Cui Bono?

Criminal investigations start with questions. Who could do this? Who would do this? Who profits most from this? Who profits least from this?

If I were Bashir Assad I would NOT want to unnecessarily annoy the US Government immediately after their President just pledged to withdraw his occupation from my country.

If I were selling missiles to FedGov I would want them to blow them up frequently and replace them from my stock. If I were an amoral politician receiving hefty campaign contributions from MissileCorp I would be eager to talk up reasons to blow things up in foreign lands. If I were an idealistic black operative I should be willing to sacrifice a few dozens for the “greater good.”

Do I believe that Bashir Assad would “gas his own people?” Yes. In Assad’s efforts to Preserve His Union, the body count is approaching Lincolnian Levels. He’s not apt to blanch at another few score corpses. Do I believe Assad did “gas his own people?” No. He has the most to lose from using poison gas in so public an arena.

Do I believe, as Mr Putin has suggested, that British Black Ops engineered the latest event at the behest of the US? No, but that doesn’t stop me from suspecting it. I don’t have access to sufficient evidence to conclude anything, but I believe least the occupation’s official line.

When a Secretary of State blithely opines that a half a million dead children is “worth it” in pursuit of foreign entanglements, when a President topples an oasis of secular stability in pursuit of phantom terrors, and when another Secretary of State cackles over a former client’s agonizing death, a hypothetical “Operation Northwoods Middle East” is not inconceivable.

John Boehner’s “Principles”

Nansie Baloehnee’s spine apparently remains in storage somewhere in Westchester along with his testicles. The Capitulator’s late life conversion comes safely at a time when he need not risk appearing humane, rational, or “soft on drugs.” Claiming that his thinking on cannabis has “evolved,” Weepy John suddenly realizes that:

(1) Enough angry old voters are now dead. No need for frightened and timid Republicans to continue the sadistic cruelty of prohibition, and

(2) He’s out of office. What does he care what silly voters believe?

But most of all, after shilling for the Drug Lords of Reynolds American for decades, he now finds that Acreage Holdings is also offering cash.

“So what is it with you, anyway? Is it like Asperger’s or something?”

<meta name=“description” content=“Asperger’s Syndrome strongly resembles being an [jerk].”/>

Probably not, though it has been suggested. Both former arch nemeses, and the senior sidekick, seem(ed) to think so. The other sidekicks decline to weigh in. I don’t know whether I appreciate their kindness or respect their indifference.

During the death throes of my second marriage, Drama Queen discovered the on-line Asperger’s community. As a consequence, I received a great deal of required reading. As I understand it, a syndrome describes a collection of related symptoms, all pointing to one pathology or another. Recognized symptomology seems to use the super-majoritarian approach. Match seven or eight of these ten behavioral distinctions, and the psych community will declare you a sufferer of thus and so.

Drama Queen and Busy Body and Star Gazer may have a point. Like the Aspies, I am both monomaniacal and hyper-literal. I can easily immerse myself in my fancies for hours on end, and fresh metaphors often take me by surprise. Old and tired metaphors don’t, but I’ll often treat them as literal if I’m in a cantankerous mood. The main difference is (I hope) my wit. Aspies seem to have no sense of irony, whereas I revel in it.

My best friends don’t think it’s Asperger’s at all.
They think I’m a jerk.

From NEW! YORK! CITY! The most self-congratulatory city in the WORLD!

There are worse symptoms of insecure tribalism than school spirit or localist conceit. Genocide, slavery, and genital mutilation all come readily to mind, but localist conceit is one that has annoyed me for most of my life.

Growing up a navy brat I moved from the best little community in America to the finest little town there is to the greatest spot on Earth. Somehow they all were, and I knew that had to be ridiculous. Sure, most folks are comfy where they lived, that’s probably why they put up with it. But it didn’t necessarily make them any better than the folks in the next town.

Boston Strong? Boston Scared is more like it. The citizenry allowed themselves to be cowed by the local authorities, while they accomplished NOTHING (the suspect was found OUTSIDE their cordon) except stealing illegal guns and drugs from perfectly decent Beantowners. The strength? Sure, there was plenty of HUMAN strength rallied in the face of these pinheads’ depravity. It’s what humans do. They did it in Boston, they did it in Charleston, they did it in Las Vegas.

The Cincinnati Way? Quoting from a local video promo: “When the lunches are packed and the kids are off to school, we get down to the business of our day. It’s the Cincinnati Way.” Sure. And in Seattle and Savannah? Those slugs just go back to bed, I guess. Apparently those cities were built accidentally.

The Aloha Spirit? Hawaii is indeed a beautiful place, and it holds many amazing attractions, including the Aloha Spirit, but there is nothing uniquely Hawaiian about the Aloha Spirit except its name. Again, as a navy brat, I encountered the Aloha Spirit in Maine and Connecticut and Oregon, too. Of course, there they didn’t make such a big fuss over the name. In fact, if they thought it was worth mentioning at all, they called it kindness, generosity, or just plain decency.

Sexist or Racist?


I think that Hillary (“Bubba in a Pants Suit”) Clinton and Barack (“John Edwards with a Tan”) Obama are both amoral statists, and I won’t be voting for either of them. Nevertheless, it was a comfort this spring to realize that, at long last, most of the rest of America had finally caught up with me. Neither Hillary’s vagina nor Barack’s complexion are considered to be automatic disqualifications for the Presidency.

Okay, not ALL of America. There are still a few bigots who cannot bring themselves to vote for a “person of color” or a “person of gender.” They are a declining demographic. On the other hand, there are probably more (lots more!) who will be voting FOR them BECAUSE of their sex or race.

Do I deny that I am a sexist or a racist? Certainly not. I (like most everybody else) am a practicing sexist. My personal canoodling criteria automatically disqualify half the population. So do yours, I bet! But I don’t apply my sexism to the job scene. Architects, surgeons, and janitors should be evaluated strictly on the basis of job performance. Any demographic considerations overriding competence are wicked and cruel.

As for racism? Well, I have no stake in racial distinctions, so I generally don’t care. Sometimes such superficialities ARE significant, and I am certainly able to discern them. If Kimo asks me, “Who dat Haole?” I know he’s not talking about the Tongan or the Filipino in the crowd.

Now, if I were a casting director or a photo editor, I might have professional responsibilities to make racist decisions. Assembling a cast for A Raisin in the Sun, I’m apt to give short shrift to a lot of talented (but too pale) actors. If the “United Colors of Benetton” wants a picture of beautiful children, then I’m going to make sure that they’re chromatically balanced. If I were a hematologist I would take care to note those of my patients whom might have a greater proclivity for sickle-cell anemia. And if I were an obstetrician or a gynecologist, then I had BETTER be a sexist (female chauvinist variety) or I’m out of a job!

But I’m still not voting for Mrs Clinton or Mr Obama.
Nor Dennis (“The Red Menace”) Kucinich, but I wouldn’t mind his being President Paul’s Ambassador to the United Nations
(as long as we retain membership.)