and, ceased the endless mind ramblings, constant thoughts of sex. 

I tore off the part of the prescription that had his name, address, and phone number and tossed it in the trash can, as I filled the prescription in town, at an "uptown pharmacy".

"Oh, I see, you are one of Jimmy John's patients," I heard a sexy female voice say.

Stunned, I turned around miffed. There was no way in Hades did I want anyone to associate me with Jimmy John.

She was reading the part that I tore off. 

"I beg your pardon," I said, about to give her a piece of my mind which was starting to simmer. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw her "rack", incredible, delicious, big bust and long, long cleavage, hypnotized me.

"He's a 'Hoot'! I just love that guy. I am Amanda. You must be in the Army, Fort Sam Houston", she smiled mischievously. 

"Yeah, quite a Hoot", I replied, having no idea what a "hoot" meant in Texas. She leaned in towards me, and whispered in my ear, "I'm a gay lesbian that likes men, too", she winked, and smiled giving me a full view of those luscious tits.

She explained that she was an active member of the San Antonio Little Theater, an attractive "bon vivant", and knew every exclusive gay/swinger's bar/club in town.

I was impressed, erect, and on fire.

She was more than "Hot", sizzling. My mind stopped, only my body was conscious.

I was going wherever she went from that moment on, regardless of the cost.

"It was fun, exciting, and adventurous, especially since I had just received orders to deploy to Vietnam in one month.

For the first six months in   'Nam,   all I could think about was our month-long, nightly dives into debauchery. Weekends soaking up sensuality, group sex, orgies, parties, booze, and drugs lost in a haze of unending pleasure.

"Thank you, GOD", I said to myself. "If I am killed in Vietnam, I won't regret a moment of it." 

"There must be a Divine Being!" I thought as I drooled over the creamy white, tantalizing paradise staring up at me with a smile, a wink, an allure that I have never endured before.

She was my fantasy, and I bumped into her in a Pharmacy, while I filled my prescription, and instantaneously canvassed every shelf in the store like a super ceiling magnifier sweeping the place in an instant.

My mind finally clicked "On", cataloging the available protections, medicines, and anything necessary for a once in a lifetime, "Walk Through the Wild-Wildside of...   Tex-Ass   "!

I was schooled that's what the swinging, under 30,   gay-straight,   sensual bohemian, lascivious, lustful, voluptuous theater crowd preferred to call their "Up Tight, Conservative, Right-Wing state."

They could have called it "HELL, Purgatory, Satan's Liar", I was ready for debauchery. In fact, I had been studying it all through my teens, and early 20s.

"Where is that damn place", I often mused?

I was going, regardless of the consequences. It sounded like "Paradise", to me, a young horny man! 

"I'm from Virginia, named after the 'Virgin Queen'," she rubbed my forearm, rushed me out of the store, and jumped into my "ride". I was about to take one of the most sensational rides of my life.

"Some parts of Texas", she said, as I watched her creamy white breasts rise and fall with each word she uttered.

"Tex-Ass can be a cold, cold-hearted A-hole bore, dripping with over-ripe, no-nonsense senseless angry, twisted, mean Texan Confederates decked out in cowboy garb, cowboy hats, blue jeans, and, of course, the mandatory cowboy boots and the required brass buckle to hold all the bull shit in place.

 At about that time, the bestseller, "The Joy of Sex" was selling like hotcakes. Sexy books like "Lolita", "Summer of Love", by Anne Jones, and Leary's "The Psychedelic Experience "tantalized" young minds.

Sex, freedom, rock & roll, and heavy doses of hedonism replaced the vision of "a white picket fence, a decent job, family values, church on Sundays!"

It became "Roman-styled Dionysian Frenzy"; dance and music, the removal of all inhibitions, and social restraints, a celebration of the solstices with wine, lust, and a return to nature.

A devilish, delightful send-off to Vietnam in 1965.



In Vietnam, after work, a group of us gathered to regal each other with our "sexual conquests, since we were isolated, locked in, many of my cohorts worked underground in an air-conditioned structure, as large as a football field, undetected from the ground level, and bomb proof.

We were assigned to the 8th RRU. Underground it looked like a super-secret intelligence in the pentagon. Teletyped clicking 24/7/365. Geeks huddled over their cubicles, focused, silent, and involved in a myriad of tasks that provided Intel to the commanders in the field and to the General in Washington, Langley, the Pentagon, and the Whitehouse.

On the other hand, I was stationed above ground in the Colonel's HQ office, typing, filing, and retyping (I was a bad typist) from 8-5 pm. 

It was an interesting place, a safe place to work. We were surrounded by a company of marines as our first line of defense, a forty-foot-wide minefield that encircled the compound, machine turrets, and concrete bunkers in every corner. 

Tanks, Rangers, and the Australian were only 12 clicks, or so away. Air defense could be called in quickly if needed. No one was going to breach the perimeter unless they came through the front gate, which they did.

Our unit, the 8th RRU, Phu Bai, near the old capital, Hue, was a cushy assignment, not much different than being back home in the states, at a large military complex. 

The French had occupied this compound prior to the US and we inherited several bricked, stucco buildings as well as some of their luxuries.  Local Vietnamese peasant/workers tasked to make the beds, clean the barracks, sweep the walkway, trim the vegetation, shine officers' boots, press their starched camouflaged uniforms, put clothing away in their closets, cut their hair, but not their throats, as one attempted to do before subdued. That closed the barbershop.

I mentioned to our commander that I had noticed that the wrinkled, old peasants that cleaned the officers' quarter seemed to be getting younger, cleaner, and more professional.

They were too well-dressed clean cut, and attentive more like North Vietnamese officers, or saboteurs.

I walked by them on my way to HQ, looked to my left, and got an eerie feeling, as I stared at the workers who were outside of the officer's quarters, one looked up at me. He seemed to be the leader, stared back, then smiled and waved, as if to say, "Hello".

A worrisome cloud hung over me, like that cloud in comic books with the doom and rain cloud over the poor sap's head. 

After lunch, I got up the courage to tell the Colonel what I saw, and the feeling that I had that they were not here to do house cleaning.

I like the colonel. I respected him. He joined the Army when during WWII, was a high school dropout. After the war, he stayed in the army got his GED, went on to get his Bachelor's Degree, completed Officer's Training School, and went on to get a Masters and a Ph.D.

He was bright, likable, easy to get along with, and someone I would have followed willingly into combat. I had a special relationship with him and was privileged to walk into his office if it was needed.

He got me a part-time job in the officer bar in the evening because I could make his drink, the way he likes it, and no one else, for some odd reason, could. 

By then, I had completed two years of college at Central State College, a predominantly Black/Negro institution of higher education, located in Wilberforce, Ohio. I was recruited because I was white and got a partial scholarship, with a work-study position that put a little cash in   me   (Welsh) pockets. It was fantastic, at times, unnerving to others, and certainly eye-opening, educational, and inspiring, with great opportunities laid out ahead of me. 

I, like the base commander, dropped out of college to join the service. Once I got my permanent assignment, I look classes at St. Marry's and San Antonio College.

We had that link in common.

At sunset that night the PFC set up the film screen, projector, and about 40 folding chairs on the paved entrance road adjacent to the officers' quarters.

It was "Lawrence of Arabia", a statewide hit in color, starring Peter O'Toole. He was, "Hoot," too, I surmised as the film played. I was lost in it, the costumes, acting, location, and story. I was enthralled 45 minutes into the screening a large blast exploded in the officers' quarters. Fortunately, not many were hurt. Most were at the officer's club drinking and watching porn.

Instantly, everyone seated in front of me jumped up and vanished.

I asked the last straggler, "What happened?"

"Someone set off a C-4 explosion in the officer's trailers," he said nonchalantly, walking in that direction. The smoke was rising, but nothing was burning, so I sat back down and finished the film.

I did my part, I told the base commander what I had seen, and felt.

The commander listened patiently, then said, "I look into it."

There were no gunshots, I looked at my watch, and knew where he was at that precise moment. I could have cared where the rest of the pricks, and nerds were, sat back, and enjoyed the rest of the film.

Oddly, I was caught up in the film, and when the first reel wrapped around itself, I calmly walked toward the barracks nodding my head and thinking: "Yeap, Peter is a 'Hoot'. He sure as Hell is a good actor, though."

Let me get back to my narrative:

Although, an avowed Humanist, Atheist, and Civil Rights Advocate, I thought "Jimmy" should have bombed the swelling, chanting "Death to Americans", the armed crowd of pro-violence thongs, as they stormed the American Embassy, in Tehran.

Jimmy Carter had good intentions, but poor instincts, in my view, twisted by the decades-long uproars (JFK, MLK, BOBBIE KENNEDY assassinations, Mafia Dons as popular as R & R stars). I, still to this day, do not think that Carter was a good choice for America. But, then, so many others were not, as well.

The country was boiling over in chaos, with a resurgence of the KKK in the South, Civil Rights Marches, the assassination of our president, Black Panthers, Black Muslins, Radicalized Lefties, Chaos, Drugs, "Hippies, Yippie, and Yuppies".

There was little to celebrate. I lost my faith in my country. It was owned by the Military-Industrial Complex, powerful Conservative billionaires, ruled by greedy interests, and prostitution flourished on US soil, as blatantly, and obscene, as it had in Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and Taiwan during the era of the "Vietnamese War," when a small country drove the most powerful militarized country in the world out of their country.

Our nation, indeed, the world suffered through that bloody, dirty War, the government lying, LBJ lying, the CIA under suspicion, J. Edgar Hoover's dresses, the Napalm bombings of children, and families burned to death on foreign soil by American pilots.

Hundreds of thousands of us returned home sickened, confused, and mangled emotionally and physically, not as heroes, but as victims cast off by a robust economy.

50,000+ Americans were estimated KIA, 300,000 were wounded, 3 million Vietnamese killed, and many countries in Indonesia were laid to waste.

For what?

To prevent Communist China from swallowing up Indonesia, grabbing its resources, and squeezing the West out?

When, Carter, the White, Nuclear Physicist, a former governor of Georgia, the man who reported seeing a UFO as he campaigns in Ga., a decent, well-mannered, handsome man with a very cold, ugly wife, a crazed drunken brother, and enough religious Bull Shit to blow up the Universe.

 Yet, I, too, believed in solar panels, as Jimmy Carter did, and federal funds for education (after all, I attended college on the GI Bill). He seemed better than anyone in the corrupted, criminalized growing Republican party, so I voted for him.

I recognized the need for the Environment Movement, saving our planet (warnings by the author of Silent Springs), Civil Rights, Equal Rights, Women's Rights, Gay Rights, Free Speech, and a better, safer, attainable world, not, just a more prosperous, saner, nicer America with less division, peaceful protests, longhair, and a live free hippy lifestyle of "Peace & Love", "Woodstock," smoking pot, peyote, recreational drugs, Yoga, communal living, "Free Love", sandals, flashing peace signs, seeking changes thorough alternative books, music, poetry, action and, searching, searching, seeking, seeking.

When Ronald Reagan ran for public office as governor, I was living in California at the time and was offended at the blistering attacks from "Right-Wing, Angry, Violent Democrats" working stiffs who denigrated Reagan as a "B Movie Star", a "Fraud", "Empty-Headed", former actor They wanted Goldwater, a kick-ass, right-wing, former Airforce pilot.

I graduated with an English Literature Degree with a Minor in Theater, participated in college, community, and street theater productions, formed my own comedy team,   Three Minus One   , and wrote comedy, one-act plays, monologues, and radio & TV ads.

It was always a struggle, filled with unimaginable good-leafed doors. 

I opened a few, mingled for a moment, then mysteriously they slammed in my face, broken heater, with my tail between my legs, my soul sold to the Devil, who does not hold up his end of the deal...completed defeated, penniless, lost.

When Reagan hit the scene, I threw away my sandals, cut my hair, ditched my wardrobe, forgot about performing, the starving artist routine, and jumped head-first into politics at the neighborhood, local, city, state, and federal levels.

The Democrat Party, at that time, and shortly before it was corrupted by Hoffa, The Teamsters, the corrupted Unions, Southern Democrats, and a rising thong of the "Average Man, Women Working Folks", who openly spread racism, hated professionals, beatniks, hippies, East Coast Liberal, Peace/Environmentalists, Anti-Union folks with a bloodlust, similar to today's MAGAS, but not as dumb!

It had been sweltering from the late 50s, simmering for decades in backrooms, bars, union, and factories workers' scuttlebutt, disguised as Conservativism led by some of the richest men in the nation, serious about a change in government by any means necessary. Sound familiar? 

It was near, or during this time, I started my own business, married, understood what I wanted, and found what I had been looking for:  Love, a Home, a Family, and my own business...doing what I loved, what I was good at, what I knew, and it was then, I switch from Independent to Republican.

It was then that I realized that all three political organizations, and perhaps, from the very beginning of time, politics has always been tainted, and strained noble causes with their lust, greed, and the endless quest for POWER.

They organized political organizations, and people, too, have at times been guilty of putting greed ahead of the country, party over morals, and even corruption, money, fame, or power over their nations, families, and even their own best interests

I have been drawn to all three, at one time, or another in my life, and that is how I became aware that cheating, lying, double-dealing, wholesale corruption, deception, and greed are not restricted to one party. The pendulum swings in both directions.

For the past decades, since Nixon, I have observed and sensed that the Republican Party, which has fewer members than the Democrats, modified the "Rules of the Game" to benefit themselves.

Money, especially millions, and billions of tainted dollars can make or break a politician at any level of government.  Who amongst us has never been tempted?

The issue we are currently facing in 2023 is the wholesale addiction to a handful of Right-Wing Conservative Republicans in control of the largest political pot of money aimed at influencing elected officials!

The power that Right-Wing billionaires, like Charles Koch, and Rupert Murdoch, foreign governments, such as our dear friends, Russia, and the Saudis, own, or have a very heavy hand on almost all of our news outlets (Cable, Networks, Newspapers, Podcasts, Social Media (Twitter, Facebook, etc.) and, they control with ironclad purse strings, a vital asset that career politicians are dependent upon to get elected; an inordinate influence of not all, but, arguably, the most media in the United State, and elsewhere.

There is an allure to being in politics. Power, glamor, money, name recognition, and esteem are made available to those who get elected to public office, by "hook or crook," at any level of government.

The difference is only in the amount of laundered money one has access to, and the amount of unfettered power.

We, as a nation, are far from a "perfect nation"! Are we not distant from the Constitution? 

Politicians love to "saw" on that age-old refrain, "We are a Nation of Laws" (except for the ones they find necessary to twist, bend, and even, in some instances, break!

"Money Talks", Honey! Bull Chips fall from compromised politicians like mana from Billionaire's Heaven.

2023 is the year of OBSTRUCTION, according to my "sauce" Steve Bunions (unbathed, and on both feet) explained to me one morning when I was chained to my bed by the Drudge Report, that the "Movers & Shakers" have declared 2023 as the year of a "full-on, press-court year of OBSTRUCTION"! 

"There will be Penalty for not Playing Alone, too", he added as he guzzled down glass after glass of expensive whiskey.

Man, oh Man, do I hate that smell. All I can see is the alcoholic face of my drunken father as he beat my mother while I froze, unable to move, call out, or help for fear.

like it was with the Tax Break for Billionaires & a smidgen of a tax break for the middle class, and working poor!

How else, their consultants advised, are the voters to applaud the Tax Cut Bill proposed by Trump's Republicans in the Senate and Congress and signed by the self-proclaimed "billionaire, Number 45.

"If registered voters don't get a 'taste' of the $30 trillion DOLLAR tax cut for billionaires, they are not going to support the bill and, may even complain to their elected officials to oppose it," stated his "money changers".

And, so it was done...$30+ trillion was given to billionaires that they might create more jobs for Americans. Did that happen?

Or did our billionaires, and millionaires use it to buy back their stock shares so that they might grow richer, with a little help from   "da guv'mint"   ?

"Billionaires breathe MONEY, Honey, not air! That sap is for the common folks, those explained my trusted friend and alter-ego, "Doctored" Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, CEO & FLOUNDER of the "Less Than Prestigious", "Bird Dropping Institute" (a Think Tank for Idiots, no, Idiots, please!)

2023 will not be about policy, Biden's age, the broken border, Ukraine, China, North Korea, Iran, or any global crisis.

It will, as it has been, since Nixon, about which party will gather the most MONEY to control the media, and bends the will of good people to the needs of multi-billionaires.

Have you noticed the quality of elected officials in the Republican Party?

Do you think it is uncanny how the GOP has morphed from brilliant, highly skilled politicians, with dedication, experience, and an understanding of public office to folks like Marjorie Taylor Geene, Lauren Boebert, Paul Gasar, Kevin McCarthy, Ted Cruz, Donald Trump, De Santes, Clarence Thomas, Right-Wing Conservatives Groups, Christians Organizations determined to have their version of religious dogmas inserted in every school, organization, and person in America?

To this observer, here, at the very seldom read blog, "Eat the Press - Do Not Read It," there is a depressing peril that hangs over our heads, but, not as yet, about our necks:

"The proliferation of   Extreme Right-Wing Militias,   added to the "Angry, Hate-Filled Voters" sympathetic to the January 6th insurrectionists," salted with the 35 million indoctrinated MAGA Republicans (exposed 24/7365 to FAKE NEWS, Misinformation, Religious Hypocrisy, Lying, Corruption, and the increasing billions of dollars continuously funneled into politics at every level, unabated) may have a   NEGATIVE   impact on voters leading up to the 2024 Presidential election?

(Or, as Herschel Walker, another hand-picked candidate for Senate by Trump, calls it   "The Erection"   of 2024?"

Fellow NewsTalkers.com, obstruction is not a thoughtful plank in any political party, except, perhaps, Hitler's, Putin's, and every   "wannabe dick-ta-tor's   platform".

The tactic of seating, elected officials with the "prime objective" to obstruct every damn proposal, put forward by a seating president, and approved by the Senate, plays into the callous, cruel hands of a few, aging, super-rich Conservative Republican   "Herods"   , whose sole purpose seems to be RULE at any cost!

One might surmise that   "obstruction"   played a pivotal role in the death of over 1,300,000 American Citizens, who perished from COVID-19.

Who knows the extent of the death toll? 

Did you have friends, family members, or loved ones that died from COVID-19? Obstruction was a factor in that calamity.

Obstruction of one's country by its citizens, elected officials, and greedy billionaires is much more destructive than a pandemic. It weakens our nation in the eyes of our allies and emboldens our ENEMIES.

On January 18th,2023, I turn 81. What do you see for 2023?