Go Big or Go Home


The Many Indifferent and Beautiful Eyes of the City 2018. Acrylic on canvas, 20 x 16″

Yesterday, I stepped out for a late afternoon fast walk while the curry simmered on the stove. This time of year my body distorts with mismanaged fat deposits, and I begin to look and feel as old as I am. Yet no matter how heavy and “blah” I feel, I know that a crisp walk will shake awake my brain, the most youthful piece of me, and jump start ideas in the dark.

I have been doubting the senate run for some time. Doubt is the only weapon used against us, for no one besides collective silence and heated conversations with myself is telling me to bow out. I know I am qualified (the constitution makes that an easy sell), however, I don’t believe that art is the best vehicle for change. Few, if any, “get” the mission of the artist. Henry Miller wrote that the true artist will abandon ship when the time is right. Leave it all behind, about face, do something else, or do nothing else—make sacrifices that the everyday Joe or Juliette finds absurd, even give up all the art, pull a “Rimbaud”, and disappear altogether.

And, I don’t feel like I want to help, viscerally help, people on an individual level. It may be that I am too sensitive. Just knowing the sufferings of one more person could very well send me over the top. Taken as a whole, “the people” are worth it though, as long as there is distance between us. I won’t campaign in a nursing home, for instance, because I spent enough time in several to know that all are underfunded, and some are viciously cruel. I know that I am the right senator to give back to our elderly tenfold of what is presently doled. But I don’t need great grandma and grandpa, nor their kin, to like me. I will do the right thing because I have an artist’s heart, which is mostly big like Santa’s.

Yesterday New York’s DNC chairman called the new democratic gubernatorial candidate an “unqualified lesbian”. That’s the Democratic Party chief organizer of the state, and is expected to be neutral in primary contests. Now, just two days after announcement, the candidate’s kissing choice becomes the news, not her popular progressive agenda.

I’ve had it with politics. I will become senator my way, or the highway, which I am already quite used to. My campaign will not involve the media. It is a corporate cash cow. It lies by omission. Small town papers are better, but enter the trolls, and a good effort to educate ends in a local hotbed of gossip fit for inmates and DNC chairpersons.

Artists must bring people together, and I intend to do it all on my lonesome, except during the petition drive when I hope to get some helpers.

Anyway, the walk. I came up with some economic legislative ideas. I don’t claim future success in turning any of these thoughts into laws. But boy will they make the takers think twice about running for state office on the avarice ticket. My main ambition with this campaign is to get on the ballot as the reform candidate. I want to show that an unsupported nobody with vision and a moral disposition can rise to the occasion. Any occasion, except the obvious ones like surgery and bridge building. Some things need a lifetime of practice to make a difference.

Politics is not one of them.

The following idea was one of several on my fast, four block walk. Taxes pay for people programs. If we nurture our neighbors in neighborhoods how we desire to nurture our own, then great peace will come. However, some sanity and taste must rule the day. And most importantly, taxes must never be pressed on the struggling—that is anyone in New York State who lives check to check. There is so much silly money out there. It’s just a matter of allocation, and harsh prisons for those who evade their civic responsibility of letting the bulk of it “go”.

N.Y. Billionnaire’s tax

A 69% state income tax after federal tax and an addendum to the law mandating billionaire real estate held in New York to be sold with an added 75% seller’s tax. This is a way to show the billionaire that he/she is welcome in New York, yet unrestricted capitalism will take a hard, very deserved hit to the solar plexus. We should all know by now, like our ancestors knew in 1850, that innovation doesn’t come from the super rich. It is born of hard work and time to think. Most any one is able, if he or she is willing.

A quick numbers reminder for those forgetting the difference between “m” in “millionaire”, and “b” in “billionaire”. Any man or woman with a billion dollars to put in a local bank, earning just 1% interest annually, would take a 10 million dollar yearly salary with the principle still intact and then some.

That’s it. That’s easy. None of you or me, even if we became superman turning the earth around with hyper galactic speed, will ever make that kind of money honestly. Neither did nor does the billionaire or billionaire-to-be. New York doesn’t need them. The 48th District doesn’t even know of them. However, New York as one, can find them and tax them down to millionairedom. It’s good enough, and nursing homes wash walls once again.

Remember, remember, vote Throop in November!




Big Russian Bear in Burlington (Again) and Facebook is a Fluff Place of No Account


Democrans and Rebublicrats Restrict Reality to What They Read in Newspapers 2016. Acrylic on panel, 12 x 16″

[Written about a year ago after Facebook-witnessing the enormous outpouring of my neighbor’s historical ignorance and inability to reason. In order to defeat philosophical and political laziness, and likewise Patty Ritchie in the November 2018 election, I will have to persuade Facebook to file for bankruptcy. This will be a most difficult task.]

That’s a bear atop the Burlington Electric Department up in Vermont, where it is cold, like Siberia. This huge Russian bear empties an old honey jug of hydrochloric acid all over the electric grid in order to infiltrate American homes with fake news and pro Donald Trump propaganda. He is also a consummate hypnotist and can manipulate any mind away from reason and rationale into a devoted post neo-con loving, Confederate flag waving, Rudy Giuliani, gaudily over-dressed in endangered animal skins.

This most recent fake news story came from the powerhouse news corporation, The Washington Post. Coupled with the almost declassified intelligence report on election hacking by Russia, it had a huge impact on worldwide media opinion and turned many in my nation, (who by virtue of what I have learned through social psychological research, were already very North Korea lite and vulnerable to government propaganda), into Facebook political hacks. Even some of my intelligent Facebook friends couldn’t leave it alone. “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!” Chicken Littles with very little, or at best, woefully forgotten historical education. It seems the only political triumph sought is the removal, by impeachment or volunteer abdication, of the most recent president-elect. No ideologies are being expressed. No anti-war protest, or reminders of rapid environmental deterioration—all of the bad in the world, many of these Facebookers decree, can only be fixed by the removal of this one man and his sinister lair of cabinet appointees. He is the sole road block to every potential good mankind can promote or achieve. If we rise up collectively to Facebook and Twitter troll him day and night, then surely we can oust him from power, and then all will be right with the world. Our government will cease to be the number one arms dealer to Earth, Inc. The U.S. will immediately sever all connections with insane states of insanity like Saudi Arabia—and we shall get back to the clear-minded and reasonable policies of Barack Obama, and continue where his administration left off, pushing for a trillion dollar nuclear upgrade, bombing the be-Jesus out of poor oil path nations, charging the poor for health insurance, watching helplessly while BP or its equivalent, churns another Gulf of Mexico into a thick crude oil shake.

I am witnessing people use social media to right the world order, when they have never known a right world order, nor are even able to dream of one unless their political enemies are defeated. They can’t or rather, won’t do it themselves. That kind of thinking is crazy, forgetting all the while that both Hitler and Gandhi were small, rather insignificant “themselves” at one time.

If Facebook is to work as a tool for positive change, it needs to replace it’s “Like” thumb with a meet-up link. That is, if you like Jimmy’s post about a beer he drank in Harvard Square, you can arrange for a place to connect with Jimmy (perhaps a pub) and discuss the virtues of that beer and maybe more of its kind. Or, if Jimmy is a staunch, flag-waving Democran or Republicrat, you can forgo the cute little thumb’s up, or the deafening silence of the dreaded “no-thumb” disapproval, or worse yet, the tell-tale non-plussed reaction expressed in comment mocking of your politics, and actually spend an hour or two peacefully assembling with others of like-hope in Jimmy’s house, if he ever can let go of his many internal fears, and actually invite you over sometimes. Nope. Let’s Facebook our politics instead. That is how we can tell revolution is just around the corner. Or, wait a second… Check out this adorable puppy licking that parrot’s eyeball!

Otherwise, and I believe this to be the more likely scenario, Facebook will remain just a cyber hangout for some very nice people, but also quite a few impotent trolls as well, discussing the vices and much less often, the virtues, of each other’s ranky-dank under bridge hideout.

Finally, I’d like to finish with a popular story out of the annals of social psychology research describing the “bystander effect”…

In 1964, a young woman named Catherine Genovese was raped and killed in two separate attacks in Queens, N.Y. After investigation police noted that 38 people had either witnessed the violence or heard Genovese scream, but at no time did anyone make an effort to scare off the attacker, and just one woman called the police. There are many situations like this happening every day. They used to call it cowardice before PC made everyone equally special so long as they possessed a router in their home.

Facebook is by and far the greatest promoter of the bystander effect. And it works a kind of magic on our brain’s sensitive clan approval cortex. Nobody does anything of substance anymore. Or, at least it appears that way. The completion of a published book is liked as well as the latest video of a cat stuffing itself into a flower vase. This summer, thanks to Facebook Live®, I even got to witness with my own eyes an actual murder on the side of the road. I didn’t like it one bit. I left my angry face emoticon for all and sundry to contemplate. I was so mad. I went into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich.

Zuckerberg bets we don’t do a damn thing with our minds and bodies besides twiddle our thumbs and continue to debate news stories we read or see on TV. I think he likes it when some nonconformist fool tips the moderate scales just a wee little bit with a comment about world peace. You should see the bystanders rise up and… comment like the world is about to end. But then Jeopardy is on at 7:00 PM, and the victim probably deserved exactly what she got anyway.

Facebook is a place for mind and do rot.

One last quote, and then Facebook is that embarrassing fluff book I hide away when guests stop by.

I have named the destroyers of nations: comfort, plenty, and security—out of which grow a bored and slothful cynicism, in which rebellion against the world as it is, and myself as I am, are submerged in listless self-satisfaction.

—John Steinbeck (famous non-Facebooker)


Happy Lights Just Treat the Symptoms of CLD: Corrupt Legislature Disorder


For the Man Who Has Everything—A Registered Happy Light! 2017. Acrylic on canvas, 16 x 20″

[This from a few months back when I was running for Congress. Still applies and I am running for State Senate. Ask your fourth estate to work for you. It might change the manner in which you ingest propaganda.]

Watching how our congress people rearrange the crumbs on the house and senate floors (assembly and senate too of my state), it’s no small wonder how we refrain from openly shaming them in the streets.

Does John Katko (NY-24) know the exact amount of tax money it costs his constituents to build, float, maintain and house a naval supercarrier (not counting the unforeseen cost of detonating its cargo and ending life on earth)? Could he break it down, let’s say, in an afternoon, and by evening tweet to the voters the reason why he chooses to aid and support a gigantic relic of obsolete war, and not provide instead the best 24-hour care to our ailing mothers and fathers (with our own money)?  Does the Harry S. Truman truly need a Burger King making whoppers for pimply faced high school underachievers, who cannot with all their concentrated thought power, realize that the first battle they engage in will be the end of the world as we ALL know it? Does Mr. Katko think that our subconscious can ignore the sinister naming of a nuclear warship after the only sentient being ever to order the atomic annihilation of his own species’ babies playing in their cribs?

No. Not at all. Because Mr. Katko does not think. And my local media men and women do not ask him questions to make him think. He can lie about tax reform that he understands no better than you or me, so he can make his $174,000 per annum. Hot damn! That’s some sweet pay to be completely ignorant of economics. Oh well. The media players just want their fair share as well. Someday to reach six figures too, but only if they never ask a question outside the box of what big media tells them to ask.


Heading to 6 Figures With a Registered® Happy Light 2017. Acrylic on canvas, 12 x 12″

I dare for a dollar my local WRVO radio to corner Katko with a simple question:

How much does it cost per annum to operate a nuclear aircraft carrier?

And the potential follow-ups are too many to mention. Even the most sycophantic recent journalism grad could pick from that enormous grab-bag of infinite contradiction.

I believe the only viable answer a swindler in congress should provide is this, verbatim:

“I don’t know. I just don’t know, I have stolen your dignity, your pride, your patriotism, and love of country. I have helped make my nation needy and confused and wanting for Happy Lights® because plain and simple—I just don’t know! But holy Jesus, think of that pension! That glorious six figure pension pay while living out my last days on a socialist’s retirement agenda, always able to afford the doctor, the pills, the surgery, the rent, the car, the club; just anything at all I want or desire. And the Happy Light® shines 24/7 in my Florida room. These days my wife openly despises me, my neighbors talk behind my back, my children and grandchildren burn in the glow of their own sufferings of CLD—Corrupt Legislature Disorder. They never had it as easy as me nor the unnecessary workings of a modern aircraft carrier. I never wanted their bright future. I never wanted anything that I couldn’t have for myself first.”

Hey WRVO—this just in: Your great father station, NPR, is talk radioing about the massive explosion of a munitions ship off the coast of Halifax in 1917. Why ask about the now nuclear-ready Harry S. Truman out on patrol along coastal Virginia plain broiling Armageddon to the denizens of planet earth? Why ask anything ever when you can figure that glorious pension with your eyes closed day after night beside the conscience-clearing Happy Light®?

Throop for Congress in 2018. I’ll take one year’s salary of a two-year term which I will not reapply for. That means no pension at your expense, and the inevitability of smashing my “blue” light to martyrdom! Maybe yours too.

If that isn’t local news WRVO, then you must be the spawn of our crooked politics, and also a sham of the 4th Estate.

Ask the damn questions!


Saint Happy Light, Registered! 2017. Acrylic on luan, 18 x 18″

A Stance on an Issue to Contemplate and Saturday Visit to Exotic Places


“I Saw the Chicken Man at the Arsenal Street Dennys®” Acrylic on canvas, 18 x 24″

145 miles and three towns visited in the 48th District on Saturday. I’m sure it feels very good to get out and meet people; I just haven’t done so yet. Politics should not be thrust in the face of pedestrians and residents living their lives very well I hope without having to find out more about me. Hence, my alternative campaign, and the less people to be needled, the better.

Long live the Internet, and the face I can make up on it without anything hanging out of my nose. I am a painter and somewhat of a writer, but not an orator. Does that mean I can write up a senate bill, or shout out a “yay” or “nay” from my cushy seat in the legislature?

It sure does. I am as capable as any dairy farmer, private attorney, or town clerk. I also give artist talks from time to time, and over the years, have come to like them, somewhat.

And, I ham it up on videos (see one below).

I promised a stance on an issue.

I will vote “yes” on any legislation that brings New York State closer to a single payer, Medicare type system, for everyone.


Well, it won’t be easy getting the permission to take what is already offered by the feds—medicare and medicaid money—and apply that to a single payer system in New York. Washington D.C. is stingy. Supposedly, a waiver is needed. If I was a philosopher king of New York, I’d centrally locate that waiver on a D.C. derriére, and divert funds from NY’s budget to cover all the vulnerable as soon as possible. Or, being King, I’d take the billionaire’s money after 500 million. Graciously, I’d leave them this to play pretend fun on yachts and acquire more bad taste. Health care, short and long term, is a life and death necessity for a whole population. We have waited too long.

I don’t think I’ll be made King of New York in this dimension, so as senator, I would advocate and vote for a government run health care system for all citizens.

There. Now please join me on a brief Saturday trip around a piece of the 48 District.






Thoughts From a Single Payer Campaign


“Old Man Remembering With a Bird on His Head” or “I Got the Moves Like Jagger” 2018. Acrylic on canvas, 16 x 20″

Three days of sound painting, dreaming and planning for an alternative campaign run for state senate. Self-doubt is heavy in the evenings, whereas delusion reigns supreme soon after coffee in the morning. I make it through the day with very little drama in the known dimension, but feel an always unease in the invisible others. On Wednesday my wife and I attended a NY health care forum at SUNY Oswego. We heard from a group of practicing citizens, an economist, and a cardiologist about the single payer bill passed in the Assembly three times, yet still held up by the Senate. Not a person in the room (about 50 attending) supported either the present bad system of “Lord, please gouge your sick serfs until death” insurance companies, nor the record profit accumulation of Big Pharma companies that vow to “treat the symptoms only for a fleet of private planes”.

The local senator and assemblyman were invited, but chose not to attend for fear, most likely, of heavy frowns and rotten fruit bombardment. I shall not go into the crux of the official presentations—all leaned toward a single payer system, that is, a health care plan paid by “us” the government, a simple fact on paper that people often forget. Government is “we the people”.  It cannot be otherwise (at least for long) unless totalitarian, or a complete laughing stock (both scenarios coming to a legislative chamber near you, and quite soon, I’m afraid).

Mr. Assemblyman and Ms. Senator pretend that they are “us” and use the moniker of elections to declare two sides to an important issue, which in the real world is rarely true. For instance, no one wants dirty air, but an elected republican might suggest that the majority wants to overturn a law on mandatory smokestack buffers. Who wants filters removed for more soot to smog the air?

Nobody. Unless somebody is poised to make a gob of money. Therefore it is not a majority opinion that sets bad policy, just minority propaganda from the vested interests who control the traditional parties.

Wedge issues declare which side of the aisle you belong to, so a single issue like gun control can make whole populations of wittingly uninformed peoples vote republican, which, aside from its ideological beginnings and a modest faction of abolitionists, is the big business class, anti-union, pro-corporate supporters of windowless cubicles for serfs to rot away in.

A man in the audience stated in the Q & A afterwards that all matters in the debate boil down to the question of “What kind of a world do we want to live in?”

Yes, exactly!

When the single issue voter votes republican or democrat, it is an active, practicing dereliction to the future. It wasn’t nuclear weapons, crony capitalism, outrageous co-pays that made the proud republican get on a bus to Albany to join a mass protest for the first time. It was that cursed New York Safe Act which spat in the face of psychopaths achieving more firepower in public venues, and he’s mad as hell about it. Hence the bus ride to Albany crying “foul” in the land of the free.

Now republican candidates can care less about guns in the hands of “law-abiding” citizens. Guns are always great so long as there are enough single issue voters to not see the irony of no concealed carry allowed on the floor of the legislature. The republican senator pretends to think she has the god-given right to stroke an AR-15 purring in her lap while that liberal, bed-wetting governor delivers his inevitable “tax and spend” State of the State. Still, she’ll refrain from openly talking too much talk about it, knowing darn well that guns are pretty dangerous anywhere, but more so in houses where differing opinions fly.

The Republican Party is the big business and big lobby party. Period. The present Democratic party is not much different, also tossing in a wedge issue from time to time, with much fanfare and usually crappy results.

For instance immigration. There is a legal process (probably discriminatory) for immigrants to petition for residency in the United States. There is also an illegal way. The only just way I can see breaking another nation’s law in order to enter it, is during a state of war, oppression, or just outright starvation/desperation situations under totalitarian regimes. Therefore refugees please come. Not all of you, but many please do. I welcome you because I hate fascists and despots any where. They’re little babies with lots of bullets. Take that Saudi Arabia and Israel!

So I want to herd sheep in New Zealand because New Zealanders are heading into more desirable jobs of middle management (to keep dry during the winter rains), and they have excellent health care. Why not? I’ll just sneak into Christchurch because I want to, and live underground on the outskirts as a shepherd. Sounds good to me. At least I won’t get shot by a single issue voter. New Zealand has sane gun laws.

See? Hypocrisy in the law is a horrible, horrible wedge issue to get behind. No one reading this expects to walk into France next autumn and say, “I demand to live here because I want to pick grapes,” and be allowed to do so. Illegal immigration is a flawed campaign issue because it is illegal. Why do the democrats pick insurmountable problems to set on the national stage?

Back to health care. I have two anecdotes to share, one from out of state and one hitting the solar plexus right here at home.

This week a close friend of mine who lives in Florida told me about a three month treatment necessary to slow down the eventual shut down of his liver via Hep C virus received in a blood transfusion during Leukemia treatments in the late 1980’s. The first month’s supply for this life preserving medication charges $25,000 for the uninsured. “Luckily” my friend is covered by Blue Cross® and his copay was “only” $3,000. A one month’s supply to stay alive! Thank you Glaxo-Smith Kline! You sweet son-of-a-guns! Thank you Florida state representatives for keeping YOUR serfs just alive enough to work. What a happy population out yahoo-ing on the Florida turnpike, fearing everything with eyes, and believing in that god-given mental beer can right to go crazy and shoot kids in a school!


In New York if you’re a retired police officer for the City of Utica, you may live off your pension quite comfortably until you are unable to move because your hip joint has no cartilage to slide on. Unfortunately, you like alcohol and tobacco enough to become addicted, so your doctor and his fear of malpractice refuses to operate on you until you go cold turkey for 4 months. Then you fall down and are taken to the hospital with several injuries, and rehabilitation is not covered by the insurance plan. Still, you must remain under care and supervision. So your pension is compromised, food and housing cannot be afforded, and you end up in a for-profit nursing home with poop on the floor, three bad meals a day, and all of your money and assets taken away by the state to pay the for-profit nursing (un)care.

That is the true affordable health care story of my stepfather’s last days. New York’s single issue voters and their opportunist politicians, brought a good man down to the rock bottom via dereliction of duty as citizen and citizen’s representative.

That is my reality of the private insurance market, and the broken bureaucracy attached to it.

It sucks so bad. I wait to see all these single issue pensioners in their old age getting their big guns to house and feed their feeble bodies, to wipe their butts (ouch!), to push them in a wheelchair outside for a smoke and a day dream. These pretend Horatio Algers who can’t cook their own rice in a pot, yet think they’re independent with a damn F350 truck payment. Those super men who cry in their NFL pillow cases after their wives leave them because the latter are sick of bleaching their black powder underwear while doing everything else that matters in a lifetime.

So, obviously, I am all for a state, and preferably, national single payer health care system. It is not a wedge issue. It is a top, all-encompassing issue for a healthy society.

I learned more in one hour at that SUNY health care forum than I have in a lifetime of reasonable thinking. There are experts out there and I am not one of them. I am only a citizen who believes it is the responsibility of society to share the load for the weakest among us. Be careful Ron, you’re beginning to sound too Christian. Next you’ll be telling the people to render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.

Taxes. Another wedge issue to contemplate for another day. It is a matter of political survival that these propagandists of the business class have their wedge issues cut from the same dystopian pie.


And Flint?


Politically, We Are All Small Children of Flint 2017. Acrylic on wood panel, 12 x 16″

[I wrote this back in January to show how weak and ineffectual the power of congresses (both U.S. and State) are when it comes to providing safe drinking water to our countrymen. The small city of Oswego has lead in its school’s water. And the present congressmen, likewise our district assemblyman and senator, will do nothing about it. Not even talk about why this is a bad thing.]

Here is my marker for citizen non-compliance:

A glass of water and a hot shower in Flint, Michigan.

Any takers? And I don’t mean just one sip of one glass of water, like our outgoing President took a couple springs back. I’m talkin’ a USDA 8 cups a day, day after day guzzle, and a few hot caustic showers a week to prove that, yes, our government has ample power to make municipal plumbing improvements in Flint.

Because I realize that, in Flint, neither of those life and hygiene necessities are good for my organs, I see that the United States and its state of Michigan are derelict. When governments are consistently derelict in duties to the people, they are unreliable, and unreliable in many cases equates to weak. Therefore, in reality, the superpowers seated in Washington and Lansing are rather ineffective and lame. I don’t know about you, but I tolerate them like little faraway cousins at a family reunion. They’re a pain in the arse when bouncing around me, but not of much importance in my every day life. In fact, not important at all.

And yet, the truly great American activist Michael Moore (and I mean this with high respect) is busying himself these days trying his darnedest to oust a President-elect with twitter, or making movies for profit, or whatever the hell he does with all that freakin’ money besides release it and revolt! He keeps using the old rusty master’s tools long after  Boeing raided the golden work shed to make slick homicide bombs for slimy old prostates to play “drop on a family” with. Michael, with all his people power and righteous influence, would better serve America if he planted his organization right down in central Flint, made daily broadcasts from there, practically non-stop, like a Jerry Lewis Telethon, until some of that delicious mafia arms dealing money is turned over to the people of that desperate city, at least so much so that by next Christmas kids can drink a god damn glass of water and remember how to multiply at the same time.

Weak and ineffective government.

I read yesterday that Obama’s progressive legacy among sending his kids to private school, keeping the Guantanamo Bay torture complex open 24-7, and deporting 2.5 million immigrants back to from where they came, also included an average of three bombs dropped every hour for eight years on tan and tanner people in other parts of the world who Americans never care about until they’re told to “care” about them. Which means, bomb them. Not to mention the BP oil disaster—oops! Just a little leak. 11 people dead. Billions of Gulf of Mexico things dead… What an unfortunate accident, and not one executive put on trial. But such a nasty fine! And this morning’s stock futures look to be on the rise…

Go Tar Sands!

Ineffective government.

I actually believe Trump’s inauguration will usher in some positive, progressive accomplishment—all these angry pretend liberals will roll over the pretend conservatives with an unmitigated onslaught of tweets releasing a massive silent war wave of he-said, she-saids. And by this time next year there will be just 800 homicides in Chicago. Not too bad. Actually, pretty darn good for Twitter, or MSNBC, or FOXTV, or where ever you plan to be Michael Moore, instead of in Flint, where real suffering is happening right now. All you’re doing today is riling up comfortable jackasses like me to be angry at something none of us has been able to change since money was invented. This finger-pointing game has made you quite a wealthy man. Stop reaching everywhere. Pick a battle and remain until the fat lady gets offed by some real nifty Boeing-designed and created metallic drone spray.

I wish my friends and Michael Moore would get over this football game called Presidential politics. I wish they could judge our government how our government and its people judged the fascists of Italy and Germany during the late Depression just prior to World War II. I truly wish they could understand how just one, small by comparison, WMD invention of our industrial war designers gets displayed before the people on the wrong side of its manufacture. Just a little imagination please…

Americans are just so damn arrogant, blind, and numb-dumb. If you don’t like what you get for what you give, stop giving. Divorce these crooks in Washington. You will never-ever vote them out. Nazi Germany when victorious, had a lot of Germans eating good German bread and drinking good German beer. Americans see no correlation because the atomic bomb was invented, and then the military industrial complex got excited. The MIC meant to the people of the world outside of the U.S. that, had no atomic weapons been created, and these U.S. governments still carried on in the cutting up and control of masses of peoples all over the globe year after year, then arrogant America would have been overrun a long time ago, invaded and conquered, before the Beatles even, and the rest of the British invasion. Proliferation of military might is the only reason we are still an intact nation. If Nazis had 2000 nuclear weapons for 70 years after World War II, then Volkswagen would be top automaker even if it admitted to all and sundry that its cars were made out of Swiss cheese. Swiss people cheese.

My God, these jokers created a department with the word “Homeland” in it, and not one of us, even the most astute, jumped a little recognition jump of “Holy shit, they’re insane!”

That is impressive control! And from a weak and ineffective government.

Wake up Michael Moore. Help create a true resistance at a real place and time. Lay your money down, and go back to Flint. Let’s turn this broken sewer government into capable Hoover Dam plumbers once again.


Let’s Talk About Your Congressperson’s (State Senator’s) Pension and and Yours and My Demise


“For Profit Nursing Care is a White Collar Crime to Our Blue Collar Love” 2015. Acrylic on canvas, 12 x 16

[I am certain that players in the New York Senate and Assembly get similar perks after serving for a set number of terms. I’ll look into this deeper and post findings in the near future.]

Soon, very soon I’m afraid, Americans are going to be told that their social security won’t be available until 3 to 5 years closer to death. Because John Katko voted to deliver you and me a teeny-weeny tax break, lifting executives of corporations to the financial level of Greek Gods, likewise, refusing to cut from a military budget that spends 12 times more than our best buddy trading partner totalitarian China (whose population is 5 times greater than ours), you and I will have years of our security stolen by the fat cats of Congress.

It is our money! We do not elect to congress men and women to kill us off slowly. Not one of these pretend moral representatives will be bagging groceries at a Price Chopper or Wegmans beside our mothers and fathers and ourselves some day.

Re-elected congress people will begin collecting the pension we subsidize under the following scenarios (none of which are as taxing as what congress is poised to pass on to you).

From factcheck.org:

Members of Congress are eligible for a pension at the age of 62 if they have completed at least five years of service. Members are eligible for a pension at age 50 if they have completed 20 years of service, or at any age after completing 25 years of service. The amount of the pension depends on years of service and the average of the highest three years of salary. By law, the starting amount of a Member’s retirement annuity may not exceed 80% of his or her final salary.

Why re-elect any congressperson whom we even suspect would raise our age requirement for social security? Because he or she promises to let gun owners buy more guns? Because he or she promises freedom to people who broke immigration law? Are we upright citizens of a proud nation, or cartoon characters easily caricatured? Your father worked. Your mother worked. By law they set aside a portion of their paycheck to recollect in their golden years, preferably with interest. And here you are allowing John Katko, and the like the power to decide their financial fate like some puppy dog waiting for a kibble treat.

I promise to serve only one term, so I would not be eligible for any future pension or benefit. I also openly advocate for a two-term limit, without a pension for all elected legislators. A congressperson must seek office as a selfless service to his or her community and country. Or, the House to be filled with more avarice, more vanity, more leanings toward dystopia, for…

Politician’s got on his jogging shoes
He must be running for office, got no time to lose
He’s sucking the blood out of the genius of generosity
You been rolling your eyes—you been teasing me

-Bob Dylan

The houses of Congress have become more of a tax haven for corporatists and venture capitalist to billionaires, than buildings to conduct bureaucratic business.

At election time, a big fat pie of wedge issues gets set on the table for us to argue over. Right wing, left wing, it doesn’t matter. Price Chopper will take any old sap with arms and working fingers to put the freakin’ cheese and bread in the bag. To hobble over to aisle 9 for a price check. To load up on Friskies® Special Dinners and open up a can on Tuesday night to split with the cat.

It is your Social Security. In 2018, let’s get to the bottom of things. Dignity to our elders, not despair! Time to talk about retirement for more than five minutes before the inevitable knee-jerking wedge issues unleashed by media politics—Russia! Sanctuary cities! NRA! Smoke and mirrors! Phoeey and blah!

YOU are the lobby of your congress. Start acting like it.