Why Do You Make The Big Bucks?

Back when I was building things for a living, I had these two laborers on the jobsite who were constantly trying to either get out of doing their assigned tasks or take credit for someone else's production.  Their names: James Carter and Willie Clinton.

Seriously, if they'd have been state road-working employees, they'd have been outfitted with upside-down shirt pockets, so the shovels they'd be leaning on would have a place to catch and keep them from toppling over when/if they fell asleep standing up.

One day, I saw them talking with each other and was wondering what they were up to, when Willie walked over to me.  He said, "We was wondering why it is that you make the big bucks."

I asked him if he didn't consider it possible that I earned more because I was willing to take on more responsibility and answer for my errors or wrong decisions instead of blaming someone else or some seismic anomaly, that I came to work prepared to do those things required to help my employer be successful, and that I considered his success was a good thing worth working for, and that I actually work harder and more efficiently than anyone else on that jobsite, and that I show up for work even when I don't feel like it, or because I do things myself that others in my charge cannot or will not do?

"No," he said, "I don't think that's why.  I think there's something else."

"You're right," I said, "come here and I'll show you why I make the big bucks."

I walked over to a block wall that had been poured solid with concrete, and held my open hand in front of it.

"Now ball your fist, and hit my hand as hard as you can."

In a rare moment of compliance (or maybe it was just that he was willing to seize upon any opportunity to take a whack at me), Willie did just that.  And I pulled my hand back, as he bloodied his knuckles on the unforgiving wall.

"That," I said to Willie, "is why I make the big bucks."

I watched Willie walk back to where Jimmy had been waiting expectantly.

Jimmy: "What'd he say, what'd he say?"

Willie then held his palm up in front of his own face and said, "hit my hand."

I chose those names in this tale because we've recently had a couple of former US Presidents by similar names inject themselves into the national discussion as if they're some kind of authority on, get this, the Tea Party and its emerging force as a voice for, and of, America.

Back in April, Slick Willie claimed that the Tea Party was "dangerous,"  but this past week was heard listing things "they" may be good for, peering professorially (and condescendingly) over his bifocals.  And Jimmy the peanut head recently suggested that Tea Party rallies were a lot like his own Presidency.

Wow.  Things are so bad now for the Corruptocrats that the two most-recent, most egregious examples of Presidential ineptitude not named Obama are swimming hard as hell to get in front of the wave, in an effort to deflect the reality that honest, law-abiding citizens who never envisioned themselves at a political rally, are indeed rallying to protest all the big-government intrusion and dependency that these two fostered and perpetuated their entire political lives.  Next thing you know, Owl Gore will be claiming to have invented the Tea Party.

It isn't a single person that gives the Tea Party ralliers their drive and focus, it's the result of caging good people in an ever-deepening invasion of statism.  The more those statists try to put their own brand on the Tea Party movement or belittle and ridicule its participants, or infiltrate those ranks with nutcases bent on smear tactics, the more they succeed in only defining themselves for everyone paying attention as the real enemies of America.  Like that bumper sticker said, "If they don't want civil disturbance, why do they keep disturbing us?"  The answer is that they just don't get it.

Power, for the statist, is the only thing that matters.  More laws and more regulations equals more authority and control.  Kinda like if I'd have let Willie and Jimmy have a "boss-for-a-day" experiment on the job, these folks have taken the past 23 months and proven just how inept and corrupt and un-American and rabidly evil they can be, given such unbridled authority.

The thing they did not count on was that good people maybe wouldn't sit silently while their country was sabotaged by its government.  We've seen the harm you can, and will, bring to our economy and national security, and individual liberty.  It would seem that enough good Americans weren't numb or asleep or addicted to your benevolence, despite the hardiest efforts of your assumed intelligensia and media, and none of your twists and perversions and slander come as a surprise to us now.

Anything other than finding useful occupation outside and away from public scrutiny, now that we've all seen you for what you truly are, only serves to reinforce our understanding of your destructive motivation, and the inherent danger therein.

...And for all those folks out there who were duped by empty Democratic rhetoric, Dennis Prager has a spot-on essay for overcoming emotional hurdles when it comes to "Danger on the right" at TownHall.com.  Please consider checking it out.

Cold Day, Hot Pie

Many, many years ago, in one of my earliest jobs in the construction industry, I worked for a grading and utilities contractor.  Our company's business was usually within about a 50-mile radius from the office, so our crews generally travelled to jobsites each day, as opposed to staying in hotels during the week.  One such early morning ride included our hero of this tale, named Bill.

On a frigid January morning, Bill's foreman pulled the company crew-cab into a convenience store about half way to their jobsite, a new sewer line project, approximately 1.5 hours drive from the office.  Bill, like most of his coworkers on the drive, had been snoozing on the way to the job, but rousted himself up to fetch some coffee and nabs (nabs = nondescript name for any type of snack food).  In addition to his coffee, Bill left the store with a pack of smokes and a factory-packaged fried apple pie.  Bill drank his coffee and smoked a cigarette while they were stopped, but put his pie away unopened for later in the morning, when he'd be taking a break.

When the crew arrived at the jobsite, and while the equipment operators lubed, cranked, and warmed up their various machines, Bill filled the resevoir of what's called a salamander heater with off-road diesel fuel.  The temperature was expected to only get into the 20's for a high that day, and the fellows would be wanting to keep warm, especially their hands.  A salamander heater has a metal saucer-shaped tank about the size of a small wash-tub as a base, with a 6" metal smokestack protruding skyward from its center.  The surfaces can throw off 150-degree heat, and really make a difference for men working with their hands to ward off the numbing effects of the cold.  Although a very chilly day, the weather was otherwise clear, and the crew began shouldering the task of laying pipe and setting manholes.

Then, about 9:30 that morning, Bill's breakfast started petering out, and he remembered that fried apple pie.  Man, he thought, that thing would be just the ticket about now.  And, it'd be even better if it was warmed up.  Of course, there wasn't a microwave oven on a pipeline jobsite out in the woods, but he did have a heat source: the salamander heater.  So, Bill went to the truck, grabbed his pie, took it out of its wax-paper wrapper, and laid it on the base of that heater, up close to the stove-pipe.  And waited.

15 minutes or so later, Bill figured that the time was right to check on the consumability of the pie.

Now, not being the sharpest tool in the shed, and having a limited understanding of the laws of thermodynamics, Bill didn't consider the possibility that his pie could theoretically be every bit as hot as the heater on which it had sat.

Bill, with his gloved hands, picked up his pie.  He turned the pie from hand to hand but couldn't guage the pie's temperature through the thick leather gloves.  At that point he decided to do one of those things that later affords no deniability...he slapped the very hot pie to the right side of his face, leaving a D-shaped scorch mark.

"Ssssssssssss"

That moment of stupidity was one that old Bill was never able to, during his tenure with that particular company, live down.  And he eventually moved to greener pastures.

Recollecting this story reminds me of the temporary stupidity of folks who've chosen to endorse Democrats in recent years.  Can there be any deniability at this point that the Democrat Party is almost universally corrupt, particularly the Presidential administration?  Is there not a shrinking distinction between Democrat and Socialist?  The Obama/Biden White House has set new extremes for ineptitude and cronyism.  Chris Dodd and slobbering Barney Frank are finally going to get the "credit" they deserve for wrecking the economy.  The Clintons are proving to everyone that they never give a damn about anything besides more power, recognition, and authority for themselves.  Reid and Pelosi have shown exactly how lustful for more big-government schemes they can get when their authority goes unchecked.  Rangel and Waters could end up in jail for their crookedness.  Chicken-Little Gore's wealth redistribution scheme (and latent hypocrisy).  John Edwards' cheat-a-thon, and John Effin Kerry's boat-cloaking maneuver.  NC Congresscritter Boob Etheridge assaulting a student.  Funny man Franken's stolen election.  Bribery and scandal with Blago and Sestak.  Everything Alan Grayson has uttered.  The Atlanta-area Congressional dipshit that thinks Guam could tip over for having too many US soldiers stationed there.  Thuggery and shenanigans and corruption and outright ignorance.  The list goes on and on.

Seriously, if there's any good anywhere in the Donkey party, I ain't seeing it.

It may not be enough to scrape that Obama/Biden sticker off of your Prius in the months and years ahead...You may have to move to a place where nobody knows you, or knows what that big, D-shaped scorch mark on your face is all about.