Wednesday, July 05, 2006

The Huffington Rost

First an apology, the trickle of e-mails from readers have increased so much that I have a hard time keeping up. I'm reading them all, but I can't always respond to all the great suggestions you have for my blog.

Second, one of my readers has worked hard during 4th of July. Here is the result: The Huffington Rost. It is well worth checking out!

And finally, the last two weeks and even more so the last few days have been a weird place to be, especially if you were me. You know, weird, like a strange dream you wake up from. Only when I read The Huffington Rost and check my own postings I realize it is not a dream. But it sure feels like it.

I'd very much like to get back to reality and I hope both the people who like and dislike this blog will too.

Finally, the last few weeks have been an amazing public display in human behavior which demonstrates how both corporations and dictatorships operate; based on fear.

Out of 700 bloggers or so on HuffPo only one came to my defense, Gutfeld in his post Nuts About The Huffington Post! And he could get away with it because he used humour and was very careful about what he said about Arianna.

The rest didn't dare lifting a finger out of fear of losing their blogging priviliges. A few of them commented on other blogs . . . and also used very careful words when speaking about Arianna. But they did not comment on HuffPo.

This is how employees act and are expected to act when it comes to the CEO of a company, or the Boss, and this is how enslaved people act and are expected to act under a dictator.

The difference between the two is that employees can always quit.

Or so they say.

Reality is that there aren't that many jobs out there so employees often can't quit.

And so it continues, with men enslaving other men, the way they've done this since the beginning of time.


insider said...


Maybe "The Huffington Roast" might be appropriate! ;-)

shooter said...

Great point, Doc. Let me share a quick little story with you illustrating your point. You know how the older you get, little seemingly insignificant incidents, at the time , stay with you the rest of your life?

Many years ago, in a little country schoolhouse in rural upstate New York, I attended grammer school, where 6th. grade teacher, Mrs. Summers was both teacher and principal. This was before Vice-Principals, aides, tharapists, administrators, grief counselers, and other sundry educational alchemists. Due to the great variety of students, from future asro-physicists to mountain "Deliverence types", and to maintain discipline, Mrs. Summers ruled with an iron hand. One of her devices was to invoke the rule, "if you tell the truth, you will never be punished." So if she suspected you of wrong-doing, she would stare at you with those laser-like steely eyes, paralyzing you in your seat, and boomed that dread-producing question, "Shooter, I'm only going to ask you this once, did you or did you not commit this, whatever, trangression?" Ostensibly, the forced cathartic experience of "fessing-up" was more effective than the other forms of punishment.

Well, one day, while Mrs. Summers was out of the room, the kids were all abuzz about how unfair her practice of picking her little "pets" to do certain errands and other such fun stuff. To a person they were all chattering and appalled at the hypocracy of her oft-repeated claim " I don't ever play favorites!" Hearing her black, ankle-high granny heels, clicking down the hall, everyone rushed back to their seats, hands folded on desks, eyes looking down, and halos in place. Upon entering the room, Mrs. Summers immediately noticed something was amiss. She asked, "what's going on?" Nothing but quizzicle, angelic, cherub faces responded. Frustrated, she turned to me and said, "Shooter, you know better than to defy me, what's going on?" So, after a giant gulp, I stammered, "well, sometimes it does seem like you play favorites, contrary to what you always tell us." Confident in my bravery, and secure in the fact that I was speaking for everbody, I stared at her with that smug smirk only a 12 yr old can produce.

Mrs. Summers turned her glaring gaze from me and asked the room, "does anyone else feel that way?" Afraid to look up, the deadly silence hinted to me what was coming. One by one, she asked my classmates. "Johnnie, do you feel that way?" "No, Mrs. Summers."
"Betty?" "No, Mrs. Summers." " Butchie, Arthur, Jeannie," and so on 32 times. I was dead, a 12 yr. old cadaver. Next came, "Timmie, go to the closet and get my paddle! " ( the "paddle" was of the ping-pong type, well worn after many generations of use ) "Shooter, get up here!! You know the drill." Assuming " the position" bending over, hands on chalk tray, I learned the life-long lesson of friends and loyalty, when you take an unpopular position.

My red ass has recovered. I never made that mistake again. Doc, you never had "friends" at HuffPo. You do here.

Peter Rost said...

Shooter: Wow. What a story. And what a true reflection of humanity.

shooter said...

Wow!, and double Wow!! I caught the Boss's ear. As the great philosopher, theologian, and con-artist, "Reverend Ike" said a long time ago, " from a mustard seed............."

Let's go slay us some fuck'n Dragons, Doc.

shooter said...

I got so excited, I lost my brains. Sorry for the profanity.

Anonymous said...

"And so it continues, with men enslaving other men, the way they've done this since the beginning of time."

Doc, "We ARE slaves on a global plantation." If you ever get the time I think you will like this site.

Anonymous said...

An interesting site:

I'd be interested in others opinions about the articles.