…and likely won’t ever find at a flea market either…
Okay…never mind they stopped making them a year before I was even born. Dang! What boy wouldn’t love to have his own nugget of U-238 to play around with?
In 1951, A.C. Gilbert introduced his U-238 Atomic Energy Lab, a radioactive learning set we can only assume was fun for the whole math club. Gilbert, who Americanmemorabilia claims was "often compared to Walt Disney for his creative genius," had a dream that nuclear power could capture the imaginations of children everywhere. For a mere $49.50, the kit came complete with three "very low-level" radioactive sources, a Geiger-Mueller radiation counter, a Wilson Cloud Chamber (to see paths of alpha particles), a Spinthariscope (to see "live" radioactive disintegration), four samples of Uranium-bearing ores, and an Electroscope to measure radioactivity.
And what nuclear lab for kids would be complete without an Atomic Energy Manual and Learn How Dagwood Splits the Atom comic book? (The latter was written with the help of General Leslie Groves, director of the Manhattan Project.)
How Dagwood Splits the Atom would have fit in just swell with my copy of Classics Illustrated Adventures In Science…
Sigh. I guess the world I grew up in was a different place. Mr. Atom was our friend…do-it-yourself bomb shelters in the backyard notwithstanding. I guess I’ll never have the atomic energy lab I always wanted for Christmas. But…at least I have my radioactive Fiestaware…
More from Radar Online’s The Ten Most Dangerous Toys of All Time…Here. I did manage to talk mom into getting me that nifty Bat Masterson Derringer Belt Gun though. Wish I still had it. Seriously…you would not believe some of the things kids were allowed, even encouraged to play with once upon a time. Get me started on cap gun rolls sometime…
Tsunamis this large don’t happen on Earth. One week ago, a large solar flare from an Earth-sized sunspot produced a tsunami-type shock wave that was spectacular even for the Sun. Pictured above, the tsunami wave was captured moving out from active region AR 10930 by the Optical Solar Patrol Network (OSPAN) telescope in New Mexico, USA. The resulting shock wave, known technically as a Moreton wave, compressed and heated up gasses including hydrogen in the photosphere of the Sun, causing a momentarily brighter glow. The above image was taken in a very specific red color emitted exclusively by hydrogen gas. The rampaging tsunami took out some active filaments on the Sun, although many re-established themselves later. The solar tsunami spread at nearly one million kilometers per hour, and circled the entire Sun in a matter of minutes.
There is an absolutely amazing set of sequential images of this shock wave travelling across the surface of the sun on the NASA website: Here.
Took out some active filaments on the sun… (!!!) Some of those filaments are massively larger in diameter then the planet whose air you’re breathing right now.
I’m Endeavouring, Ma’am, To Construct A Mnemonic Memory Circuit Using Stone-Knives And Bear-Skins…
Originally (1947) EDSAC boasted [sic] 512 words of main memory stored in 16 ultrasonic mercury-delay-line tanks, cleverly known as "long" tanks because they were longer then the short tanks used for registers. On the bright side, as we used to quip, each of the 512 words was 18 bits! Forget the word count, feel the width! Alas, for technical reasons, only 17 of the 18 bits were accessible. By 1952, the number of long tanks had doubled, providing a dizzy total of 1-KB words. Input/output was via five-track paper tape, which therefore also served as mass [sic] storage. Subject only to global timber production, one might see this as virtually unlimited mass storage…
-Stan Kelly-Bootle, writing in the current issue of the ACM Queue, Will The Real Bots Please Stand Up?
Like beautiful bodies of the dead who had not grown old
and they shut them, with tears, in a magnificent mausoleum,
with roses at the head and jasmine at the feet —
this is what desires resemble that have passed
without fulfillment; with none of them having achieved
a night of sensual delight, or a bright morning.
In the comments on this post on the Unfunny Duck, Tukla In Iowa notes:
We’re having some fun with this over at Comics Curmudgeon because it happened to hit the news the same day one of his cartoons complained about alcohol-free eggnog:
It’s a hoot…go read it. It’s over at the Comics Curmudgeon, who says…
Now, I don’t usually — or ever, really — comment on Mallard Fillmore on this blog. Partly it’s because it inspires the sort of pointless vitriol amongst commentors that will get folks banished to the Cockpit. Partly it’s because I already have an outlet for my political commentary. But mostly it’s because my comments would just be as foaming, angry, and unfunny as Mallard Fillmore itself. Not only do I disagree with pretty much every political opinion expressed therein, but the strip itself is a sham of a comic strip. There are plenty of conservative-themed strips (Prickly City and the online Day By Day come to mind) that actually have sequential action in panels and recurring characters; Mallard Fillmore is just a standard-issue editorial cartoon that happens to be drawn in a box that’s the same dimensions as a comic strip so that it can be printed on the comics pages.
See, I’m doing it already.
I know the feeling pal. And…he’s right about the Unfunny Duck. It isn’t the political point of view, it’s that the strip simply reeks of being cranked out without any feeling whatever for the medium itself. And for that matter, any passion whatever for the political statements he’s trying to make. It isn’t funny, it has no feeling or passion, it’s just…there. It’s not good as a political cartoon, and it’s not good as a comic strip. I figure it’s being bought by newspaper editors who feel like they need to have something…anything…to "balance" Doonesbury.
But…Mallard Fillmore keeps me working hard in my own cartooning efforts. If a political cartoon I am working on starts getting as vapid and the expression in it as deathlessly rote as a Mallord Fillmore strip, I trash it.
Like I said the other day when certain readers groused about the attention this blog gives to homosexuality, it is one of the central issues of our time, and the response to it is cleaving the Christian churches. People who complain about the time conservatives spend on the issue wouldn’t complain if we were taking the Andrew Sullivan gay liberationist line. It’s that we don’t do so that they dislike. If we can’t say something nice and cheerful, we shouldn’t say anything at all.
But the issue — the issues — won’t go away.
No shit Sherlock. That’s because knuckle dragging jackasses like you can’t let go if it. It matters to you, that somewhere, someway, somehow, there are gay people in this world who don’t fear and loath their sexual nature, the way louts like you think they should.
Rod Dreher, he who knows that homosexuals can pray the gay away because he himself was cleansed by God (or was it just getting old) of his lustful feelings toward…no, not men, but Betty Blue (no…I’m not kidding…just read his article), wants us to know he feels Compassion for all those poor suffering gay Evangelicals The New York Times profiled the other day. Not that he feels any particular need to treat them as if they were as human as he is mind you, with the same basic human needs for love and intimate companionship that gutter crawling louts like him need to stop demonizing. He has Compassion…Compassion I tell you.
Whatever your stance on homosexuality and religion, you have to have a heart of stone not to feel for men and women caught in this dilemma. For me, it brought to mind something my friend David Morrison told me over a decade ago, about the world he found as he left gay activism and committed himself to living as a chaste Christian faithful to Scripture and tradition.
As it happens, David Morrison was once a friend of mine too. But that was back in his gay activist days, when we were both volunteers on Jon Larimore’s Gay and Lesbian Information Bureau BBS system (David was mostly a theoretical volunteer, since I ended up doing 90 percent of the work he’d also volunteered for). In those days he wore his pride like, as he once said, "an anthem". But over the years we all watched him fall, first into a profoundly reactionary brand of conservatism, and then (surprise, surprise) into an even more reactionary brand of religion. I remember vividly the day he posted to the general forum, that as far as God was concerned none of us were any better then Hitler. He had a boyfriend back then, or so he always claimed. I’ve often wondered how the boyfriend took David’s bellyflop into the gutter. When he later wrote a column for the New York Post, titled "What Crime Of Hate And Anger?" (issue of November 5, 1998) in which he averred that Matthew Shepard had it coming, because he had a history of risky sexual flirting with strangers, I couldn’t have been less surprised:
Newsweek called what happened in Cody last summer a miscalculation on Shepard’s part and it may turn out that he similarly miscalculated in Laramie. But whether he did or did not miscalculate, Americans should think long and hard about the making the feeling of repugnance at an unwanted sexual advance subject to additional penalties under the law.
Angry, yes. But not surprised. You can read the article in full here on Eutopia. (There is also a response in that issue of Eutopia to my letter to the Post. Note the theocrat’s reliable retort that "certitude of experience" must answer to "certitude of truth".)
That was the David we’d all come to know and loath on GLIB. If he’d said the Pink Triangles were a sensible reaction to the repugnance of unwanted sexual advances I couldn’t have been less surprised.
But Dreher thinks David is a fine young man, because David is the only kind of homosexual a moral runt like Dreher can tolerate: a self castrating one.
Looking back, after eight years of seeking to live chastely as a Christian, I believe my time at Trinity represented a turning point in my early Christian life. While I had accepted intellectually the claims of the historic Christian creeds and experienced a deep emotional conviction of Christ’s reality and love, Christianity’s doctrines and disciplines remained merely concepts. It was the witness of the Christians at Trinity Church that put flesh onto the bones of biblical phrases like "love thy neighbor" and "seventy times seven times."
You can love your neighbor, so long as you don’t love yourself…right David?
Sadly, most men and women living with same-sex attraction have had experiences more akin to Gail’s than mine….
Actually David, what a lot of us have had is experience being in love, and being loved, and sharing with the one you love all the wonderful, awesome, life affirming joy of sexual intimacy. And we resent it, when a gutter crawling slimeball like you, who just had to put another cigarette out on a dead gay kid’s body for the sake of your own cheapshit self hatreds, decides to lecture us on how sinful that perfectly human joy is.
Of course, Mr Thank You Jesus For Saving Me From The Clutches Of Betty Blue sees it differently…
In my view, that Episcopal church’s response to David, and to homosexuality, was authentically and beautifully Christian.
An authentic and beautifully Christian approach to homosexuality. Sorta like the one the Catholic Bishops took last month here in Baltimore:
Ever since my branch manager signed me up for one of those time management courses, I’ve been getting tons of flyers for all sorts of self help classes…
Sitting cross-legged in jeans and an open-collar shirt, Barnes spoke in his video about evolving feelings growing up in a firm moral family: from confused little boy to adolescent racked with self-loathing and guilt.
In their only talk about sex, Barnes said his father took him on a drive and talked about what he would do if a "fag" approached him.
Barnes thought, "’Is that how you’d feel about me?’ It was like a knife in my heart, and it made me feel even more closed."
I have a strong hunch that dad was having some thoughts about how manly his boy was, and decided to lay it on the line for him. It did it’s work. When Abraham took his son to the sacrificial altar, so the story goes, an angel stayed his hand just at the moment he was about to put the knife into his son. But I don’t think even an angel could stop some parents.
NEW YORK – Edward Bruce Tinsley, 48, creator of the comic strip Mallard Fillmore — known for its conservative edge — was arrested in Columbus, Indiana, on Dec. 4 and charged with operating a vehicle under the influence, the Indianapolis Star reports today. He posted a $755 bond.
It was his second alcohol-related arrest in less that four months, according to the Bartholomew County Sheriff’s Department. His previous arrest was Aug. 26.
The comic appear in almost 400 papers in the U.S., including the Star.
Tinsley lives in Columbus. He a blood-alcohol level of 0.14 — almost twice the level at which an Indiana driver is considered intoxicated.
You know…I used to get myself royally blitzed nearly every fucking weekend back when I was a younger guy, and I still do every now and then to the degree my middle aged body will occasionally allow, and I have never once, never once, gotten behind the wheel of a car while doing it. My body, to my secret pleasure, reacts strongly to all kinds of things that never faze most other people. Where my friends can down one drink after another, I can only take one and I am unfit to drive. Two, and my head is on the ceiling. I can smoke a good cigar and I am unfit to drive. Yes, enough nicotine will do that to some of us. A nice back massage can release enough endorphins into my body that I am massively unfit to drive, even sometimes, just to stand up. So I don’t drive. I am always careful to put myself in a situation where I do not need to drive Before I decide to get my head all zoned out. It isn’t that hard. All it takes is to use your goddamned head and think about others, before you start making yourself all high and wobbly.
But then…I am one of those goddamned bleeding heart liberals, which means I give a good goddamn about my neighbors and peace and love and not hurting people and all the bleeding heart liberal stuff that conservatives like Tinsely think is a dirty joke. Hey pal…you ever hear of something called taxicabs?
It’s the holiday season, and the parties have already begun, never mind that Christmas is still a couple weeks away. And a lot of that holiday cheer involves things like spiked eggnog, which is a decadent holiday treat if it’s done right. I was enjoying a party the other day where one of the guests brought Bourbon slushies. Nobody was getting ripped or anything, but we were all thoroughly enjoying ourselves, and the holiday…er…spirits. Were we back in the 1920s, our holiday spirits would have been sold to us by mobsters, and we could all have been thrown in jail just for being caught drinking it.
Prohibition. They wanted a dry America. They got a dry America. They also got Al Capone and the Purple Gang. For all the bellyaching about what drugs do to people, this isn’t about the health and welfare of Americans or they would be treating addiction not throwing addicts in jail. This is about waging kultur kampf. It’s about smacking all those dirty pot smoking hippies upside the head. But it’s not hippies selling drugs anymore. Nobody ever wanted to live in a violent world less then the flower children. The Man drove them out of the business. Now it’s blood thirsty south American drug cartels and middle eastern terrorists. That’s what prohibition buys you.
But who says that’s a bad thing? Take another look at that photo. That man isn’t a soldier, he’s a cop. Look at all the equipment he’s wearing. Take a guess at how much all of that cost. The drug cartels aren’t the only people racking in the bucks over products that would otherwise cost next to nothing to produce and buy. Funny isn’t it, how every goddamned moral crusade the right gets this country into, ends up lining the pockets of blood thirsty thugs, big government contractors and the moral crusaders themselves, who keep insisting that they’re fighting for all that is good and decent, while the rest of us are caught in a place between them that just keeps getting smaller and smaller, and then one day you wake up and realize that you can’t even take a piss without a man with a machine gun watching you.
The web page that was inserted onto Nell Dominique’s site is being routinely updated it seems, by the crooks who hacked her site. I guess since I (and who knows how many other people) notified SIAS that their web site was hacked, they took steps to fix the problem and now the crooks are simply using another web site and apparently are able to update the redirect information on any of these other feeder web sites they’ve managed to hack. The page on Nell’s site now re-directs to opifexmundi.org, a site that seems to be otherwise dead. And whois gives rather strange contact information for the Registrant and Admin there.
If someone knows a French, can you please tell this lady that her website has been hacked? I’d really appreciate it. This kinda really pisses me off. Nell is another artist just trying to use the web to get her stuff out there where it can be seen and appreciated.
[Update…] As of December 12 the Phisher link on Nell’s page was gone. So her web admin either discovered it, or someone clued them in. Now if the cops could just get their hands on the lout who put it there…
AREN’T YOU PROUD of us? For most of this past week, as an overwhelmingly successful, lightning-quick Anglo-American military assault liberated Iraq’s capital city, and ordinary Baghdadis poured into the streets to kiss our GIs and stomp on pictures of Saddam Hussein, THE SCRAPBOOK has remained the soul of magnanimity and restraint.
Here in our office there’s this giant archive of newsclips, transcripts, and Internet postings we collected in the months preceding the war, wherein a world community of jackasses confidently predicted that the events lately unfolding on our television screens could not and would not ever take place. And you can imagine the temptation, we’re sure: A lesser SCRAPBOOK would throw open the file boxes and run through the streets with treasures like these, laughing hysterically.
"This invasion of Iraq, if it goes off, will join the Bay of Pigs, Vietnam, Desert One, Beirut, and Somalia in the history of military catastrophe. What will set it apart, distinguishing it for all time, is the immense–and transparent–political stupidity."
–Chris Matthews, San Francisco Chronicle, August 25, 2002
"Iraqis hate the United States government even more than they hate Saddam, and they are even more distrustful of America’s intentions than Saddam’s. . . . [I]f President Bush thinks our invasion and occupation will go smoothly because Iraqis will welcome us, then [he] is deluding himself."
–New York Times columnist Nicholas D. Kristof, October 4, 2002
ut being the soul of magnanimity and restraint, we’re not going to do any such thing. Instead, THE SCRAPBOOK is going to run through the streets, laughing hysterically at all the people who were so blinded by hatred of President Bush–or general anti-Americanism, or their own sheer foolishness–that they continued to prophesy doom even after the war had begun and was already being won. People like a certain former U.N. weapons inspector turned Baath party apologist turned peace-movement celebrity:
"The United States is going to leave Iraq with its tail between its legs, defeated….We do not have the military means to take over Baghdad and for this reason I believe the defeat of the United States in this war is inevitable. . . . [W]e will not be able to win this war, which in my opinion is already lost."
–Scott Ritter, on a South African radio station, March 25, 2003
t takes all kinds, of course. You’ve got your late-career journalist gasbag, phoning it in from the dinner-party front lines:
"With every passing day, it is more evident that the allies made . . . gross military misjudgments. . . . The very term ‘shock and awe’ has a swagger to it, no doubt because it was intended to discourage Mr. Hussein and his circle. But it rings hollow now."
–New York Times "news analyst" R.W. Apple Jr., March 30, 2003
You’ve got your war novelist, phoning it in from his experiences in Vietnam, 30 years ago:
"Visions of cheering throngs welcoming them as liberators have vanished in the wake of a bloody engagement whose full casualties are still unknown. . . . Welcome to hell. Many of us lived it in another era. And don’t expect it to get any better for a while."
–James Webb, in the New York Times, March 30, 2003
And you’ve got your usefully idiotic, broadcast-media war correspondent, phoning it in from wherever his Baath party minders want him to:
"The first war plan has failed because of Iraqi resistance. . . . Clearly the American war planners misjudged the determination of the Iraqi forces. And I personally do not understand how that happened, because I’ve been here many times and in my commentaries on television I would tell the Americans about the determination of the Iraqi forces. . . . But me, and others who felt the same way, were not listened to by the Bush administration."
–Peter Arnett on Iraqi state television, March 30, 2003
How stupid those dirty anti-war hippies all were…
Do you see it there, in that Weekly Standard article? The bar stool swagger? The ritual chest thumping? The loutish bragging about how they were right and everyone else was wrong? It’s tempting for some folks to wonder why so many people misjudged the measure of George Bush. They didn’t. They had his measure exactly. He was their boy…full of the same toxic mix of cheapshit conceits and resentments they were. Imagine any one of these bloviating cretins in the White House instead of George Bush, ask yourself if it would make any difference whatever in the outcome, and you have the picture. They’re all cut from the same cloth. That’s why they supported him back in 2000. That’s why they still support him. He achieved the fantasy they’ve all dreamed of…being the one everyone has to take orders from, the one everyone has to listen to, the one nobody can ever contradict, because their word is law. The decider. If Junior fails now, then what does that make them?
The problem with brick brain louts like this is that you can rub their noses in their own shit forever and they’ll never admit it stinks. They’ll just dig in their heels and whine that they’re not to blame for anything, because it’s always, always, everyone else’s fault. Atrios is right. As long as Junior is in the White House, we’re not leaving Iraq, no matter how many American soldiers die, no matter how many innocent Iraqis die, no matter how many back doors the Wise Men Of Washington give him. Remember this?
"There’s an old saying in Tennessee — I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can’t get fooled again."
He can’t end this war, any more then he could physically make himself say the words, "shame on me".
So I get Yet Another bogus email from Bank of America in my mailbox a little while ago, and as I will do for kicks and grins and laughs, I open it up using the View Source function in my mail client (Mozilla Thunderbird), and look for the deceptive link…
Your primary e-mail address for Bank of America Online Banking has been changed. Want to confirm this email is from Bank of America? Log in to Online Banking, select Manage Alerts and Alerts History to view all alerts sent from Bank of America. Your Alerts History is updated every 2 hours.
Use the link below to go to you online account:
The email is, naturally, full of all sorts of links to the actual Bank of America website, from which it gets the actual Bank of America logos and such. But the Manage Your Account link, again naturally, goes elsewhere. This is how phishers operate. So just for kicks and grims I go look it up…
…and what I discover is that this particular phisher isn’t operating from some hit and run domain, but from a Belgian Artist’s website, a lady named Nell Dominique apparently, because I can’t read the French her website is written in. So I dig a little more. I wget the page the phish mail is linked to…
All that page is, is a simple re-direct to another page. That other page lives on the website of the Securities Investors Association of Singapore. So they’ve been hacked too. And the page the hacker(s) have inserted there seems to be a copy of the actual Bank of America login page. I can’t tell at a glance where they’ve made their devious little substitutions, but at a quick guess it seems like they’re running some servlets on the SIAS web site they’ve hacked, that substitute for the servlets that would be running on the BOA website, were that the actual BOA website, and not somebody else’s web site. But that’s just a guess. I don’t have time to dig that deeply into that code.
So… Some unsuspecting person opens up this email that seems to have come from their bank. It says their email has been changed. They panic and think that someone is trying to break into their online account. They click the handy link, and get routed to the website of a Belgian artist, then to a Singapore investment website, which serves them up a page that sure looks like it’s the Bank of America web page, except it isn’t. They enter their account name and password and then (I think, I haven’t really studied the code there carefully), a servlet wakes up and sends that information to God Knows Where.
If anyone reading this knows a little French, can you please tell the poor soul at nelldominique.be that her website has been hacked. There’s a page, "boa.html" in her html root that she needs to get rid of. I’ve already notified the folks at SIAS about their little uninvited guest, and I reckon I’ll tell Bank of America what’s going on too, although by now they probably already know.
[Update…] As of December 12 the Phisher link on Nell’s page was gone. So her web admin either discovered it, or someone clued them in. Now if the cops could just get their hands on the lout who put it there…
When Bush got all snippy with Jim Webb, George Will distorted the quote precisely to highlight Webb’s supposed lack of deference.
All the Beltway 500 code words—Civil, Dignified, Ungracious—for trashing Democrats and preventing them from saying what needs to be said have to do with Republicans reinforcing this fundamental aristocratic value of deference.
It’s the same deal with Civil, Moderate, and Bipartisan are also code words for reinforcing deference.
That’s why it’s important to mock, belittle, insult, degrade and make Republicans laughable at all times and in all conditions. These are all tools for eliminating deference from our political discourse.
Naturally, when we do this, the Beltway 500 clutches its pearls and calls us Shrill or Rude. That’s a good sign: It means we’re displaying the lack of deference appropriate a Democracy.
I think the single most sickening example of this phenomenon was the mewling and puking on the part of the Washington establishment over the revelation of an extra-marital affair by one who never understood how to behave in the company of his betters. The way they told it, Washington DC is just like Bedford Falls,Zuzu’s petals and all, upholding the values of mom and pop and McDonalds 2-for-1 apple pies — an aristocracy of small town kids who just happen to be millionaire insiders in the capital of the most powerful nation on earth.
I’m going to publish a long excerpt of the following article, because I’m not sure there is anything in the American media that better illuminates the phony sanctimony and the sickening hypocrisy of the political ruling class. You will note that the author says quite explicitly that the nation does not share the superior values of their betters.
You should go read it…it’s a Sally Quinn column in the Washington Post of November 2, 1998, and it’s frangrant with all the rancid pretenses of the inside the beltway chattering class. Digby makes mincemeat of it. I wish I was this good:
Dear Me! These mandarins and court scribes, these lords and ladies of the beltway, took great umbrage at Bill Clinton’s lack of deference to their completely phony bourgoise pretensions, and that simply was not done. So they crucified him.
Meanwhile, the very well bred cretinous moron who currently occupies the White House behaves like a disgusting pig in foreign capitals and is reputed to enjoy "fart" jokes in the oval office and has never been similarly derided for his uncouth ways. One can only speculate why that might be so.
And all these bluenosed hypocrites who excoriated Clinton for his lie ("I will not be lied to!") about a personal matter and complain that the office lost its moral authority, seem not to be personally exercized about the repeated, endless lies of the Bush administration that landed us in the most unnecessary, intractable foreign policy crisis in the nation’s history. Broder and his snuff-snorting fellow courtiers aren’t nattering on about how Junior "trashed the place." But then the only place he’s trashed is the United States of America, where the silly peasants live — and Iraq which is filled with a bunch of dirty foreigners. In the nation’s capital everyone is perfectly happy because as far as they are concerned, the "right" people are in charge. And that’s all that matters.
Some of us may recall they did the same thing to Carter. There was a time I wouldn’t have credited the hostility toward democrats by the beltway gasbags as something driven primarily by notions of class, but more by politics, and specifically, the after effects of the Reagan era morality of greed. Democrats were bleeding heart brie feeding effete wusses. The future belongs to the muscular capitalists who don’t give a good goddamn about anything but the bottom line. But Bush has been a miserable failure at everything he ever put his hand to, and the cronyism and corruption of his administration is something that even Grant’s ghost can laugh at, and now I understand a little better the tribalism going on here. This isn’t about greed, so much as how blue your blood is. The smirking spoiled rich man’s brat who gets cranky whenever he’s contradicted gets deference from the Washington pundocracy that no democrat ever would, because he’s got the right pedigree. It isn’t money that matters, it’s how old the money is.
We peasents are obliged to be respectful. It is not our place to point out that the king is a blathering idiot.
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