The parable of the three houses

Instead of splitting Russia from China, the U.S. has unintentionally done its best to push them into a deeper alliance. It was the most severe strategic error the U.S. could make.-b

I just received a comment from a reader that said that I was “butt hurt” and hated the United States. Well, maybe I am, but I don’t hate the USA.

Instead, I simply tried to explain that I just see the bigger picture and I don’t like what I am seeing.

What I am seeing is all the makings for World War III, and the American citizenry are all actively participating in it.

Like zombies. Just going ahead allowing the rot to get worse, letting the buildings fall down, and reelecting the psychopathic to boss them into submission.

So I am going to create a parable.

It’s the parable of the three houses.

The Three Houses

Once up a time there were three houses in a town. They were all well known throughout the town as they were the biggest and largest homes in the community.

Oh, certainly there were many homes in the town. Nearly 200. But most of the homes were much smaller and inconsequential. Some were opulent, like Frans. Some were poor like little Bang A Desh. Some were complex like the house of Mex, and some were trying to fix things up like Zimmy Bob’s.

The biggest of the three was owned by a big, burly, bearded man who went by the name “Big Russ”. He was a big lumberjack and had this enormous bear for a pet.

The other two homes were roughly the same size, but one had many more children. That home was always lively and active. The kids were always playing and talking, laughing and singing.

That home was owned by a very short, quiet man named “Mr. Lee”. He was a quiet, studious man, who always spoke soft and gently. His hobby was making things, and he was always welcoming others to trade with him. When he wasn’t making things, he was always practicing his martial arts in the peace of his backyard garden.

And the last of the homes was one that sat on top of the biggest hill in the town. It was perhaps the richest of all the homes.  Everyone, for years, would look up at the home and want to live there. As it was a truly exceptional home; a mansion really.

That home was owned by a man whom everyone called “Uncle Sam”.

Some History

Now, Uncle Sam, being so tall, strong and incredibly handsome, usually got his way in everything that he did. For years, he has been able to strut around the town without confrontation.

He was so accustomed to getting a “free pass” in everything that he did that he started to brazenly offend the rest of the good townspeople.

He would go inside the other homes, raid their refrigerators, take things that he wanted and sleep with the daughters. No one liked that behavior (with a few exceptions), but no one was able to do anything about it.

And over the years, being so accustomed to being the biggest and baddest person in the town, “Uncle Sam” started to believe that it was the natural order of things. He started to believe that he was able to do this because “God favored him, his lifestyle, and his arrogance”.

He believed that he was the exception to all the rules.

He believed that he could define the rules for all the other houses in the community to obey, and that he would have his own rules; his own “exceptions”.

He started to tell this to everyone.

“I am exceptional” he said.

“I have a big shining house on the hill,” he said.

The other two big houses

Now, Uncle Sam had, from time to time, visited the homes of both Big Russ and Mr. Lee. But, he wasn’t ever welcomed, and over the years they have been getting rather antagonized, and infuriated with his actions and activities.

Realizing that, Uncle Sam pretty much stayed away from those two big homes.

Instead, he preferred to frequent the smaller homes in the less affluent section of the town. This included the homes on Mid-East Avenue, and South-Am Road.

As well as all the homes of the Stan Clan.Uncle Sam has really been active there.

Which included him having to be forcefully removed from both Aff Gan, and Kaz Is’s homes.

But, that doesn’t mean that he didn’t want to go visit Big Russ and Mr. Lee from time to time. But the thing is, that when he visited, his table manners were atrocious. His body odor was foul, and his behaviors were rude and distasteful.

What ever he once was, what he is today is something different. Today, he’s a wife beater, a child molester, an alcoholic drunkard, who has a passion for shoplifting, petty crimes, and rape. When he’s not practicing arson, getting into drunk brawls, or taking “a dump” in other’s yards, he’s out having sex with their dogs.

No one really wants to have much to do with him, because as everyone knows, once you let him in your life you won’t ever be able to get rid of him.

As of late…

The children of Uncle Sam has been busy raising all sorts of ruckus. And what’s more, they have been all over the town doing so.

Mr. Lee complained about it.

He told Uncle Sam to take his children, and get out of his backyard. He told him to get off his front porch. He told him to stop peeking into his windows. He told him to stop sabotaging his car, pouring salt in his garden, and pulling up his tulips. He told him to get his dogs and chain them up. He no longer wanted to hear them barking day and night, digging up his bushes, and having his children race around and around the home in loud muffler-less motorcycles.

Big Russ complained about it as well.

He told Uncle Sam to get off his porch, stay out of his backyard. He told him that he no longer wanted those children to set fires to the neighboring yards, stealing the lawn ornaments, and playing their rock-and-roll music at all hours of the day and night.

Uncle Sam heard both of their complaints.

He thought about them.

And said “no”.

The reactions…

Well, Big Russ told Uncle Sam that there would be repercussions. But, took no overt and obvious action.

He sent his children out (in secret) to the yard of Uncle Sam. Then, he sat back and smiled. No firecrackers. No noise-makers. No barking dogs. No loud motorcycles. No. Those children all silently, and sternly, went off to the house armed with dangerously lethal ten-gage shotguns.

No “fun and games”.

And Mr. Lee, always kind and quiet, smiled and sat on his porch with an 8-gage shotgun (which, is a very large gun, don’t you know).

His children, and were told to stay in the house and practice their martial arts, cleaning their long-guns, and reading up on the book “the art of war”.

But Uncle Sam, seemingly an idiot, doubled down.

“Do as I say” he roared!

“You WILL obey me! You will listen to me, and you will pay homage and tribute to me!”

And he sent his children, and his toadies over to the house of Mr. Lee. And, now, almost all of his children are going around and around the house of Mr. Lee. They are revving their engines and making as much noise as they can possibly create. Poor Mr. Lee is really getting “rattled up” with his windows shaking, and the dishes falling on the floor. His tulips all decimated, and his gates town and broken.

And, well Uncle Sam has also started to send his other remaining children to camp out on the porch of Big Russ. There they are lighting campfires on the “welcome mat” and tossing firecrackers at all hours of the day and night. Giggling, sticking out their tongues and making rude sounds and laughing.

It was noisy for years.

Really years.

And then Mr. Lee and Big Russ held a party.

It was a big party and it was held in the dead of Winter. Everyone was invited except Uncle Sam and his “toadies”.

And at the meeting, they announced that the entire town cannot grow and live in peace as long as there is a big bully in town, and that all of the townspeople must gather together and start committing to their promises, agreements, and rules. And that they would take the lead.

Everyone in the party agreed. The welcomed the inclusiveness of it, and their equal participation in it. And of course, they too hated the rude behaviors and the bullying behaviors of Uncle Sam.

The entire town rejoiced in a defined, sensible plan for dealing with the town bully and his toadies.

Now, let me ask the reader a question…

Looking at the big picture…

  • What action should Uncle Sam take to defuse a tense, potentially catastrophic event train?
I would suggest, sending his kids back home. Paddling them until their butts are red and sore, and selling off all those motorcycles, barking dogs, and firecrackers.

Then apologizing in public to the community.
  • If you were Big Russ, what action do you think you should take?
Would it be against the children on the porch; a continuous game of "whack a mole", or would it be against Uncle Sam himself?
  • If you were Mr. Lee, what action do you think you should take?
Would you wait until more children arrive and get louder and badder? Or would you lay down systems to disable those motorcycles? Or would you burn down the gas stations, so the motorcycles couldn't get any more gas?
  • Do you think that making an announcement at that party was a goo thing to do?
Words without action are meaningless. This is a solid framework that requires tasking. Is the rest of the town up to handle the challenge?

And that is how things are.

And MM here is just trying NOT to pick sides so much as I just want the entire town to live together in peace and harmony.

I live in the house with Mr. Lee. It’s a pleasant, peaceful, kind and calm place. I want to keep it that way. Don’t you?

video. My home in China. 11MB

MM Special Message

Life is fleeting.

Please, please make the best of what you have RIGHT NOW. Maybe there are evil psychopathic people, idiots and nasty malcontents. But you are in control of your bubble of reality. You can affect your own life.

You can make the world a better place. Please do so.

Video 7MB

Show care and concern to those around you.

Especially your family.

Really.

Do you really spend enough time with those that you love? Do you have a family that spends happy and sad times together? Is your life rich with pets, friends and savory food?

Video 7MB

Spend time with family, friends, or just have fun…

Likten to me.

I know it’s so easy to get caught up with work, needs, goals, objectives and all the rest. I, too, spend a lot of my time scrubbing dog shit off the floor, changing baby diapers, and fielding calls at midnight to Salesmen in Canada and the United States, but you all must start spending more “quality time” (such an overused expression)… more “fun time”.

Here are some ideas for your inspiration…

Dancing… video 5.6MB

Or maybe something like this. This is in Africa.

Video 10.4MB

Play a video game in full immersive simulation. video 6.3MB

You do know that the technology is really advanced in China these days. Like this. Video 2MB

We must be more than ourselves…

Yeah. Having fun is what relaxes us and adds the taste and spice to our lives. It’s really important, and terribly underutilized. Instead, it has been replaced by media, and social networking.  I think that we should always look at the bigger picture.

Like what?

Food.

Tasty long cooking food (not the fast food). Delicious. Food. Like your grandmother used to make. Food. Like baked fish, city chicken, scalloped potatoes, corned beef and cabbage and Beef Stroganoff. Food. Stuff that are difficult to get in restaurants. Stuff that your wife and family members can experiment with and make signature dishes that feed and nurture.

And then relax.

Chat over the food. Talk about your day. About her day. About your friends. About what needs to be done. About hope. Dreams. Plans.

Conversation.

Not television.

Don’t wait for others to make it happen. It’s YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. Act in control of YOUR life. Stop waiting for others to do things… to agree on things… to endless debate things. Just do it.

You be the guiding light.

You.

YOU.

Start carving out a place in the table of life, and YOU start inviting others to share in your little piece of Heaven.

GOod friends. Good family. Good food and drink.

You start it. You make it happen.

Beef Stroganoff.

It will happen.

So will a nice, safe, secure home. Cozy, warm. Dry. Tastefully decorated. Your wife is in charge of everything domestic.

She’s the boss.

Like on an aircraft carrier. There is a Captain, and then there is the XO. She’s the Executive Officer, and you are the Captain. Be the Captain; steer that ship to a fine safe harbor and prosper there.

I’m giving you all the keys, don’t you know.

You will get, also, because of your lower stress and improved organization, a group of friends where you BELONG. You will get participation in life. Pets. A cat or two. Maybe a dog.

You will be invited places. You will have good walks. Good times. Great conversation, and people who make special occasions becuse…

…well…

…because (insert lame excuse here).

You will get other things as well.

A hobby. A pleasure or two.

And care about our surroundings.

Watch out for the kids, and the pets that run in front of us from time to time.

video 3MB

And just kind of live life.

Why not live life?

Watch good movies, enjoy art. Touch sculptures.

Have a hot fudge sundae.

Visit historical places. Enjoy the day on the beach or a snowy mountain hike. Play with your pets, or friends. Just start getting engaged in discussions about all sorts of interesting and curious things.

Sit on the porch with an inviting porch light on. Invite neighbors over for a game of checkers, or cards. Have beer available, or iced tea.

Check out interesting things and discuss them.

video 2MB

Please know that you can make your life in a real paradise on the earth.

You really can. You just have to manufacture it.

You run your prayer affirmation campaigns and implement them in accordance to your fate forecasts. You follow the guidelines on being a Rufus, and participating in the community.

You get your home life in order. You divide responsibilities. Stop trying to run the whole world and carry it on your shoulders. Stop that egotistical nonsense.

Share the responsibilities.

The wife is in charge of all finances and all domestic, you (if you are a man) are in charge of earning money and fixing things. You earn it. She spends it.  It’s the natural order of things.

You give her all the money you make, and she hands back a living allowance. Things are much calmer and better that way.

No worries.

I tell you (men) that once you do this, you will forever never have to worry about food, bills, or disputes EVER again. She will take care of everything. You won’t have those worries. Never again.

You will eat WELL. Really, really well. You will have a larder, and a freezer full of premade meals, and canned goods.

Your stress level will go WAY down. There is nothing like daily meals of good fine delicious food, good conversation and an evening of winding down in cool soft relaxation.

And you will be able to focus on your job.

And your life will really start to look like this…

video 8MB

And really, isn’t that what you want?

Do you want more?

You can find more articles related to this in my latest index; A New Beginning. And in it are elements of the old, some elements regarding the transition, and some elements that look towards the future.

New Beginnings 3

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Moma’s Chicken Soup – A Parable About Modern America

Credit to Rush Limbaugh who gave me the inspiration to write this. This was inspired by his invaluable writings in his Rush Revere series of children’s books . Please enjoy.

A parable is a succinct, didactic story, in prose or verse that illustrates one or more instructive lessons or principles. It differs from a fable in that fables employ animals, plants, inanimate objects, or forces of nature as characters, whereas parables have human characters. A parable is a type of analogy.
-Wikipedia

This is the story about Moma and her amazing soup.

You see, while everyone else was making chicken soup the “old fashioned way”, Moma did things differently. About two hundred years ago, a woman named Moma, came up with a new and radically different way to make soup.

She called her soup “Chicken Soup”.

It was a simple name for a simple soup. While other cooks, chefs and cooking experts were calling their soups by regal names, Moma wanted a simple name for the soup.

As well as a simple name for her.

When a reporter asked her what to call her, an expert? A
culinarian? A commis chef, or a chef de cuisine? She just replied, “Just call me a Cook”.

As far as the soup went, it was just as simple. She kept it clean and uncomplicated. However, the ingredients had to be well cleaned, they needed to be carefully cut, and the proportions of the ingredients needed to be consistent. There were three major ingredients and they all had to be in perfect balance. Otherwise the soup would fail.

Other people laughed.

They said her “great experiment with chicken soup” would never make it. Even one of her biggest supporters, her brother, said “Heh. Chicken soup… if you can keep it.”

Moma's chicken soup as first made
Moma’s chicken soup became famous because the primary ingredients were simple, clean, small and well maintained. Everything was clear and the rules were followed by the chef to the letter.

The Secret

You see, while everyone else was making chicken soup the “old fashioned way”, you know throwing everything into the pot all at once and letting it blend together. Moma did things differently. She only used a limited number of ingredients. Of those ingredients, she would only add celery, carrots, cut up chicken breast and bullion.

That was it.

Nothing else, and no complex preparations or arrangements of food were required.

You see, Moma believed in balance. The celery balanced the carrots. The carrots balanced the chicken, and the chicken balanced the celery. As long as the roles of each item were clear, the soup became balanced and quite tasty.

Everyone else, however, believed that all soups should be representative of all the vegetables available. They threw in potatoes, squash, rutabagas and just about every other vegetable into their soup. These “soup purists” claimed that by doing so they made the soup more delicious. They claimed that the diversity of elements made it better, more improved and healthier.

They even wrote a poem about it.

“Give me your discarded vegetables, your unneeded leaves, Your huddled unusables yearning to be cooked freely, The wretched refuse of your teeming garden. Send these, the tasteless, the foul, the ugly, to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden broth.” 
― Do-well Good-biddy-body

But Moma would have none of that.

She believed that the best things in life came to those that worked hard and deserved a place at her table. To them, she would give them the best that she could make. She used only the best ingredients, perfectly selected, and cut and simmered under her watchful eye.

“Let others eat their soup”, she would proclaim. “If we do everything like everyone else, we will be just like them.”

And so it was.

Time passed

Time passed on and Moma died.

There was nothing sinister or scandalous about her death. It was natural. She lived a long and just life, and when the angel of death came for her, she welcomed it with open arms.

Knowing full well that her death was fast approaching, she explicitly warned about the dangers of changing her soup.

She warned about what could possibly happen and go wrong. She discussed her reasoning as to why the ingredients were as she specified. She explicitly delineated how it should be cooked and how it should be served.

She did so in a special document called the “Fed-Well Papers“. Here she explained everything so that people can well understand why things were made the way there were.

Her family, in her memory (as well as in her will) decided to maintain the family tradition. They would keep everything the same. Especially the name of the soup “Moma’s Chicken Soup”.

The first change

That was all well and good. It’s just that they only needed to make just a few little changes to it. You know, Itsy-bitsy changes. To make it better, don’t ya know.

Little ones. Not big ones.

You see, what happened was a fresh-faced family member, straight out of school with a freshly minted MBA decided to change the ingredients. He knew that he could do so. As he was taught so many new and progressive ideas at the university that he attended.

So, what he did was take people who liked other soups and arranged blind-test studies with them. Blindfolded, they would taste different soups and they would rate the taste.

Since they all came from backgrounds that did not like chicken soup to begin with, he knew that whatever they would select would tell him how best to change his soup to appeal to these outliers.

The results when tabulated provided all the ammunition he needed to convince the rest of the family that Moma’s chicken soup needed to change. It needed to change, he argued, to include more people eating it.

It needed to be more attractive to others, and thus more diverse.

He would pound on the family table and accuse the others of being close-minded, bigoted, and hicks. He called them “deplorable” for clinging to their chicken soup.

They reluctantly agreed, though truth be told, there was money that changed hands, and other methods of persuasion were used to convince the more recalcitrant family members.

The first change was to allow roots, leaves and stems in the soup.

You see, one of the more intellectual family members was taught in school that roots, stems, and leaves contain flavoroids. These chemicals can be used to greatly enhance the taste of the soup. Or at least the theory went.

After all, many other cooks were also doing this in their kitchens. It was only natural for it to be applied to Moma’s Chicken Soup. The other kitchens were progressive. They were “hip” to the “new tastes” that all the youth were professing as extraordinary.

So around twelve years after Moma passed on, they started to add the roots, stems and leaves from the celery, and carrots into the soup.

It was a rousing success!

Everyone was talking about the new “improved” soup. Now better! Now More Nutritious! Now better in every way.

On the television there would be discussion panels of “experts” absolutely raving about how wonderful the “new and improved” chicken soup was. They would hold their spoons up high in the air and talk about about how free and gay they felt. They would praise the soup calling it “LGBT friendly”.

LGBT = Large Garden Bits and Twigs.

A “Living Broth”

People outside the family, and everyone inside the community started to talk about how the soup was a “living broth” and that it was meant to change and evolve with the times.

The idea of a set fixed way of doing things was considered old fashioned, out of touch with reality, and outmoded. Only old grizzly stogies, and women straight out of the “Handy-cooks tale” would eat traditional “old fashioned” and obsolete soup.

The universities and cooking schools gleefully taught this philosophy. In fact, only those cooks that agreed with the idea of a “living broth” could ever be permitted to graduate from college. The others; the traditionalists, were set apart and scorned at the university.

Often at the universities would be set aside “broth free” areas where people could be themselves without the worry of seeing someone eat a traditional soup.

More time passed

Of course, if you make one little change, one little tweak, here and there eventually everything would be at the pinnacle of perfection.

Moves were taken to add more and more different kinds of vegetables into the soup.

The first to be added were tomatoes. As it was thought that nothing looked fresher and “farm fresh” than photos of tomatoes with carrots and celery.

Then came potatoes.

Then apples. After all, tomato is a fruit, so apples are the logical choice for the soup.

Soon, everything was added to the soup pot. This included mushrooms, bean sprouts, cauliflower, sweet peas, sweet potatoes, and beans. In fact, all kinds of beans were accepted into the soup.

It was to make the soup full of protein.

Factions of believers

All these changes necessitated some intervention. As there became different factions of soup lovers. Some thought that the soup should contain more potatoes, while others believed that the soup needed to have bananas and pineapple added to it.

They argued that since pineapple made pizza better that it would do miracles to chicken soup.

There was a faction of “root purists” that believed that the only vegetables that should be used are those that were roots like ginger, potatoes, garlic and onions.

There was a faction that demanded against “dietary appropriation” which consisted of vegetables that were used in other foods. They thought that the best chicken soup was one made out of water with no ingredients at all. These purists believed that “every food had it’s place” in society.

To make sure that the soup would remain pure to all factions, various regulatory agencies were established.

  • ATF – All Tasty Flavors
  • NSA – No Salt Agency
  • IRS – Increased Regulation Society
  • DHS – Department of Healthy Soup

Vegetarians get all upset

All of these additions made Moma’s soup a big hit with the vegetarian crowd. they loved the convenience of having all their favorite vegetables all mixed together and easy to eat all at once.

The only problem was the chicken.

Vegetarians did not like to eat meat.

They looked at all the rest of the soups that others were eating. They saw that the vast majority of them did not include chicken. They saw how happy and healthy these people were eating these chickenless soups.

They looked at potato soup, and red bean soup. They looked at split pea soup and cream of turnip soup. They looked at rutabaga and nutmeg soups.

Their argument was rather simple. It went something like this; If all these other soups don’t have chicken, then why does chicken soup contain chicken? It was a question that they asked over and over again. They asked it so many times that people started to automatically ask it themselves.

Why does any soup need a chicken?” They asked.

So they started a “ban the chicken” campaign. This “chicken ban” effort was very popular in the cities. Where violence against chicken was very common. The idea was that if you ban chicken from the soup, the chickens living in the urban areas would be safer from the urban cooks.

The vegetarians were smart. They knew that they could not ban the chicken outright. So they tired to ban it in all sorts of ways. they came up with ideas from taxing the chicken, to removing certain parts of the chicken and forbidding their use in the soup.

Assault Chicken Ban

Whenever a chicken got into a fight with another chicken, it was recorded on social media and promoted on the internet. The buzz word was “assault chicken“. By constantly harping on this term the vegetarians were able to rouse up twitter mobs to demand that Momas soup ban the chicken.

Of course, a "twitter mob" is an artificial construct. It is just a bunch of fake robots (or 'bots) that are used to give the illusion of popular support. You can buy armies of 'bots to make you look popular. It just costs a few thousands of dollars.

They worked at this and worked on this. They would say such things as “You don’t need an assault chicken to make a good soup.” Or, “why would anyone need to have a chicken in their soup?”

They rallied against certain breeds of chicken. For instance, chickens that were good egg-layers. Calling them “High Capacity Chickens“. They would get on television and say such things as “Why would anyone need to eat more than one egg?“.

In fact, there was one “assault chicken”, a fellow named “A.K.” that was particularly famous. During one newscast he took on forty seven other chickens and bested them all. Thus making the rousing nationwide slogan “Ban the AK-47“.

They rallied against inexpensive chicken breeds as well. The vegetarians were particularly incensed about these breeds. They did not like the fact that people would eat them on Saturday nights at BBQ’s with beer. Calling them “Saturday Night Specials“.

They rallied against new technology as well. As some chickens were spouting plastic ID tags instead of metal ID tags that had been used in the past. These plastic tabs would be applied by a tool that would lock the tag in place. It looked like an ugly pair of pliers, and was called a “G-lock”. Thus the anti-chicken crusade for “Ban the Glock“.

They rallied against stupid chickens. You know the kind, the really stupid ones. The “ding bat” chickens. These were the super stupid chickens. The ones that would bump against the fences inside the chicken stockade. They called these bans “Bump Stock Bans“.

They started to refer to the ways to obtain chickens as “loopholes”. Thus making it sound bad and sinister. For instance, there was the infamous “County Fair Loophole” where people could buy chickens at County Fairs. As well as the popular pastime of sharing chickens between family members. This became known as the “Chicken Transfer Loophole“.

All of this was promoted terribly as if it was something wrong, or evil, and that only a very evil and criminal person would ever handle a chicken let alone eat one in a soup. Because of this people started to get the idea that touching a chicken, or even looking at a chicken was a sinister and vile thing to do.

Every Election cycle

Without fail, every time there was a new major in town, there was a chicken incident” within the first six months of his term of office. He would thus get on the “soapbox” and loudly proclaim that he would need to ban chickens for the public good.

In the first six months of Major Bumba, there was a major chicken incident. Then in the first six months of Major Turnipon, there was another chicken incident. All of which would come with 24-7 non-stop wailing and gnashing of teeth of the “chicken tragedy”.

The news would focus on a crying infant, holding a spoon, and wailing about the horrible, horrible chicken. It would focus on school classrooms that took anti-chicken polls and went door to door convincing people of the dangers of chicken in soup.

One such student, a young Mr. Smog, became the picture boy for the anti-chicken in soup crusade. Now, even though he wasn’t the brightest student in the school, he somehow managed to get accepted at one of the top culinary schools in the country. He and others of his generation, such as Able Oscar-Charlie, were now poised to bring in a new way of cooking chicken soup. They called it “The New Broth Deal”.

Of course, the Major would participate as well. He would make a scene about it with him crying on the television or discussing going “nuclear” against cooks that use chicken in Moma’s soup.

Bumper stickers started to be seen on every other car saying such things as “Ban the chicken“, and “A chicken does not make a good soup”

The Ending of the Story

Once the system was put in place, it was only a matter of time before Moma’s soup banned the chicken. The vegetarian calls for banning the chicken never let up. It was wishful thinking, on the part of traditionalists, that the assault on the chicken would somehow disappear. It never did.

Thus, let it be well understood, the ban did eventually happen.

And all those traditionalists, who said that they would have “to pull their spoon from their dead cold hands” stood by and did nothing. They were just full of hot air and bluster. When push came to shove, they went into their kitchens, slammed the door, and hid in fear.

Huge cauldrons of soup were dumped in the sewers with great fanfare. The CIA (Cook Investigative Agency) police and their armed shock troops patrolled the streets looking for violations of the ban.

Oh, the soup is still made today. Don’t ya know.

And yes, it’s still called “Moma’s Chicken Soup”, but it isn’t the same as what it was when it was first made. Though that no longer matters. No one today remembers what the original chicken soup tasted like.

No one remembers.

It’s not taught in school. The way things are is considered to be normal, and the way that they have always been.

Instead, everyone is still concentrating on improving the chicken-less soup. With the latest additions include such things as pine needles, walnuts, succotash, okra and dirt. The promotions include smiling school children, proudly holding up their bowls of soup to an adoring mainstream media.

Today momas soup
Moma’s chicken soup today. It is progressive. It is diverse. It is LGBT friendly. It is pro-vegetarian and anti-chicken.

And Moma…

Well, there’s been all sorts of earthquakes in the vicinity of her tombstone. It’s like a giant is rolling over and over under the ground.

Conclusion

Yes. America is still called a “Constitutional Republic” when it is actually an oligarchy today. And when the Constitution was first signed, only the male heads of families were able to vote, and their vote only would go to their federal Congressman.

There were not two political parties with the same objectives, and the same funding sources, but different talking points.

Today, you have everyone voting. In fact, the donkey-party wants children and all the non-citizens to vote. As such, it is no longer a benefit to be an American citizen. Any citizen, of any country, in any part of the world can vote.

After all, when 100% of the world can control the actions of 4.34% of the population, you have virtually zero control over your life.

World population pie chart
Population of the world, broken down by nations. Here you can see that the United States hold 4.34% of the world’s population. With the Democrats wanting non-citizens to vote in American elections, it means that virtually Americans will have no control over their governance. Instead their vote would be equal to a voter in Argentina.

It is a liability.

Americans are taxed to fight (presently) seven wars (and many, many other skirmishes) for rich oligarchs that aren’t even US Citizens. We are taxed and taxed, but don’t get any of the social welfare benefits. They just farm us like animals, and use us like farm animals.

In fact, the USA is so messed up right now that it is IMPOSSIBLE to revert back to the way it was intended to be. There are only two courses of action available. They are [1] continue on the path as is, and permit more laws, more taxes, more regulation, and more corruption to fight more wars, and allow more progressive ideology, or [2] “nuke everything from orbit” and start fresh all over again.

"Nuke It From Orbit" is a popular catchphrase  used in discussion forums to express one's extreme disapproval of a  particular image or link posted by someone else. In other words, when "killing it with fire" isn't nearly effective enough, "nuking it from orbit" is your last resort …because it's the only way to be sure.

"Nuke the entire site from orbit--it's the only way to be sure" is a quote taken from the 1986 sci-fi film Aliens in which Ripley (played by Sigourney Weaver) decides that nothing is worth saving and that the only sure way to destroy all of the aliens is to nuke their habitat from the orbit.

-Know your meme

To that I must add… Moo!

Americans
Americans complaining about their Rights, as viewed by the progressive liberal elite in the urban centers.

Posts Regarding Life and Contentment

Here are some other similar posts on this venue. If you enjoyed this post, you might like these posts as well. These posts tend to discuss growing up in America. Often, I like to compare my life in America with the society within communist China. As there are some really stark differences between the two.

Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Tomatos
Mad scientist
Gorilla Cage in the basement
The two family types and how they work.
Link
Pleasures
Work in the 1960's
School in the 1970s
Cat Heaven
Corporate life
Corporate life - part 2
Build up your life
Grow and play - 1
Grow and play - 2
Asshole
Baby's got back
Link
A womanly vanity
The Warning Signs
SJW
Army and Navy Store
Playground Comparisons
Excuses that we use that keep us enslaved.

More Posts about Life

I have broken apart some other posts. They can best be classified about ones actions as they contribute to happiness and life. They are a little different, in subtle ways.

Being older
Things I wish I knew.
Link
Civil War
Travel
PT-141
Bronco Billy
r/K selection theory
How they get away with it
Line in the sand
A second passport
Paper Airplanes
Snopes
Taxiation without representation.
Link
Link
Link
Make America Great Again.
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
1960's and 1970's link
Democracy Lessons
A polarized world.

Stories that Inspired Me

Here are reprints in full text of stories that inspired me, but that are nearly impossible to find in China. I place them here as sort of a personal library that I can use for inspiration. The reader is welcome to come and enjoy a read or two as well.

Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
The Last Night
The Flying Machine
A story of escape.
All Summer in a day.
The Smile by Ray Bradbury
The menace from Earth

Articles & Links

You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.

  • You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
  • You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
  • You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
  • You can find out more about the author HERE.
  • If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
  • If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

The Flying Machine (Full Text) by Ray Bradbury

The Flying Machine By Ray Bradbury

This story was written by Ray Bradbury, and presented here under Article 22 of China’s Copyright Law. This is from Golden Apples of the Sun Doubleday, 1953 .

Ray Bradbury is one of my personal heroes and his writings greatly influenced me in ways that I am only just now beginning to understand.

Here is a story that discusses how political and social realities can slow, stymie and retard technological advancement. I think that it is beautifully written and very “delicious”. I love the way that Ray Bradbury brings advanced concepts to the masses though his very (seemingly) simplistic stories.

Introduction

“There was this fence where we pressed our faces and felt the wind turn warm and held to the fence and forgot who we were or where we came from but dreamed of who we might be and where we might go…” 
-R is for Rocket Ray Bradbury

For years I had amassed a well worn, and dusty collection of Ray Bradbury paperbacks that I would pick up and read for pleasure and inspiration.  Later, when I left the United States, and moved to China, I had to leave my treasured books behind. Sigh.

Ray Bradberry book colleciton
A small collection of well worn, well read and well appreciated Ray Bradbury books. My collection looked a little something like this, only I think the books were a little more worn, and a little yellower.

It is very difficult to come across Ray Bradbury books in China. When ever I find one, I certainly snatch it up. Cost is no object when it comes to these masterpieces. At one time, I must have had five books containing this story.

I have found this version of the story on the Ray Bradbury library portal in Russia, and I have copied it here exactly as found. Credit to the wonderful people at the Ray Bradbury Library for posting it where a smuck like myself can read it within China. And, of course, credit to the great master; Ray Bradbury for providing this work of art for our inspiration and pleasure.

The Flying Machine

In the year A.D. 400, the Emperor Yuan held his throne by the Great Wall of China, and the land was green with rain, readying itself toward the harvest, at peace, the people in his dominion neither too happy nor too sad.

Early on the morning of the first day of the first week of the second month of the new year, the Emperor Yuan was sipping tea and fanning himself against a warm breeze when a servant ran across the scarlet and blue garden tiles, calling, “Oh, Emperor, Emperor, a miracle!”

“Yes,” said the Emperor, “the air is sweet this morning.”

“No, no, a miracle!” said the servant, bowing quickly.

“And this tea is good in my mouth, surely that is a miracle.”

“No, no, Your Excellency.”

“Let me guess then – the sun has risen and a new day is upon us. Or the sea is blue. That now is the finest of all miracles.”

“Excellency, a man is flying!”

“What?” The Emperor stopped his fan.

“I saw him in the air, a man flying with wings. I heard a Voice call out of the sky, and when I looked up, there he was, a dragon in the heavens with a man in its mouth, a dragon of paper and bamboo, coloured like the sun and the grass.”

“It is early,” said the Emperor, “and you have just wakened from a dream.”

“It is early, but I have seen what I have seen! Come, and you will see it too.”

“Sit down with me here,” said the Emperor. “Drink some tea. It must be a strange thing, if it is true, to see a man fly. You must have time to think of it, even as I must have time to prepare myself for the sight.”

They drank tea.

“Please,” said the servant at last, “or he will be gone.”

The Emperor rose thoughtfully. “Now you may show me what you have seen.”

They walked into a garden, across a meadow of grass, over a small bridge, through a grove of trees, and up a tiny hill.

“There!” said the servant.

The Emperor looked into the sky. And in the sky, laughing so high that you could hardly hear him laugh, was a man; and the man was clothed in bright papers and reeds to make wings and a beautiful yellow tail, and he was soaring all about like the largest bird in a universe of birds, like a new dragon in a land of ancient dragons.

The man called down to them from high in the cool winds of morning. “I fly, I fly!”

The servant waved to him. “Yes,yes!”

The Emperor Yuan did not move.

Instead he looked at the Great Wall of China now taking shape out of the farthest mist in the green hills, that splendid snake of stones which writhed with majesty across the entire land. That wonderful wall which had protected them for a timeless time from enemy hordes and preserved peace for years without number.

He saw the town, nestled to itself by a river and a road and a hill, beginning to waken.

“Tell me,” he said to his servant, “has anyone else seen this flying man?”

“I am the only one, Excellency,” said the servant, smiling at the sky, waving.

The Emperor watched the heavens another minute and then said, “Call him down to me.”


“Ho, come down, come down!

The Emperor wishes to see you!” called the servant, hands cupped to his shouting mouth.

The Emperor glanced in all directions while the flying man soared down the morning wind. He saw a farmer, early in his fields, watching the sky, and he noted where the farmer stood.

The flying man alit with a rustle of paper and a creak of bamboo reeds.

He came proudly to the Emperor, clumsy in his rig, at last bowing before the old man.

“What have you done?” demanded the Emperor.

“I have flown in the sky, Your Excellency,” replied the man.

“What have you done?” said the Emperor again.

“I have just told you!” cried the flier.

“You have told me nothing at all.” The Emperor reached out a thin hand to touch the pretty paper and the birdlike keel of the apparatus. It smelled cool, of the wind.

“Is it not beautiful, Excellency?”

“Yes, too beautiful.”

“It is the only one in the world!” smiled the man.

“And I am the inventor.”

“The only one in the world?”

“I swear it!”

“Who else knows of this?”

“No one. Not even my wife, who would think me mad with the son. She thought I was making a kite. I rose in the night and walked to the cliffs far away. And when the morning breezes blew and the sun rose, I gathered my courage, Excellency, and leaped from the cliff.

I flew!

But my wife does not know of it.”

“Well for her, then,” said the Emperor. “Come along.” They walked back to the great house. The sun was full in the sky now, and the smell of the grass was refreshing. The Emperor, the servant, and the flier paused within the huge garden. The Emperor clapped his hands.

“Ho, guards!”

The guards came running.

“Hold this man.”

The guards seized the flier.

“Call the executioner,” said the Emperor.

“What’s this!” cried the flier, bewildered.

“What have I done?” He began to weep, so that the beautiful paper apparatus rustled.

“Here is the man who has made a certain machine,” said the Emperor, “and yet asks us what he has created. He does not know himself. It is only necessary that he create, without knowing why he has done so, or what this thing will do.”

The executioner came running with a sharp silver ax. He stood with his naked, large-muscled arms ready, his face covered with a serene white mask.

“One moment,” said the Emperor. He turned to a nearby table upon which sat a machine that he himself had created. The Emperor took a tiny golden key from his own neck. He fitted his key to the tiny, delicate machine and wound it up.

Then he set the machine going.

The machine was a garden of metal and jewels. Set in motion, the birds sangs in tiny metal trees, wolves walked through miniature forests, and tiny people ran in and out of sun and shadow, fanning themselves with miniature fans, listening to tiny emerald birds, and standing by impossibly small but tinkling fountains.

“Is It not beautiful?” said the Emperor.

“If you asked me what I have done here, I could answer you well. I have made birds sing, I have made forests murmur, I have set people to walking in this woodland, enjoying the leaves and shadows and songs. That is what I have done.”

“But, oh, Emperor!” pleaded the flier, on his knees, the tears pouring down his face. “I have done a similar thing! I have found beauty. I have flown on the morning wind. I have looked down on all the sleeping houses and gardens. I have smelled the sea and even seen it, beyond the hills, from my high place. And I have soared like a bird; oh, I cannot say how beautiful it is up there, in the sky, with the wind about me, the wind blowing me here like a feather, there like a fan, the way the sky smells in the morning! And how free one feels!

That is beautiful, Emperor, that is beautiful too!”

“Yes,” said the Emperor sadly, “I know it must be true. For I felt my heart move with you in the air and I wondered: What is it like? How does it feel? How do the distant pools look from so high? And how my houses and servants? Like ants? And how the distant towns not yet awake?”

“Then spare me!”

“But there are times,” said the Emperor, more sadly still, “when one must lose a little beauty if one is to keep what little beauty one already has. I do not fear you, yourself, but I fear another man.”

“What man?”

“Some other man who, seeing you, will build a thing of bright papers and bamboo like this. But the other man will have an evil face and an evil heart, and the beauty will be gone. It is this man I fear.”

“Why? Why?”

“Who is to say that someday just such a man, in just such an apparatus of paper and reed, might not fly in the sky and drop huge stones upon the Great Wall of China?” said the Emperor.

No one moved or said a word.

“Off with his head,” said the Emperor. The executioner whirled his silver ax.

“Burn the kite and the inventor’s body and bury their ashes together,” said the Emperor.

The servants retreated to obey. The Emperor turned to his hand-servant, who had seen the man flying.

“Hold your tongue. It was all a dream, a most sorrowful and beautiful dream. And that farmer in the distant field who also saw, tell him it would pay him to consider it only a vision. If ever the word passes around, you and the farmer die within the hour.”

“You are merciful, Emperor.”

“No, not merciful,” said the old man.

Beyond the garden wall he saw the guards burning the beautiful machine of paper and reeds that smelled of the morning wind. He saw he dark smoke climb into the sky.

“No, only very much bewildered and afraid.”

He saw the guards digging a tiny pit wherein to bury the ashes.

“What is the life of one man against those of a million others? I must take solace from that thought.”

He took the key from its chain about his neck and once more wound up the beautiful miniature garden. He stood looking out across the land at the Great Wall, the peaceful town, the green fields, the rivers and streams.

He sighed.

The tiny garden whirred its hidden and delicate machinery and set itself in motion; tiny people walked in forests, tiny faces loped through sun-speckled glades in beautiful shining pelts, and among the tiny trees flew little bits of high song and bright blue and yellow color, flying, flying, flying in that small sky.

“Oh,” said the Emperor, closing his eyes, “look at the birds, look at the birds!”

Conclusion

Perhaps this will provide the reader with some clarity as to why MAJestic existed, and why people are not to know of our real and actual reality. Perhaps it will explain my role far better than this…

Posts Regarding Life and Contentment

Here are some other similar posts on this venue. If you enjoyed this post, you might like these posts as well. These posts tend to discuss growing up in America. Often, I like to compare my life in America with the society within communist China. As there are some really stark differences between the two.

Link
Link
Link
Tomatos
Link
Mad scientist
Gorilla Cage in the basement
Link
Pleasures
Work in the 1960's
School in the 1970s
Cat Heaven
Corporate life
Corporate life - part 2
Build up your life
Grow and play - 1
Grow and play - 2
Asshole
Baby's got back
Link
A womanly vanity
The Warning Signs
SJW
Army and Navy Store
Playground Comparisons
Excuses that we use that keep us enslaved.

More Posts about Life

I have broken apart some other posts. They can best be classified about ones actions as they contribute to happiness and life. They are a little different, in subtle ways.

Being older
Things I wish I knew.
Link
Civil War
Travel
PT-141
Bronco Billy
r/K selection theory
How they get away with it
Line in the sand
A second passport
Paper Airplanes
Snopes
Taxiation without representation.
Link
Link
Link
Make America Great Again.
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
1960's and 1970's link
Democracy Lessons
A polarized world.

Stories that Inspired Me

Here are reprints in full text of stories that inspired me, but that are nearly impossible to find in China. I place them here as sort of a personal library that I can use for inspiration. The reader is welcome to come and enjoy a read or two as well.

Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
The Last Night

Articles & Links

  • You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
  • You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
  • You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
  • You can find out more about the author HERE.
  • If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
  • If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.