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|WARNING: THIS SITE FEATURES ORIGINAL THINKING...Jim Croce once sang Don't tug on Superman's cape..., which seems like reasonable advice should we not wish to anger the supreme powers. We do have this duality in our culture: the Superman that is the state collective, the leftist call to a politics of meaning managed by the state, the deification of "we're from the government and we'll take care of you" - versus the Superman that celebrates individual freedom, private property, freedom of conscience, free enterprise, and limited government. We humbly take on the latter's mantle and, eschewing the feeble tug, we dare to PULL, in hope of seeing freedom's rescue from the encroaching nanny state. We invite you, dear reader, to come and pull as well... Additionally, if you assume that means that we are unflinching, unquestioning GOP zombies, that would be incorrect. We reject statism in any form and call on individuals in our country to return to the original, classical liberalism of our founders. (We're also passionate about art, photography, cooking, technology, Judeo/Christian values, and satire as unique, individual pursuits of happiness to celebrate.)|
Superman's product of the century (so far):
Headline for an MSN piece today:
Welcome to the compression of time dear reader. We can now project a rally in a single day.
Don't say I didn't warn you that there's a rough patch ahead...
"I brought tobacco."
"Sit." he said. It was the command of a Chief.
I had a Don Lino maduro robusto just plucked from my humidor that morning. It had been brought off well - had that moist but springy feel as I unwrapped it. I held up my offering in my right palm, looked up, raised my eyebrows.
He was expectant, said nothing.
I pulled my bullet cutter from my right pocket after switching hands like a magician doing a parlor trick. The cylindrical blade begs to make a perfect "O" in the end of the cap.
I performed my practiced sacrifice - the blade slid in as sensuously as a lover's caress and as brutally as a killer's cold steel. (Was that a breath of wind or did he sigh?)
I pressed the spring-loaded business end of the bullet to eject the sugured end of the cap into my left hand, capped the cutter and slipped it into my pocket, ground those extracted bits between my thumb and forefinger of my right hand and spread them on the earth between us while holding the prepared instrument in my left hand tenderly - and all this as quickly as pulling a silver dollar from behind a child's ear.
I cleared the draw and as I licked the little bits of stray tobacco from the incision I thought how intimate this had become for us.