Surrealpolichick

Bureaucrash Crashed... Check Out Fr33agents.com

2009-06-18T17:52:00.000-07:00

Well, well, well. Me no likey neoconnie take over of that old fav, Bureaucrash. When Crasher in Chief, Pete Eyre, left BC, I knew I wouldn't be far behind. I will now be blogging at his new gig on Fr33agents.com, after PorcFest. If you haven't already registered for the Porcupine Freedom Festival (which I'm organizing), don't miss the libertay partay of the year! More info: www.porcfest.com.

Check Out Bureaucrash!

2009-02-10T20:17:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers--all six of you--I will be blogging on Bureaucrash.com from now on. Check it out here.

Amtrak: Hate To Say It But... In the End, It's Still "Papers, Please!"

2009-01-21T17:12:00.000-08:00

Had a positive customer relations experience with Amtrak. Automated system that understood me and said "Gotcha" in a perky voice. Found an alternate train when the one I wanted was full, and put me through to a human who finalized the deal with no fuss. The tix cost $48 to NYC from Vermont. Surprisingly cheap.

But: All government monopolies are bad. Think post-office. I find it annoying as all get-out that the reason my experience didn't suck is because I've been subsidizing Amtrak for years, even though this is the first time I've ever used it.

And, imagine if other train services were allowed to compete... The tickets would be cheaper... The seats more comfortable... The services would have to offer various perks, from dining carts to booze cabooses. Why? In order to draw more customers. That's why competition is good. That's why government is bad. It leaves you no choice.

The call ended with a reminder that I would only be permitted to board the train if I have photo ID. Ei! Don't get me started...

Hey Obama, how about a prezzie for Malia Ann and Sasha?

2009-01-20T04:24:00.000-08:00

Wouldn't this have made a precious little citizen stocking stuffer?

The DEA is Watching

2009-01-19T05:44:00.000-08:00

I recently read about naltrexone, a drug used to treat alcoholism and excessive drinking. It is cheap, generic, non-addictive, safe and works better than AA.

Sinclair, the doctor who made the discovery back in the Seventies says: "A person isn't born an alcoholic but every time they drink there is a release of endorphins. For genetic reasons some people have very powerful receptors for endorphins, get a lot of reinforcement from the alcohol and have a high risk of developing alcoholism. The neural structure that is causing this behaviour, and the craving, gets stronger each time they drink, and with some people it becomes so strong that they can't control it. The only solution is somehow to weaken the behaviour that is so powerful."

Being that I have powerful endorphin receptors and wouldn't mind tippling less, and being of the curious sort, and adverse to doctors, and hell, being that I believe I should be able to decide what meds to take, when, I googled "nalprexone online prescription."

Here's the first hit:

Prescription Drugs Online

www.DEAdiversion.usdoj.gov Buying Prescription Drugs Online Could Mean Doing Time. DEA Warning

How creepy is that?

Imagine...

2009-01-18T16:13:00.000-08:00

God, imagine if we were free?

Cool bars where parents could bring their kidz (and pets) to listen to live music and inhale, dare I say it? Cigarette smoke. Blues and jazz mean nothing without blue clouds.

No babysitters, unless you wanted one, not because you had to get one to go out. Better family relations because you weren't dumping your kidz just to get away. Kidz might go, "When I grow up, I want be a trumpet player."

And he could make a living.

Venice combined with Seattle on the harbor of Manhattan. Boathouses, ala Holland. Instead, we have TSA tunnels.

The choice to hang out where you fit in, instead of where someone who knows nothing about you--and never will--deigns to allow you what they like to call "permissible behavior."

When did I sign my rights away? When did I say I wanted to be their slave? I must have missed the memo.

More Evidence That the Government is a Gang of Thieves, Writ Large

2009-01-16T11:15:00.000-08:00

This just in: Cah-lih-fornia has announced it will begin issuing IOUs instead of providing tax refunds to people who are owed their own money.

So glad I'm no longer living there. Here's some man on the street reaction from The Onion.

Don't Be Yellow in Obamanation

2009-01-16T07:55:00.000-08:00

Looking forward to the inauguration? From January 20, and for the next eight years, I bet, we will be living in 'Obamanation.'

I just googled the term and discovered a radio talk show host tried to trademark the phrase in 2007. He was turned down by the US Trademark office, and received a surprise with his denial: a screenshot of butt plugs from the gubberment's examining trademark attorney. According to the correspondence, in order to justify her decision, the lackey included a dictionary definition of the word "abomination" – a cause of abhorrence or disgust – and number of screenshots as background material of offensive stuff. According to the USPTO, butt plugs bad, Obama good.

It's not that I hate Obama per se (or am pro-plug). I felt the same way about Bush, and would feel the same way about any president. With Obama, though, it is that he is so damn winsome and seemingly "wise." (What? Because he can string Newspeak sentences together? At least with Bush, everyone could tell he was an idjeet.)

Obama's head is going to replace mass-murdering commie Che as the t-shirt du jour. Obama's likeness is going to beam down on us from real billboards, not just XBox's Burnout Paradise. A screenwriter friend in NYC received this from a pal for Xmas. A brilliantly cool ironic gift? Not one mofo bit. Dead serious. Scary!

This is where I think we might have an opportunity. I want to see those posters going up. I want to see Obama's face on billboards and t-shirts and cups and saucers and shot glasses and stamps and, and, and. I want his beatific, serene, smiling face framed and hanging in the living rooms of all Americans ala Mao and Stalin and Mussolini. Because there ain't one bit of difference. And the sooner people start to see that, the better. When things start to look the way they are, i.e. grim, maybe people will start to pay attention.

Let me ask you this: What's the difference between America's form of socialism and, say, Russia's? In America, when they bus kids to school, the buses are yellow. Happy-sunshiney-stealing-from-X-to-bus-Y's-kids-to-school-isn't-communism, you silly goose, yellow.

Now imagine those buses are gray, with Obama's head plastered on the side, over the peeling words "Audacity to Hope."

Every day, people see these buses as they slog to work to bailout ever-failing industries. After a few years, an overworked, exhausted woman can't stand it any longer. She doesn't even have kids! Late one night, she grabs her spray-paint and sneaks into her local school bus parking lot. Here, bus by bus, she blacks out the "H" in "Hope" and replaces it with a "C".

The Audacity to Cope? It's where we're at.

How the hell is it 2009?

2009-01-11T10:24:00.000-08:00

Clearly I suck at blogging regularly.

Now, Children, How Do You Spell Propaganda?

2008-11-14T13:27:00.000-08:00

This post about "Propaganda Schools" reminds me of an anecdote a NYC ad agency friend told me about trying to land a military recruitment campaign. They were told the target market for the "Be All You Can Be" type TV ads is seven to eight year-olds. That's right, folks... Get 'em young and you got 'em for life.

Or how about this recent gem from the Department of Homeland Security? Chairman Jerkoff had this to say about the role of children in "cyber security": "...Part of it is doing it with our own employees, making sure they take it home. I would like to see us get it into the school. I am a believer that when you get kids harnessed into projects like fire safety or recycling, their [sic] little engines of propaganda at home." (My italics.) Charming. (The entire talk is pretty spine chilling and worth a read.)

Remember, gubberment schools gave you the three "Rs" of which the majority--arithmetic and writing--don't even start with Rs. No wonder kids can't spell. According to my 25 year old office mate, when she was at school, the three Rs were: reduce, reuse, recycle. Guess they have totally given up on reading, writing, and math, 'cos, Com'on Teech, it's just too darn hard. I agree with Ron Paul, who says in today's NYTimes: shut down the Department of Education.

In Lew Rockwell's insightful discussion with Naomi Wolf you can actually hear the "penny drop" about the role of government in schools. I'm paraphrasing but went something like this: "I always wondered why you guys are so against having government involved in schools, but now I'm starting to see."

When the scales drop from a Progressive's eyes, it is a beauty to behold.

We are making progress!

The F-Word

2008-11-13T04:01:00.000-08:00

The Supreme Court recently heard arguments about the F-word. Comically, NPR replaced "Fuck" with "Floss" in their reports on the subject. I'll never look at oral, er, hygiene the same way again.

But my F word is actually the battle between "founder" and "flounder." In this week's Economist (a magazine I am liking less and less, I should add) a sentence struck me: "As a slumping economy turns more debts bad, more financial firms will founder--and Mr Obama must decide whether to rescue them."

"Heh! The Economist has a typo," I remarked to Hubby, reading the sentence aloud.

"Nope, they're right, founder, as in to run aground."

"It's flounder, with an el, as in a fish floundering on the shores before dying a slow and painful death. Like GM will."

"Flounder is a type of fish, not a verb."

"Isn't!"

As always, Google solved the problem. (I wonder if divorce rates have dropped since its inception? Thanks, Google!)

foun⋅der

–verb (used without object)

1.	(of a ship, boat, etc.) to fill with water and sink.

2.	to fall or sink down, as buildings, ground, etc.: Built on a former lake bed, the building has foundered nearly ten feet.

3.	to become wrecked; fail utterly: The project foundered because public support was lacking.

4.	to stumble, break down, or go lame, as a horse: His mount foundered on the rocky path.

5.	to become ill from overeating.

6.	Veterinary Pathology. (of a horse) to suffer from laminitis.

–verb (used with object)

7.	to cause to fill with water and sink: Rough seas had foundered the ship in mid-ocean.

8.	Veterinary Pathology. to cause (a horse) to break down, go lame, or suffer from laminitis.

floun⋅der

–verb (used without object)

1.	to struggle with stumbling or plunging movements (usually fol. by about, along, on, through, etc.): He saw the child floundering about in the water.

to struggle clumsily or helplessly: He floundered helplessly on the first day of his new job.

"Haha!" I cried, "We're both right." Then I read this:

floun⋅der

–noun, plural (especially collectively) -der, (especially referring to two or more kinds or species) -ders.

1.	a European, marine flatfish, Platichthys flesus, used for food.

2.	any of numerous similar or closely related non-European flatfishes.

3.	any flatfish other than soles.

So I guess some are more right than others...

Friday Haiku

2008-10-17T07:36:00.001-07:00

I will unabashedly say I am the world's worst poet. But, whaddaya know? I'm going to write haikus here when the fancy strikes. This was inspired by my early morning walk down by the lake with Puppy. Puppy, however, has one too many syllables (as compared to "Dog").

Dog, color of Fallen leaves
Rake!
As cold creeps
Lying dog drifts to sleep

Stop Going with the Flow

2008-10-16T18:56:00.000-07:00

Dusk on a beautiful Fall evening, the sky is pink, the music is flowing, the work day is over. Blue car followed by green car cruising up the I-89. We come around a bend and nestled on the side of the road is, you guessed it, a trafficko, disco lights flashing. Blue car brakes, I brake, but he's got us. Souper-Trooper hobbles across the highway, flagging us down. We pull over.

The last time (and first time) I was pulled over in NH, the trooper was a woman. It was early in the morning, near SNHU campus in Manchester, and I hadn't even had my first cup of coffee. I got a helluva fright and acted like a cowering idjeet. I decided then and there, after being let off with a warning, to never be so submissive again. But then again, they are the ones with the guns.

When Souper-Trooper comes to my window, I refuse to let it down more than an inch or two.

"Then you get out of the car!"

"Why?"

His lip curls.

I stare him down.

"License and," he places his hat on the top of the car, "registration."

I take my time. I have to open the window a bit more to hand him my "Papers, Please" after he claims he is not allowed to reach into the car. As if.

"Do you know how fast you were going?"

"A safe and reasonable speed."

"What?"

Cars race past.

"A SAFE AND REASONABLE SPEED."

He stares at me for a long time.

"GOING WITH THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC."

"There were only the two of you."

"Yeah," I smirk, pointing to the blue car. "Hence," I pause, "the flow of traffic."

This time the stare is even longer.

"Do you have any reason to be speeding tonight, some sort of emergency?"

I shrug, thinking, because that would be awesome, you know, if you were in a real hurry, going someplace urgently, and, wait, out of nowhere, a bloody cop jumps out and harasses, detains, and I don't know, STOPS you for no valid reason.

He snatches his hat off the car and crosses back to his Goon Mobile. He's reading my license as he walks, and glances back suspiciously. I make notes on my notepad, writing down the license plate of the VW Passat in front of me, Vermont plates. Never know when you are going to need a witness. I change the station. NPR Pledge Drive. Yuck. Souper-Trooper takes what seems like a long time to return, but is probably under ten minutes (forgot to check the exact time, note to self, for next time). I see he gives the vehi... scratch that, car (I hate the term 'vehicle,' it's what beaurocrats use to try to sound smart) a warning, and the car speeds off. Crap. Just me and the guy with the really silly hat.

Souper-Trooper returns to my window. He doesn't have a ticket, only a warning and a speech and a 'tude. He clutches my paperwork. Bully, bully, bully. The refrain runs through my mind. I want nothing more than to backchat, but decide the best course of action is to simply stare at him like he is a spider in the shower.

"I don't understand why you have to be all, 'I'm not going to roll down my window.' The only people who do that are people who have been drinking, alcoholics," All drivers who drink are alcoholics? Really? Fascinating! "When you do that, we are going to assume you have been drinking, although you don't appear to have been drinking," What tipped you off, genius? The DD coffee cup? The freshly peeled banana peel? The work books piled on the seat? Gee, we have a frigging regular Sherlock here, whaddaya know? "It's to protect my safety that you have to roll down the window all the way. Because, if you keep it small like this, if I reached into the car," --Wait! Didn't he just try to reassure me by saying he wasn't allowed to reach into the car? Which is it Buddy-Boy? Can or can't? Will or won't? Depends on what the definition of 'is,' is? "You could close the window, pinch my arm, and then drive away, and that could hurt me." Huh, never occurred to me, but I'm filing that one away. Does he ever wonder why people might feel compelled to possibly hurt him? Or, does he snuggle down in bed at night and think: I'm awesome. Look at me, just following orders."It makes no sense why you would refuse. Seems suspicious."

Let me ask you this: if I am free, and I own my body, and I am doing no harm to anyone--this distinction is important to understand, not, I'm not breaking--giant air quotes here--"the law," but rather, no one has been harmed, then so what if I was speeding? Driving fast isn't a crime. If you crash into someone, that may be actionable. If you damage the car, and it's not your property, that's actionable . If you drive fast, and nothing happens--and even if you are driving shitfaced blotto, and nothing happens--it is NOT a crime. No matter what.

"I'm a lawyer, and that's what they teach you to do." This is a bald-faced lie. Not the lawyer part, that's true, although I'm not licensed in NH, only South Africa and California. I'm not sure where I picked up the tip. Probably Tap Room Tuesday.

"You're a lawyer?" His demeanor changes markedly. More mad, but in that Now-I-feel-disadvantaged-and-because-I-feel-like-that-I'm-going-to-demean-you-even-more way. Like Cartman on the playground.

"Well, let me tell you, I win all my cases , 99.9% of them. And my sister is a lawyer too," Truly fascinating, jerkoff, but I have better thing to do than listen to you expound on your family tree, "and she would never do something like that. Never!" Yeah, because she probably comes from a home that thinks pulling over people who have caused no harm to anyone is an act of bravery. "Don't know what law school you went to, but that's just plain stupid. And, you know, when the window is closed like that, I can't hear you properly." He is still holding my papers. It's a power trip now. As long as he holds it, I have to sit here and listen to him.

"I can hear you fine."

"But you don't know what MY hearing is like, do you?"

You pulled me over, dude, I give him the stink-eye, I don't want to be here, and shrug again. I finally remember to glance at his namebadge. Holdsworth. He sees me looking. His one shoulder jerks involuntarily, as though he wants to cover up the badge so I can't read it, but some part of his mosquito brain tells him that's a bad idea. Instead, he restarts his harangue. His tone remains perfectly professional--No, Your Honor of course I wasn't bullying her, I was only doing my job--which is almost the scariest part.

"You're really lucky today, because I could write you up for speeding, you were going 80, and I could write you up for not having the correct address on your driver's license. You live in XXX now, not YYY." What??? How does he know that? Got a postbox when we moved. Sinister. "And, let me tell you..." Blah, blah blah. I zone him out, my eyes glaze over, it's just not worth it. I keep staring at him, but after a while he cottons on that I could give a heartfelt crap about what he is saying. "So, why don't you put away your little notepad there and..." Blah, blah, blah. He finally hands me my papers. I take my time putting everything away, and then put the car into Drive. The freeway is busier, and having to pull out against a hill (they always getcha on the downhills, eh?) into traffic is not for the faint of heart. Seems unsafe. Seems like something someone who is supposed to 'serve and protect' wouldn't make someone he was trying to serve and protect do.

But, then again, what do I know? I'm just some silly girl who didn't kowtow. Now, if everyone would stop kowtowing, maybe they wouldn't look so surprised when we treated them like the servants they are. Stop going with the flow.

[BTW: Looking over some of the cases I believe our brave trooper has been involved in (I'm guessing here, since I only have the last name to go on), it makes me want to do a little more research about NH traffic stop "do's and dont's." One thing sticks out, and is something I will repeat again and again. Never offer more information than you are being asked for. Never consent to being searched or patted down. Not even when they make it sound harmless: "We're just going to check for weapons." You reckon, I don't have a gun on me, only 5g of crack, and well... I'll let you in on a little secret: It always ends badly for the guy who is too polite to tell these mofos to stuff off.]

The Makings of a R3VOLutionary

2008-10-13T13:55:00.000-07:00

In The Fallacy of the Public Sector , Rothbard concludes: "Why must political experiments always be in the direction of more government? Why not give the free market a county, or even a state or two, and see what it can accomplish?"

The Free State Project has taken up Rothbard's rallying cry. The FSP is a movement to recruit 20,000 liberty lovers to the state of New Hampshire to create a society in which the maximum role of government is the protection of life, liberty, and property. We want to see what we can accomplish. We're not waiting for them to "give" it to us. We're taking a chance. We are social power incarnate, a movement, in Albert Jay Nock's words, of "creative productivity, peaceful exchange and cooperation." In short, we are FED-up people who are striving for change, from the bottom up. Want to join a state-level, small "r" r3LOVution? Join the FSP. Can't make the move? Join as a friend.

The Ron Paul R3VOLution is more top down, big "R" R3VOLution, on the federal level. It's about fighting within the system, voting for third party candidates, trying to make the silent majority's voice heard. Whether you favor small "r" r3VOLution or big "R" R3VOLution, together, we can make a hot pressed Bernanke sandwich, hold the mayo—and the inflation!

When Ron Paul called for civil disobedience at the Rally for the Republic, I wanted specifics. Yes, I understand devolution of power, the need to go at this from different angles, but, yanno, we libertarians are a Herding Cats bunch. I suspect a game plan might come in handy. To say nothing of safety in numbers.

Speaking of, be all you can be... within a crowd. One of the easiest r3VOLutionary steps you can take is to start identifying yourself as a libertarian. Base-building—the non-military kind—is what we need. We need a distinct, definable moniker. Give me a "L." Give me a "I." Give me a "B." Give me libertarianism—but not Bob Barr—or give me death—but rather not that either.

Spread the word. If you're a student, start a movement on campus. Place a table on the same spot and talk to people every day. Truth is inspiring. Technology is on our side. Blog. Print pamphlets. You never know where that piece of paper will end up, who it will reach. A few years ago, a friend of a friend of someone called Lawless was at a movie in L.A. when he received a pamphlet about the Free State Project. This friend knew Lawless would be intrigued by the notion of 20,000 liberty lovers moving to New Hampshire to affect change. This friend gave the pamphlet to another friend who then gave it to Lawless. Lawless read the pamphlet, did research online, and moved to New Hampshire—with his wife and two small children—within a few months. He organizes the Liberty Forum, is an ardent supporter of Ron Paul, has run for office and now serves as a selectman. So stop off at your local Stinkos, make another 200 copies, and hand them out...

Educate people about economics. Educate yourself about economics. You can't be a half-arsed libertarian. You have to grasp both civil liberties and Austrian economics. You can't smoke dope and hate Walmart. If you do, you need to read some more. You need to understand that free-market economics means you vote with your dollars. Don't like Walmart? Don't shop there! As simple as that. But don't make like Brooklyn and use "democracy" to stop others from having access to affordable socks. [Aside: Reminds me of when I was at an artist retreat in a remote part of Texas last year, and the liberal stoners kept denigrating Walmart until Mr. Jazz Musician discovered he had forgotten his trumpet oil. Lo and behold... the closest Walmart, a small one, carried trumpet oil. Not so bad now, eh, Felonious Monk?]

Question everything. Always ask, in the words of Randolph Bourne, why? What is this thing good for? If you, like me, occasionally listen to NPR—my dirty little secret, in a fascinated are-you-kidding-me?-who-are-you-kidding?-holy-crap-did-that-guy-from-the-Washington-Post-just-say-'It's one of these things in economics, that if you get into these crises, you have to do the wrong thing in order to get through the crisis'-way—call in. Ask why, be articulate, and don't take "Because I say so" for an answer. If you watch CSPAN, call in. If you watch, please God I hope not, the mainstream media news shows, call in there too when you can. Fudge the screening. You may get cutoff by the jingolists, but others will wonder, why?

It's time to get serious. That's right, kids. Playtime is over. Time to sit at the grown-ups table. Put your money—and your energy—where your mouth is. You need to do something. Acting, participating, spreading the word, doing liberty-oriented stuff, like a good swill of Ron Paul Soda, makes you feel great... it creates hope. And hope is our lifeline.

Sometimes, when I'm reading the history of the Libertarian movement, it's hard not to feel discouraged. Hell, we've been at this for a good long time, no? But then I remind myself, that's what they want... They want us to give up, throw our hands in the air and whine, Nanny Dearest, this is just too hard, you win, I quit. Well, call me a duly Herded Cat, but screw 'em! I'll never give up, never give up, never give uuuuuup, not me!

Never grown up neither, so weh! Embrace your inner Peter Pan. Young of heart, young of mind. Let ideas ferment, or is that foment? "Youth," writes Randolph Bourne, "is the leaven that keeps all these questioning, testing attitudes fermenting in the world." Keep your fine youthful spirit, don't let them baddies get you down. Remain optimistic, no matter what. "Out of the turbulence of youth should come this fine precipitate—a sane, strong, aggressive spirit of daring and doing." Daring and doing... repeat after me... daring and doing...

So, what dare we do? How about a tax strike? What if, come April 15—National Slave Day—we all write: "I will not pay my taxes until the U.S. military is recalled from every foreign location in the world" on our tax forms and send them in? 1.2 MILLION people voted for Ron Paul in the primaries... and you know there are more of us. What if we say: Time to wean you, Uncle Sam. No more formula for you! (Not even if it is Chinese.) We could take out full page ads in MSM newspapers (God knows they need the revenue) with well-known signatories. If the MSM refuses, we could create news-bombs of our own. Or, how about this? If we must pay, let's pay our taxes with credit cards issued from defaulting banks (preferably with 0% APR). Why not? We're already on the hook...

Radical? You betcha. But tax refusal has a long history and the time is now. Remember, the purpose of a r3VOLutionary is to make a r3VOLution!

How Dumb is Barney Frank?

2008-10-08T14:28:00.000-07:00

Listening to Freetalklive discuss a case where the Canadian government has taken all the children of a mentally challenged woman as wards of the state--they confiscated her last baby right after it was born--I started wondering about something. This woman's IQ is 70 and the Goon Squad says that makes her too dumb to take care of her own kids.

How smart is Barney Frank, or most of the other members of Congress? How about we make our Fearmongering Leaders take an IQ test and have to disclose the findings? If their IQ is lower than yours or mine, we don't have to obey them.

Wouldn't it be nice?

PS: Why pick on Barney? I just find him particularly irksome. And he had this to say about the Banksta Bailout: "In 2003, nobody that I knew of foresaw the crisis of subprime lending, and that is what caused this problem." Really, Barney? Really? Maybe you need some new peeps to hang out with. I dunno, maybe someone like Ron Paul? Oh, and lest we forget, the DemoRats caused the subprime problem...

Chill Don't Kill

2008-10-06T11:19:00.000-07:00

Wondering about my slogan "Chill Don't Kill"? It popped into my head on a beach in Goa, India, after a long conversation with Hubby about the non-aggression axiom which forms the basis of libertarian thinking. "Chill" does not denote laidbackness, rather laissez-faire-ism. Chill, in the words of Albert Jay Nock, is "creative productivity, peaceful exchange and cooperation." Don't be part of the gang--the goverment, and by extension, everyone who supports these statists through the "democratic process"--that "kills" through "coercive dictation and predation." And sadly, often kills literally too.

Call me bonkers, but I'll take willing cooperation and exchange over force any day.

So, today, and everyday, everyone just Chill Don't Kill. Peace Out.

Freedom Fighting in the USSA

2008-10-05T10:44:00.000-07:00

The Free State Project turns five! If you had told me five years ago I would up my urban life in New York City to move to the boonies of New Hampshire to become a political activist, I would have told you to go, well, frak yourself (take that, FCC!). But here I am. Freedom Fighting in the USSA.

I was raised in a police state: South Africa, under apartheid. I was lucky, I was white. But, things weren’t that great for the whiteys either. Equal Opportunity Oppression. Superficial, yet important things were denied all citizens (better to control you with, my pretty).

Movies banned: Black Beauty (yes, gorram it, for the title); Pink Floyds’s The Wall (for the lyrics “We Don’t Need No Education,” which students sang during protest marches). Sound familiar? As in, “We Don’t Need No Child Left Behind”? Amazing how they learn from one another, no? Must be a common parasitic gene (look how they replicate!); and, of course, also banned was any movie with sex.

Music banned: anything worth hearing. My parents sneaked LPs from overseas, Pet Sounds, Money (yeah, Baby!), Jimi’s Star Spangled Banner, but the artists who braved violating U.S. sanctions to come to the independent homeland of Sol Kerzner’s Sun City? Donny and Mary Osmond. Wholesome smegging sanction busters, those two.

Newspapers banned. Words in newspapers banned. “Police action,” “riots,” “Casper,”--the Defense Force tank, not the Ghost-- “died in captivity,” “torture,” “held indefinitely without trial,” the list goes on, all blacked out. Made reading the newspaper a scavenger hunt.

And TV? Well, TV was banned until 1978. Think about that for a sec. 19frigging78. Almost ten years after astrodudes knocked golf balls from the moon. And, when we did get TV, what was broadcast? Wars, silly goose. Iran/Iraq (Version 1.0) and Maggie's foray into the Falklands, because, God Forbid, we might actually have to confront anything about our own screwed up, “Papers Please,” nation. Diana’s wedding to Prince Charles? Of course that was on tellie. That's when the media discovered you can sell any fairytale as long as it has a princess in it. Panties optional.

I was an activist in South Africa. Not hardcore, like some of the kids, but I did my bit. SDS. Marches. I taught disadvantaged Black students English after class at the Univ of Pretoria. As a young lawyer, I took Legal Aid cases no one would touch, driving out to the townships jails in my 1969 Mini. (Oh, right! Another thing: Crappy cars. New cars cost more than houses. Thanks, apartheid regime. No really, ta!) Of course, working in the townships lasted as long as it took to chop up Amy Biehl. (Thanks here goes to the P.A.C., who brought us “One Settler, One Bullet!”).

See how this works? Evil ain’t a color. It's collectivism that's evil. In 2007, I taught at a college in Harlem, NY, and it never occurred to me that I was the only white, so-called privileged person in the classroom until my angst-ridden colleagues asked me how I was coping in front of color. Color? The students weren't color, they were kids. Each one with thoughts and dreams of their own. When had individuals morphed into a voting block?

I won a Green Card in the Diversity lottery. That's right folks, what America needs in order to be more diverse is another white lawyer!

You were supposed to have freedom down. I was going to live a comfy life. Get rich. Dinner with pals. The occasional opera. But then slowly, surely, my eyes opened (and spun up into my head, like that chick in The Exorcist). The making of another police state right before my rolled back eyes. Bloody hell! What luck to land in not one, but two?

The Patriot Act. Civil seizure of assets without being charged. Phone tapping. Retroactive changes to laws. Warrantless searches. Checking your frigging library records?

Don’t get me wrong, I love America. I spent my first six years on earth here. I have lived here for thirteen years as an adult. I’m an American citizen. Perhaps that's where it started? Having to really, really study the Constitution?

Something is rotten. Complacency abounds. Apathy. The schools? Terrible. The media? Lordy, Mama! Perhaps it is something in the water?

Never did I think I would be fighting for freedom in America. My epiphany started before 9-11. The first aha! moment came when I realized Blacks here are more screwed than they were under apartheid. I don’t say that lightly. I don’t make that claim without justification. In America, Blacks are disproportionately incarcerated under the guise of the War on Drugs. Come on, people! We can't even elect a president who hasn't toked up. Not the past two, and not McBama neither. Hell, I don’t care. Light up, I say. Stoners don’t start wars! But, to have millions in jail for smokin’ the mary she jane. Dat crazy talk!

Then 9-11 happened, and watching the towers fall, I said two things to Hubby, “Things will never be the same again,” and “Nine-one-one? Think that’s someone’s idea of a sick joke?” Pre-TSA, pre-Patriot Act, pre-Homeland Security, pre-nippleringsremovedbygoonswithpliers, pre-BillionaireBailout, I didn’t realize how prescient my words would be. But now I do. And now, I fight.

Join the battle for freedom. Good vs. Evil, baby.

Be good: www.freestateproject.org.