A.J. Weberman on Ron Paul

Ed.--This is a pretty good set of personal observations by a Jewish activist on Ron Paul and the people he surrounds himself with. I too stumbled upon Spotlight (a defunct anti-Semitic/right wing extremist paper), speaking for myself in the early 90s, and agree with his conclusion: Ron Paul is an authoritarian fascist and a race baiter, a demagogue, a liar. Paul is a sad reminder of the failings of American Populism just over a century ago too, the fixation on the gold standard-and-all...as well as the baggage of anti-Semitism.

Make no mistake: This man, and more specifically, the people who are his base, are an incredibly dangerous political phenomenon on the American landscape. Worst of all are his Christian Identity connections. His son Rand (named after Ayn Rand) has been put on the SPLC's watch list not long ago, and for good reason. These people are scarier than you think. The scariest part is that there are numbskulls on the left (really arch-conservative flakes) who are being swayed by him out of desperation and a desire for expediency, for immediate change. Yeah, we'd get change alright--an even greater acceleration of the move towards corporate tyranny and a more openly racialist state.

"Ron Paul - The Most Dangerous Nazi in America": http://www.slideshare.net/AJWeberman/ron-paul-the-most-dangerous-nazi-in-america?from=new_upload_email

Postscript: Again, I don't agree with all of Weberman's contentions, historical or otherwise, but the raw data is there. I do agree that Paul is a demagogue, a Christian Identity freak and a corporatist, a bad populist.

"Mr. Smiley" (product review)

PARENTAL WARNING: THIS REVIEW IS RIDDLED WITH SARCASM, SEND-UPS, BELITTLEMENT, AND SCORN FOR EVERYTHING. PROCEED WITH CAUTION...

With my first few tokes I wasn't expecting anything at all.

Not a buzz, certainly not a high, but I was surprised after around seven hits: this comes awfully close to being a lot like a marijuana buzz and high. Let's not get carried away, however. “Mr. Smiley” (which also goes by the monikers "K2" and "spice," among others) is one of those many enigmatic products littering our shelves and lives these days, and like most pharmaceuticals, it doesn't have a seal of approval from the now nearly defunct Food and Drug administration, created at the behest of the public and that communist, President Theodore Roosevelt, who, when he read an article citing slaughterhouse conditions uncovered by writer and muckraker Upton Sinclair (a socialist, say no more! The ignominy! The gall in caring about people and our nation, the temerity!) exclaimed over his breakfast on that fateful day in 1906 that, “I've been poisoned!” and indeed he had, but it was too late and a bad case of the trots was on his agenda for the evening.

Out of the kindness of his own Red heart, for his own Red heart's well-being, he ordered the creation of the communistic FDA. As we all know, life was never the same after that and an economic disaster ensued that reduced things to stone age conditions forever. A calamity of better health, nutrition, working conditions, and lower profits began to ruin America until very, very recently after all the Soviet Jews were run out of the federal bureaucracy on a rail, and replaced with nice people from the industries who merely want to feed us contaminated, ersatz foodstuffs and drugs at hyper-inflated prices. Truly, this has been part of our wonderful way of life...if you're one of the few within the saintly ranks of our Captains of Industry, men who have worked harder than all the sweatshop workers and illegal immigrant slaves combined!

Hype or reality?

Because Mr. Smiley is sold by different names and has evolved in different forms, most states have voted to ban the chemical compounds JWH-018 and JWH-073, synthetic compounds created by a Clemson University researcher to mimic the effects of cannabis on the brain.

According to published reports, the recipe to make those chemical compounds were eventually leaked to chemists in China, who began producing the compound and selling it as a marijuana substitute. By 2008, the synthetic marijuana began arriving on shelves in the United States, where it gained rapidly in popularity.

Because the compound is marketed as incense, it does not require Food and Drug Administration approval for sale and no long-term studies of its use have been completed.

"That's the thing, no one really knows how bad it is," Dieter said. "It may be much ado about nothing, but there's too much that we don't know about it."

It's also not known how popular synthetic marijuana truly is in South Bend. (City not smiling about Mr. Smiley," South Bend Tribune, 05.24.10)

Cry bitter tears for these poor men, brothers and sisters, because it's truly the White man's burden for them to sip champagne on the French Riviera while everyone else toils for them and consumes their toxic products that make our nation what it is: a gastrointestinal nightmare where the water supply is less-and-less safe and about to become privatized along with the air we breathe. Progress, indeed, has its price. But what of the “D” in the FDA, a communistic anagram if ever there was one? Yes, that other naughty word, besides the aforementioned “Jew,” the Satanic-infused word, “drug.” Yes, the FDA is responsible for marijuana still being off the lists as medicinally useful as well as a powerful narcotic, hence its persistence as an effective tool in throwing niggers and spics in prison when times are hard (and whites who "won't get with the program"). Poisoned by the free market?

Yes, haven't we all been after a little over a century later with the wacky-yet-divinely inspired wave of whipped-up sentiment to deregulate almost everything and to head willy-nilly towards the Maoist altar to Ayn Rand and the magazine stand erected to Lenin. Both are not-so-secretly adored by the GOP, secretly by mainstream Democratic leaders. Yes, the cranks have had their generation of fun, but the party's over, and it's time to pay the waiter...but all they have are Euros. What of Mr. Smiley? No, this isn't your grandfather's corn silk or Jimson weed, which you should never, ever smoke if you want to retain your ability to breathe or reason (potentially answering some of the question as to why rural voters shit where they eat) ever again, and besides, crank is for cranks these days.

According to my own eyes, the product has been sold at convenience stores and gas stations in my own part of the Midwest, namely, Northern Indiana and parts of Michigan. How does this product smoke? Very smoothly, I must say, and with an aftertaste that's very similar if not exactly like some decent Mexican weed, the so-so kind they leave for the rest of us and put on a NAFTA-approved semi-trailer bound for desperate potheads who will smoke literally anything to keep their buzz on. Mr. Smiley is made up of (according to the label, so it must be true...) TWO ingredients: “Damiana leaf” and “Mullein leaf extract,” about which I know very little, like high fructose corn syrup, glutemates, and all the other horseshit that manufacturers put into our food supply for reasons that would only make sense to a Soviet bureaucrat. You'll forgive the last contradiction, but this is being written by a product of the American educational system, also patterned after the factory model, so bear with us on this.

First ingredient, Mullein leaf: This is often used as an herbal treatment for asthma! Is it safe? Yes it is, and it is sometimes known to cause a sense of drowsiness, like marijuana, and it's also an expectorant like that Weed of Satan. It's a mild sedative in some people, a common side-effect. It's sold by herbalist outlets in greater quantities than the less-than-an-ounce (one gram) little dispenser that Mr. Smiley comes in. In other words, it's significantly cheaper in larger quantities elsewhere. You can even buy it by-the-pound from Amazon.com.

Second ingredient, Damiana leaf: This is roughly the same deal. You can buy it off the Internet easily, and in quantity for a very low amount of money. Effects? In women, it's allegedly a “natural aphrodisiac,” meaning that it's bullshit and doesn't work at all in that area or most others claimed by those who sell it. Ask a botanist or a pharmacologist. You know: people who are evil communist scientists (the evil "Dr. Yakub" from the Nation of Islam's cosmology) or "fill-in-the-blank" since they have the temerity to be factually correct, trumping one's ego and personal narrative. Interestingly, Damiana lowers blood glucose levels like marijuana does when ingested or smoked, though it's more commonly ingested in tinctures and extracts. It might have psychoactive properties in some people. Sounds like snake oil bullshit, doesn't it?

So, how did “Mr. Smiley” become a “product”? Because some douche-nozzles sat around one day (as most asshole entrepreneurs have in the past in America, and the disease has been exported) trying to figure-out how they could get people to buy something they never wanted, needed, and could buy cheaper and assemble its constituents themselves, and then make a good profit. Take the money and run. There is no product code on the product. There is no address either. There is no Internet address. Yes, “Mr. Smiley” “works,” but you could save yourself a lot of time and money and simply buy its ingredients online for much cheaper, in larger quantities, and put these banal free market crackheads out of business along with the legitimate heat they're getting from the Police. But is it even safe?

Rumors--and that's all that they are so far--are saying that the substance is dangerous. How do they know? That said, I wouldn't advise anyone to buy or smoke it, and I only inhaled enough to see if there was indeed a buzz to be had. There is. Other rumors state that it's being packaged in China, though no evidence is forthcoming on that claim. One thing's certain: by pasting the story all over the Internet, TV, radio, and the like throughout Michiana, every kid in the region who would want to know about the fake drug will now, and they could very well end up finding it, online in one form or another. This has been facilitated by both the local political establishment, the Police, and what's left of the press. Thanks, assholes. Why not just let the kids smoke pot? We know it's not going to hurt them and that the FDA's stance on the substance is a purely political one. Do not taunt Mr. Smiley...

Grade: An “C-” for the fact that it works, and an “F” for them being typical hustler/grifter douche-nozzle fucks.

http://www.southbendtribune.com/article/20100524/News01/5240337/1130

http://www.southbendtribune.com/article/20100519/News01/100519346/0/FRONTPAGE

Why she came to America... (a satire)

"Why? Why did you come here?” they asked her, almost incredulously, but their questions were also mixed with a sense of profound fear and admiration. Some of them quaked in her presence knowing a little of what she was about and less of where she had been. The reporters attending her event wanted to know; they always wanted to know, and usually the most inane details, everything that was beside the point, tangential. She sighed internally and wished she could unleash her media Blitzkrieg (more like the “Schlieffen plan”) now, at this moment. She could hardly bear waiting any longer and felt the craving coming on. Were all paid speaking engagements this grueling? Maybe she could roll everybody after the speech.

This was a tough crowd, descended from European cave dwelling mutants who could detect the faintest scent of blood in the air, real sharps, sharks would cower when they were around. To show any signs of humanity could compromise her overarching philosophical agenda, triggering a genuine Mexican standoff before its time. Surprise was everything. Was her cheater showing? The waiting was killing her, but it was better this way. Had she remembered to tell the help to pack her .9mm with laser sighting and intelligent ammunition along with the sarong, the first editions of Rand, and the collected speeches of Lenin? She had. She chuckled that rednecks believed what she wrote and said when they were all from different worlds, but believe her they did, the rubes. What was most amazing was that these were the people fooling everyone else.

The attendees all looked slick, too slick, in fact, to be human. Some came running. Others were gathered there, the suits, in a peculiar semi-circle, chanting some strange and factually incorrect mantra about Adam Smith; it sounded more like a reunion of the outer heads of the O.T.O. to her, and it grated upon this realization. There are no Secret Chiefs. She knew that the core secret of Western Civilization was that no one was in control. The rest was a myth, but you could have some fun on the way back down into the mire if you played your cards right like the rest of the squalid nihilists. Only the eternal moment and objects mattered, and how useful they were.

Their clothing was of the finest materials, tailored as close to perfection as this life's gonna get, brother. Most were wearing lightweight body armor and held high security clearances because of who they were; 93.7% of them hadn't slept with their wives in over a decade. They were entitled. Their innermost collective secret was that their suits fit so well that you felt naked, and this was very true; they were feeling the love, higher than kites, clutching a staggering variety of mixed, hard drinks and packing powerful narcotics that were illegal for everyone else when she first entered the complex.

Some of them were CEOs, others bankers, and they all agreed that if the public--never mind their underlings and the redneck petit bourgeois--ever knew how truly freewheeling their lifestyles were they might view them as communists and hippies. The reality is, in their own sick, twisted, degenerated, and delusional style, they really were, ensconced in a cocoon of free market self-deceit and a smokescreen for the little people to chew on. The old methods weren't bringing in the dazzling profits anymore, so communism it would be, but just for them. They enjoyed lying to each other and considered it a form of sex. They lied so much that whatever the lie was, it became true on accident most of the time, except that that route was delivering less all of the time. Nothing was real, but they weren't all born liars. Lying requires those first baby steps forward, and these were real monkeys, this lot. The first one is always the hardest, they say, but it gets easier each time...lying that is, not combat kills or the behaviors of people like Ted Bundy, a serial killer who nearly became a Republican congressman from Washington state, a real “ladies man”. The others that got further than Bundy were able to hide the bodies better, with considerable effort, but old habits die hard.

“Why?” another smarmy attendee demanded again.

“Thee ansower ees wary simpal,” she said, and giggled (and snorted) falsely in her Slavic accent, “bud yoo weel haff' to wade for eemportant messaage forst.” Was it a Slavic accent? At times it seemed to waver in-and-out of that and a Germanic inflection. In an instant, a holographic advertisement appeared to fly dramatically out of one of their ears and half of them pondered the effects of the new technology on the human psyche but then wrote it off since questioning it might cost them a promotion down the line. These holograms were creepy because they appeared so real, so solid, as though they even emanated normal ambient sound that all objects make and which we sense almost subliminally. Of course, it wasn't real, but neither were any of their social interactions, so who cared? Not them. Still, they all persisted over why she had come to America.

“Greed?” queried one of the journalists in a dramatic non sequitur that had everyone agog. He was forcibly removed by two men in Chekist-style leather jackets with earpieces and a criminal record that was thicker than the Paris directory or even Department of Homeland Security contractors.

They showed no emotion when they first grabbed him, then dragged his person into a nearby warehouse, never to be seen or heard from again. His person was not pleased, but that was his tough shit. They continued on. They all looked to her with half-earnest yearning: in other words, only because they might get something out of it for free. The expulsions were thrilling, possibly one of the few existentialist realizations they would ever experience in their miserable, gray lives. A few of them were Rotarians, so they knew the drill, understood it's permutations, exalted its psychobabble, and pronounced it “marketable”.

“Sowry, yore juss'goink to haff to wade!” she said with equanimity and a trace of murderous annoyance, but only in her eyes, those windows to the soul, and hers were clouded. Her mind raced, and she beheld a superimposition of her thoughts of the Italian Christian Democrat, Giulio Andreotti--his visage--over the gathered attendees. In an instant, the thought form was gone.

They all waited some more, and in no time, the commercial's message was clear: there was something missing from their lives. Yes, they could feel it, and they all began drinking heavily, which was normal for most of them anyway. Some began breaking-out mainlining-kits, cocaine paraphernalia (including a few rolled-up Franklins), while others began having religious conversions and began quaking, speaking in tongues, and other forms of deviant sexual intercourse disguised through ritual.

“Yoo see, deer ees a rea-son why I haff called yoo heer dis' even-ink.” and she paused dramatically.

“Because 'someone's been murdered?' ” asked one of them, without thinking first. He'd been spotted and tagged as a known heckler at concerts for over three decades and Karma had finally come-a'-knockin'.

“Zer ees now!” she spat back, and the two nondescript men returned, this time grinning. “I'm gonna enjoy dis' one.” said the shorter one, and his fist made instantaneous contact with the journalist, breaking their jaw and his hand. “OK, maybe I'm not going to enjoy this, shit!” and held his hand in the crook of his arm as though he had a sling on it. Both the reporter and the goon were dragged to the warehouse and never seen nor heard from again.

“Wow, she's not fucking around, is she?” said someone in a voice that appeared to be emanating from everywhere and nowhere.

She continued: “Yoo may now ask questshuns.” and they gathered at her feet. She felt nothing but contempt for them, which was appropriate considering her escape from...and what of her actual last name? Why did she change it, and why the specific WASP surname? She'd never tell anyone, not on your life, man. Her thoughts floated to the image of a bottle of Pernod, and she warmed to it.

“Why, then, madam, did you come to these here U-ni-ted States?” asked an 87 year old Rotarian. He was wearing a bandolier over his Armani suit, kept pushing his horn-rimmed glasses back up his nose, and recalled that he needed to pay his American Legion dues for next year.

“Zat ees eazy wun for to ansower. Yoo see, een A'murka, you haff thee right to be wrongk, and eet pays goot too!”

“Is that it?” asked a young woman who had been walking past.

“Da. Zer ees mohr: yoo can say whad the fuck yoo want here too...”

End