Patriot Dispatches

From My CP: Obama’s Lasting Legacy and BR549

We dodged a bullet here on Monday, a serious snow storm, not of epic globull warmening proportions, just one of the big nasty storms we live with in this oft described “shithole.”  We only got a couple inches and the 40-50 mph winds blew that to the Twin Cities by late afternoon.  I didn’t even have to start the Allis-Chalmers and scoop out the yard.  40 miles south of us they got hammered with 10 or 12 inches, some schools were closed two days, an anomaly in these parts.  Every now and then the sun shines, even on a black dog’s ass.

An unnamed source told me there’s a “lost episode” of “Mayberry RFD.”  You know from reading the NYT that unnamed sources must be true.

There’s BR549, named after the infamous car salesman, Junior Samples.  They had some success in the 90’s and continued until 2007 with an always changing cast.  Most of the members are still playing in other groups, I wish them every success.

Most of Obama’s legacy has been undone, Obamacare is in the ICU, only RINO’s kept us from pulling the plug.  There’s only one of Obama’s legacies left and we won’t rid ourselves of this without pain, sweat, blood and tears.  The Federal Bureaucracy also known as “The Leviathan.”  Staffed with the dregs of humanity since its inception they now consider themselves our betters, America’s long lost and desperately needed, Lords and Ladies.

I can prove the bureaucracy’s competence in one example, I give you the USPS.  The Postal Service has been ate up from the floor up since it was mandated by The Constitution.  In two-freaking-hundred and forty odd years they have never, ever, not even almost by accident gotten it right.  The most renown postal service in history is the Pony Express.  Ten days from the west coast to the east coast supported by hundreds of riders riding at breakneck speed across the wilds of the mountains and plains, rivers, bears, outlaws, indians, snakes… all without a cell phone to call 911.    When I first moved back here in ’13 my landlord lived about ten miles away, I just drove over and dropped off a check.  One month that first winter it was stormy and shitty, as “shitholes” will be, so I dropped an envelope with the rent at the Post Office.  I even put a stamp on the damn thing.  I got a call from the landlord a week later asking where the rent was.  It took twelve days to mail a letter from Tyler to Ruthton, 7seven miles as the crow flies.  You can’t trust a crow much farther than you can a govt employee, that doesn’t help but it is a viable option.  Except the Pony Express wasn’t the USPS, it was a private company called the Leavenworth and Pike’s Peak Express Company.   Rain, sleet and snow take a back seat to “hard work” around the USPS these days.

I got to know the federal bureaucracy in the Army.  Their is a huge bureaucracy supporting the various branches of the service.  Any service or process that doesn’t need to deploy to a combat zone is performed by civilian employees.  Base level logistics, shipping and receiving, acquisitions, budgeting, payroll and records; and of course quality of life support like the drug and alcohol councilors,  finance councilors, EO,  the list is huge.  Combined they produce mountains of paperwork and all of that is dealt with by more civilians.  Many of these folks are damn fine people and provide their particular service with all the dedication, sense of duty and attention to detail that any Soldier does.  I’m sure that fact runs across the various cabinet level and other bureaucracies.  I won’t speculate the percentage but my life experience tell’s me those fine folks are the vast minority.  I learned to tell how DMV-like the experience was going to be by counting the SEIU plaques and framed awards that were hanging on the wall…

1) Like getting a driver’s license.  Victory is possible but you better have your shit wired tight.

2) On the order of a root canal, victory is possible but its gonna hurt for a few days.

3) Colonoscopy without anesthesia.  Pyrrhic victory at best, break contact, abort, abort.

I once saw an entire wall covered, I didn’t take time to count, the dark-side was strong in that one, I just turned on my “dumb-grunt” impression and acted like I was lost.  The damn fine people I mentioned earlier are there to support Soldiers and their families.  The majority govt employee’s are there because Soldiers exist to provide them with a paycheck.  They get paid to occupy their cubicle for 8 hours a day and resent being forced to do anything beyond that, actually doing the job they were hired to do is like sunlight to a vampire.  I swear I saw a couple start to smoke while they were forced to help me.  I often fantasized about “going postal” in the finance office with a squirt gun filled with holy water.  It’s still on my bucket list.

Since I retired I’ve discovered the same attitudes run deep in the bureaucrats I encounter at such wonderful places as the DMV and the Social Security Administration.  I even found one at the County Courthouse but she was merely a gifted amateur.  The poor woman was used to dealing with intimidated country folks and farmers come to town for the day, completely unprepared for someone experienced with bullying bureaucrats.  I’ll pay for it the next time we cross paths but it was worth it.

Here’s another one from tonight’s featured band that describes government employees…  Too Lazy to Work, Too Nervous to Steal.

After my recruiter made a copy of my Social Security Card in late 1987 I was never asked for it again.  Ever.  I got divorced, got arrested, bought and sold cars, got loans, got married, had children, bought a house, got divorced, got arrested, you see the pattern developing, I’m sure.  Never once was I asked to provide a paper printed card with my SSN on it.  The minute I retired I couldn’t shit in a gas station bathroom without one.  So, for the first time in my life I went to the Social Security Office.  I could have lived my entire life without that experience.  I’ve seen the Pyramids, Fallujah and Jalalabad, I’ve seen goats fuck in the market place but I’ve never seen no shit like that.  I was surrounded by the dregs of society.  People who had never known existence without government assistance.  The McDonalds manager has “not-wanted posters” of these turds in his office.  It was like “people of walmart” except with smell.  The standing room only crowd was sprinkled with young men in wheelchairs, with prosthetics and scars, vets of Iraq and Afghanistan, forced to endure the company of freeloaders so they can draw their bought and paid for benefits.  Jesus H. Christ and Mother Mary in a sidecar, what an insult.  Four hours later one of the aristocracy deigned to hear me plead my case.  I approached her bullet proof window with a slot at the bottom.  She had four inch fingernails all curled and twisted and painted up, she weighed at least that many hundred weight and her breathlessness as she dropped and jiggled into her chair was easily heard through the slot under the barrier.  I vomited a little into my mouth.  She wheezed down to me and lectured me, the holder of a TS/SCI Clearance, on the sins of losing my social security card and struggled with her fingernails to type my responses to her rudeness into her computer.  After 30 minutes answering half a dozen questions she informed me that I had to wait 4 to 6 weeks for my card to be mailed to me.  WTF?  Its printed on fucking paper?  Oh sure, its cardstock, but big fuckin’ deal, I can do that on my Epson, bitch.  She slid a piece of paper from a printer under the slot and heaved her elephantine ass out of the chair, the arm rests were caught halfway up as she stood but she sluffed them off with a shake that still haunts my memories, and the chair fell with a clatter drown out by her wheezing from the effort of standing.  Four to six weeks?  I can order a baby Koala from China and it will be here the day after tomorrow, hungry, illegal as hell, but otherwise unharmed.  It takes the might of the US Government to deliver a piece of paper across two states in four to six weeks?  I guess they use the USPS.

Tell me you’ve never experienced these kinds of interactions with the people whose salaries our tax dollars pay.

FBI agents and DOJ lawyers are nothing more than federal bureaucrats.  They live off our tax dollars and, apparently, provide nothing more than the absolute minimum.  Just like their 400 pound counter-parts in the Social Security Administration.  Unless the think themselves our lords and ladies, then they’ll put forth effort to protect those they worship and to serve the agenda.  They see it as serving the cause, they’re true believers, doing what they can to support the darkside.  The Federal Bureau of Investigation irretrievably lost  5 months of congressionally required text messages, it took the Inspector General a few seconds to find the recycle bin and read them.  Premier law enforcement agency my ass.  They couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the heel.

My disgust has out grown its bounds, I swore to protect and defend the Constitution from all enemies, foreign and domestic.  I place secret societies of government employees at the top of the domestic list.  My soul pulls me towards McCarthy’s Hearings except this time for Democrats, sure they’re communist’s too but we’ll have to use today’s verbiage.  My dreams are filled with images of Vlad the Impaler’s castle on the South Lawn and spread through the National Mall, the gloriously impaled bodies rotting while they stand as a testament to those who would subvert our most sacred laws.  That smell would be sweeter than the cherry blossoms in spring-time.  The Army promised me I’d get to kill communists, we used to sing about it.  That’s still on my bucket list too.  I can truly appreciate the crowds at the guillotine during the French Revolution.  I may post my next dispatch while soaking in the bathtub.

The Leviathan has slipped it’s last chain and runs rampant across our lives.  If we don’t capture or kill it we are done.  Put a fork in us, done.

Here’s one more lil’ ditty from BR549 to lighten the mood.  Its not the same ol’ slew foot Vassar wrote about but it is a fun little song.


Retired Paratrooper, Biker, Tattoo Artist

About nessa

Retired Paratrooper, Biker, Tattoo Artist
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Our experiences in the Social Security office sound identical, Nessa. And yes, came home and told my hubby I was shocked at the other “customers” there, including a number of non-English speaking people… I was a little luckier than you about the gal who helped me, but there were others similar to your host. At the DMV – that’s all you’ll see. Vassar has often told us that the USPS was “given over” to the Blacks in the 60’s – deliberately, and that’s where all the low-hanging fruit bureaucratic government jobs now go – hardly a white face to be… Read more »