The Cheney Bush and the need to trim for Passover

 First I need to explain about my experiences on a particular day in September in the year 2001. It warm, warmer than the few days prior, the sun shone in the bluest sky I had seen in more than a week. Almost cloudless. Birds chirped and darted over Long Island. The day before I had trained out of downtown Manhattan after lunch with my father. He worked for the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, engineering department, 72nd floor Number One World Trade Center. I was going to spend the week at his house. Laying in bed looking at the sky through the tree tops I had been debating how long I could put off getting up to finish writing my screen play, Mangos. Then the phone rang. Cut to the end of the trip, I got to the Brooklyn Bridge with jeans on, barefoot, had my boots with me, still had the house phone and for some reason the remote for the TV. I saw the towers fall, I heard the screams, I tried to get in. I knew some of those first firefighters who knowingly climbed up those stairs to certain death. I was helpless. I went back to the house and waited for the phone to ring. You see, after the first attack the Port Authority knew that was probably a test of the tower's integrity, so they put into place a system of safe houses close to the city but not too close, that people might get to and the main office would call for updates on their people. My fathers house was one of them. They called, I talked to them. They knew who I was. However the first person to call was an engineer, not with the Port Authority, but a young man from the Middle East that my father had sponsored so he could come to America and study engineering. A poor boy with a brilliant mind. A Muslim, and he was scared to death. Not for himself but scared for my father and everybody in the Trade Center. He was the only person I talked to that day that was crying. Citizens from seventeen countries were killed that day, not just Americans. Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus, Atheists, Agnostics and probably a few Satanists. Now for the record, I feel the same towards radical Muslims as I do about the Zionist and the Christian Right. They are all terrorists without exception, and they are all wrong and sick in the head.

The attached link should be read in full by all peoples in all countries, but that is just my opinion. http://dangerousminds.net/comments/dying_vets_fuck_you_letter_to_george_bush_dick_cheney_needs_to_be_read

Did I piss you off? I told you I would.

Greed and the Real Truth behind it (part 2)

Since the middle of the last century a hand full of companies have pursued, through their patented chemical processes, ways to increase their wealth. Despite new technologies and advancements  non renewable energy sources are not only still being pursued, but are being protected by the government via massive tax breaks and funding. Petroleum is and always has been a mass of goo left over from a life form that has been extinct for longer than humans have been on this earth. There are no more sources available for the manufacture of dinosaur goo. Wind and sun we have in abundance, it does not need to be manufactured or bought. This stuff is free. My favorite argument against wind and solar power is about birds and bats. Suddenly the same people who are for spewing massive amounts of toxic chemicals into the water, soil and air are worried about a few hundred birds and bats. Bats can find a tiny insect flying around but not a windmill? I call them windmills because I grew up back when every farm had at least one windmill used to draw water up from the well. Never found any dead birds or bats around them. If these companies spent 10% of the time and money they invest in stopping progress in truly renewable sources of energy into the research and development of them, they would actually increase profits faster. That, however is to them, the dirty sock on the floor. Eventually the wind will stop blowing and the sun will cease to shine, but until then, quit acting like a stupid ten year old and do what has to be done. Pick up the sock before it's too late to go out and play.