Occupy This!

The "Occupy Wall Street" protesters have listed 13 proposed demands from their website.

http://occupywallst.org/forum/proposed-list-of-demands-for-occupy-wall-st-moveme/

I have read the above list of Demands from this group and was so shocked by its lack of reason and understanding I was forced to jot down a few notes on each. My thoughts are in italics beneath each demand in turn. Enjoy.

Demand one: Restoration of the living wage. This demand can only be met by ending "Freetrade" by re-imposing trade tariffs on all imported goods entering the American market to level the playing field for domestic family farming and domestic manufacturing as most nations that are dumping cheap products onto the American market have radical wage and environmental regulation advantages. Another policy that must be instituted is raise the minimum wage to twenty dollars an hr.

This will increase dramatically the cost of goods here. Everything from clothing to video games will cost more to purchase, and though the purpose is to increase domestic manufacture the demand is shortsighted. For as the demand for a $20 minimum wage per worker will cost American business’ more to produce any new products and bring them to market. Any benefit derived from a tariff will be totally consumed by this secondary demand and will only destroy the ability of domestic manufacture to compete. Even if the tariffs imposed were so prohibitive as to allow a “level playing field” i.e. an isolationist policy, for American business we would be faced with such an increase in cost of goods that most of the items made would remain on the shelf as nobody would be able to purchase them. This in no way will “produce jobs” but rather reduce them as employers and owners will be forced to eliminate positions and consolidate tasks if not shut down outright, due to the costs imposed upon them by the wage requirement and the lack of sales due to the increased price of manufacture materials and labor.

Demand two: Institute a universal single payer healthcare system. To do this all private insurers must be banned from the healthcare market as their only effect on the health of patients is to take money away from doctors, nurses and hospitals preventing them from doing their jobs and hand that money to wall st. investors.

I personally cannot begin to fathom the thought process that came up with the above reasoning. It is evident that whoever wrote it has never looked at health insurance or the basic concept. Health insurance is paid for by individuals and companies in small increments called “premiums” which in turn are put into a pool to pay the costs of Doctors and Hospitals who care for the insured when they fall ill. The payment of benefits almost always exceeds the individual’s premium contribution as the cost of health care is so high. The consumer can chose how much coverage he/she wishes to purchase which dictates what the insurance company “covers” and what it does not. This presupposes that the individual works for a living and that they pay into the system instead of simply sitting on their ass waiting for a hand out. The effect on the economy of creating a state run monopoly of the Insurance industry will do nothing to create jobs in the private sector; as a matter of fact it will eliminate thousands of employees nationwide due to banning the insurance industry outright. The only outcome of this monumentally stupid demand will be that the State will control all aspects of health sort of like in the Soviet Union and that friendliest of regimes Nazi Germany.

Demand three: Guaranteed living wage income regardless of employment.

 How am I as an employer to keep my company profitable and my workers, for which these protestors say they advocate, motivated if I have to pay a floor sweeper more than the job is worth? Let me explain: Floor sweeper who I used to pay $8:00 an hour now has to get at least $20.00 if not more. Where is that extra money going to come from? My first thought is “sorry Manny but you are off to the unemployment line” my second is I will have to reduce the salary of someone else who brings higher value to my company with their labor to “save” the job of Manny the uneducated push broom guy. Let’s say I like Manny and opt for option two, what do you think my reducing the salary of my top sales person will do to his overall productivity? Would any of the people milling about in protest be willing to give up 10-20,000 dollars a year so Manny can happily keep sweeping? They might say they would but when the paycheck came up short they would be furious. Not to worry though as I don’t see too many of the “Occupiers” who have had to work too hard if ever for their bread.

Demand four: Free college education.

Question: Who pays? I’m already taxed to the hilt where is the money going to come from China?

Demand five: Begin a fast track process to bring the fossil fuel economy to an end while at the same bringing the alternative energy economy up to energy demand.

 I actually have advocated for this before but as the author undermines the concept by removing nuclear power from the mix in demand number seven I see this being an unobtainable goal. As usual “feel good” rhetoric rather than practical application takes the fore,

Demand six: One trillion dollars in infrastructure (Water, Sewer, Rail, Roads and Bridges and Electrical Grid) spending now.

Good idea but anyone read the news of late? You know the small bit about the US being in debt and that our unfunded liabilities are scheduled to sink us in a few years? Where is the money coming from?

Demand seven: One trillion dollars in ecological restoration planting forests, reestablishing wetlands and the natural flow of river systems and decommissioning of all of America's nuclear power plants.

Mo Money, Mo Money, Mo Money! seriously hippies I know that reality and the boring old concepts of basic economics are beneath your notice, but you have to know there is no magic cash box for such a project. As to Nuclear power see above demand number five.

Demand eight: Racial and gender equal rights amendment.

Please read the current US Constitution and its various amendments. If you can do so you will probably find that these demands are already part of our system.

Demand nine: Open borders migration. anyone can travel anywhere to work and live.

Right, so not only have you proposed that wage increases across the board for business’ but then you turn around and say that Illegals can come here and work for the same wage? Ahem…. Let me tell you how that will work out. The migrant will take the $20.00 job and offer to do it for $10.00 and as an employer who is in business to make a profit the savings in labor being halved would be an opportunity which could not be passed up. Essentially the demand will replace existing employees with the influx of this new “legal” labor who will be happy to take the salary offered and in so doing will undermine the concept of “the living wage” so passionately put forth in Demand number three. I have to ask two things; 1. What fucking business school did you go to? And 2. How is replacing the American worker with a foreigner helping to create jobs and a living wage for our citizens?

Demand ten: Bring American elections up to international standards of a paper ballot precinct counted and recounted in front of an independent and party observers system.

 Seriously? I cannot even respond to this we are not Syria!

Demand eleven: Immediate across the board debt forgiveness for all. Debt forgiveness of sovereign debt, commercial loans, home mortgages, home equity loans, credit card debt, student loans and personal loans now! All debt must be stricken from the "Books." World Bank Loans to all Nations, Bank to Bank Debt and all Bonds and Margin Call Debt in the stock market including all Derivatives or Credit Default Swaps, all 65 trillion dollars of them must also be stricken from the "Books." And I don't mean debt that is in default, I mean all debt on the entire planet period.

Outside of the pure fantasy of this statement and its globally devastating effects, there is only one thing I can say. “No matter what you or the government says about forgiveness, if you owe me money you will not be forgiven the debt. On the contrary, I will beat you, your friends and family down until I get paid with interest. I know a couple of nice lads who need work Sean and Tommy, and I am sure they could find a way to get you to pay up. Just give it a try I have a couple hundred I can loan you right now ;)”

Demand twelve: Outlaw all credit reporting agencies.

Say goodbye to that shiny new vagina on wheels (Prius) you have been eyeing because without any credit or reporting you will have to pay cash up front for it. By the way as you increased the tariffs by eliminating Free Trade the price just went up to around $90,000. You best buy more Birkenstock sandals because you’re going to be kicking it on down the road afoot.

Demand thirteen: Allow all workers to sign a ballot at any time during a union organizing campaign or at any time that represents their yeah or nay to having a union represent them in collective bargaining or to form a union.

 I assume this includes at bars while impaired by the twelve drinks the Union rep bought you, or at the Hospital after Vito and Tony have had a nice chat with you about how “healthy” it is to be in the Union. Good plan there.

Conclusion: Contrary to the Movement’s claims I have pointed out in my notes not one of these Demands will create Jobs, but only increase unemployment, hardship, and destitution worldwide. The folly of the occupation and its followers lays in their failure to understand the most basic concepts of economics. I.e. ignorance.

The intellectually inept moron who devised the 13 Demands for the Occupation should be dragged out into the street and kicked until he cannot reproduce, thereby saving the gene pool from further contamination of his stupidity. Outside of that my personal demand is this; all of the Hippies milling about aimlessly in protest should be dispersed with tear gas and horse troops. That way they can have a bit of drama to go along with their ignorance. “Occupy This!” deadbeats. You know where my hand is.

Parlor games.

To defame and deride those who strive and achieve a measure of success is but an act of small minds consumed by envy. It serves no purpose but to create false divisions within society, and which the crafty politician, uses to further his/her employ. Rather than focus upon the problem at hand that being the need for fiscal responsibility, they play parlor games of rhetoric, leaving the common man at the mercy of the cruel reality of economic facts. You know of which I speak, “one cannot spend beyond one’s means for long before a pauper he becomes.”


I beg any of you to try and refute this.

So the train wreck of the Budget discussions has been filled with dramatic poses, virulent words and the dance of one upmanship.

“We must tax the Rich or granny will go hungry”, or so some contend, pointing crooked fingers at their foes laying out a blameless red carpet for themselves and their compatriots. Speaking to cameras, disconnected from the woes of their working class constituents, they scream about how it’s the fault of the wealthy that you cannot buy bread. Invoking the spirit of Vladimir Ilyich fist raised, they proudly proclaim their allegiance to your plight.

Amidst all this false posturing, and noise, one truth remains: Our children and grandchildren will pay the price for our current indolence and cowardice. We shall leave them with a legacy of broken dreams born of our failure to be honest.

Sláinte
Allen R Butler

The Saga of the Seven Peas.

The tale I am about to tell, happened in a time long forgotten, an age in which life and its lessons were simple rather than complex.

It was a warm summer’s evening in 1973 when I, as a wee lad, was playing stickball on Longfellow drive with my friends, it was getting on in the day and we all knew that soon we would be “called” home to dinner. The pace was picking up in anticipation of our game being cut short. There was no such thing as cell phones back then and the act of calling was simply that. Mothers throughout the neighborhood would step out on the porch and yell their children’s names when it was time to come home. Every house in our blue collar neighborhood had at least three children if not more so there was a lot of shouting going on between 5:00 and 6:30pm. Poor Mrs. Dugan had seven kids and she just about made herself hoarse each night with the litany of names she shouted. If you as a kid were out of earshot inevitably a sibling, friend, or neighbor would let you know that “your Ma is calling.” And off you’d run so as not to be late for dinner. Being late was a bad thing and when you were it was accompanied by a harsh lecture of how you had disrespected your Ma and that you were a selfish little brat in that you made everyone wait to start the meal.

Better to avoid that all together and be on time, it just wasn’t worth the hassle.

I had just hit a slashing single to left and hustled to first base,(the telephone pole in front of the Martin’s house) when the first call came. My friend Curtis had let the ball get by and this allowed me to advance a runner home. Cat calls were made and laughter at Curt’s error. The whole street echoed with “You Suck.” And “Where’s your skirt?”

“It was a bad Hop!”

“With all the Hopscotch you play with the other girls that should have been easy.”

“Carrie, Jimmy, Allen!” my Ma’s voiced boomed across the neighborhood and I heard my brother and sister in the distance reply “coming”. From the sound of their voices I could tell they were a few streets over. I asked my best friend Glen to take my spot on base and said I’d be back after dinner. Curt, angry and embarrassed over the teasing said:” what? You have to go now? Why doesn’t your family eat at normal times like everyone else?” In kid language this meant my family wasn’t normal thus we were “less than”. Those were fighting words for sure and I couldn’t let him get away with it, if I did then all the other kids would have thought I was weak and start picking on me too.

My temper rose and was tempted to go on the attack right there and then, but I knew that wouldn’t work out to my benefit. Like I said, being late for dinner was a bad thing and I had all summer to “Get him Back” as we were wont to say. I did have to save some face though so I looked over at my mouthy friend and said:

“I have to go Curt, but don’t worry I’ll be back and be sure to come find you and your dress soon.”

So with the sound of “oohs” and laughter from the other kids at the burn ringing in my ears I started to race home. Cutting through yards and jumping fences I made it to our small house in no time at all. Whisking through the back door into the kitchen I saw our small table was already being set by my brother Jim and my Sister was helping get plates ready.

“what are we havin?” I asked. I was pretty famished having missed lunch earlier, and sat down in my regular seat.

“Meatloaf” Ma said “And you need to go wash your hands before dinner”

“Ahhh c’mon, I wasn’t doing anything dirty”

“Go wash up you look like you’ve been rolling in the gutter all day and change your shirt while you’re at it.”

Of course she was right, my jeans were covered in dust and my white tee shirt had a smear of unidentifiable grime across the chest that I had picked up somewhere playing outside. For a kid of eight demands like washing up seemed to be “stupid grown up rules” which were created only to make life miserable, and served no other logical purpose.

Grousing under my breath I headed for the bathroom.

After changing and washing just my hands, though my face needed a good scrubbing as well, I made my way back to the kitchen where I was quickly recruited to set out glasses and help get drinks. Somehow amidst this swirling activity my mother found a face cloth and managed to wipe my face clean, even as I tried to dodge and get away.  There was a definite method to the madness of getting dinner on in the cramped quarters of our tiny kitchen and everyone played their part no matter how small. Everyone that is except my father, who only came in once everything was all set up and ready to go.

With my stomach growling we finally all sat down.

Now my father always sat at the head of the table and my Ma at the other end. The kids had no assigned seats but we pretty much made up our own arrangements. Carrie sat mid table across from Jim and I who were situated to my father’s right or Ma’s left however you prefer to look at it. She got the extra room because she was “the oldest”, because she was a girl, and because we couldn’t fight her for the seat.  “You didn’t hit girls period”.

The meatloaf was already on the table along with the large bowl of obligatory potatoes which was a part of almost every meal I ate from age two to thirteen. And then, while I mentally tasted the steaming plate of greasy meat like substance before me, Ma with a quick flourish of her hand thumped a large bowl of peas on the table and sat down.

I was crushed, and a sense of doom flooded over me as I anticipated having to endure the cruel torture of consuming this most hated of vegetables. You see Peas no matter how they were prepared or hidden in some concoction simply made me wretch. The very smell of them made me shiver and combined with their taste and texture I knew I was in for a tough battle. There was no getting around eating them either, for the rule in my house was you ate what was on the table.

My head began to swim as I watched a large dab of butter melt into the green mass before me.

Ma started filling plates and passing them around the table while talking about her day with my Da. I cannot recall what they were discussing because my eyes were completely focused upon the enemy in that bowl, the one who had time and time again defeated me, leaving my sorry self, planted at the table till the wee hours of the morn while I stubbornly refused to submit. Oh yes! I viewed the consumption of peas in no less a light than the struggle of liberty against tyranny, freedom versus slavery, or good against evil. (I was a bit dramatic back then).

So it came to my plate, with a quick look and a small wink in my direction Ma scooped up half a spoon of the green bastards and sent it on down to me. God bless her! She had given me the least of anyone knowing my aversion and was trying to be sweet. I gave her a smile at the gesture and began quickly eating the meatloaf in huge chunks.

I gobbled everything in my hunger and even managed to stomach the majority of the peas through a variety of tactics. You could swallow them whole one by one, shovel a bunch in, close your eyes, chomp down and experience the gooey paste and try and get them down before you puked. Or you could try to hide them in the potatoes but no matter what tactic or strategy one used every bite, was followed by a dry heave and large gulps of tap water so as to wash the taste out of your mouth.

It was a monumental struggle, one which would make Homer’s Iliad pale in comparison and after what seemed a lifetime I had the enemy down to but seven. They lay there on the corner of my plate, staring up at me defiantly tiny green eyeballs filled with poison and puss. With that nasty thought, my inner strength failed and I knew I couldn’t go on. The seven peas had won.

“Clean your plate boy” my father’s voice commanded.

“I’m full and can’t eat another bite, can I be excused Ma?”

“No eat those peas then you can go.”

“But Ma I ate everything else, the guys are waitin’ on me.”

I heard my Da sigh heavily in annoyance as he said; “What did I just tell you? Clean your plate! We don’t waste food in this house ever! I don’t work hard every day so you can throw my money away in the garbage. A Vietnamese kid can eat for a week on those seven peas boy so you should be thankful for what you got”

This was a bit of a lie on his part because as far as I could tell my father hadn’t been working all that much the past few months, and as to working hard I had yet to see an example of it to date. And his line about someone living off those nasty green balls for a week, well even as a child, I knew that was a stretch. Perhaps it was this lie which emboldened me to dig my heels in and take this contest of wills a step further. Or maybe it was my fear of what those seven little green Martian parts were going to do to my insides if I ate them and so I pressed on to the utter surprise and shock of my siblings.

Figuring that the poor Viet Minh bastard needed them more than me, I pushed the plate towards my Da and said:

“Pack em up.”

There was a blinding flash of white light as I felt the back of my Father’s hand strike my left eye, sending me ass over teakettle onto the floor. My brother and sister both gasped and then began giggling at my foolishness. I lay there for a moment looking up at the ceiling, legs dangling over the upturned chair listening to their muffled mirth. My eye began to sting and water, and I knew that I was going to have a mark on my face. “Well that was stupid Al what did you expect would happen?” I thought. It seemed a lifetime laying there letting the thoughts race through my wee head, though in reality my time on the floor was but a second or two.

I did not cry, or wail, for I knew deep down I had crossed the line and it wouldn’t do any good. Best thing for it was to get up and say nothing, no point in pushing the old man further with any more wise ass remarks. So that is what I did, I stood up pulled the chair back into place, sat down and ate those seven damned peas like I was starving Ethiopian on a CARE package. When I was finished I looked my father directly in his blue eyes with my good one and waited for his assent to leave the table. No emotion, no fear, I was ready for whatever may come at any moment. It was up to him to determine the punishment for my impertinence, so I waited.

Finally he nodded to me and I returned the gesture and rose quickly, it could have been worse, much worse and I thanked God silently for blessing me with his mercy as I left the house to find my friends to resume our earlier game.  And as I walked along the pain in my eye beginning to subside I replayed the event in my mind and smiled. “I had guts” or so I thought at the time and that was something. Then with an evil smirk on my face I decided not to go back and play stickball after all, but rather go find Curtis and show him exactly how “gutsy” I was.

Cheers
Allen R Butler

A toast to the destitute.

A quiet rage fills me lungs, one I am unable to voice to effect. Viewing the wreckage of an indolent life, with all of its supposed pleasures I shiver and the hairs raise upon me neck. No lasting glory built upon drunken dreams for to eulogize, simply a ramshackle shanty, crumbling in on itself neath a cloud filled sky. What folly or twist of mind could bring a man to love such a place? Was it that whiskey took his sight, or perhaps the dreams so embraced to thwart off the pain of destitution, have yet to dissipate?

A glory to poverty and all its whiles, I drink for they who endure,

Be they victims or fools, to health I tip me glass.

For though your shoes fit me not and your minds be dark,

You make me feel, which I’ve not done in many a day.

So as the trees rustle in the wind, and the grass sways

As the world turns and life marches on everywhere

A pint to ye who remain steady amongst the refuse listless.

A toast and a cheer for ye who have heard none before,

Standing alone amongst the wreckage of your fear,

The torn fabric of your soul screaming out its mournful din

It’s for you I drink and sing, drowning out your folly.

Sláinte

Al