Implausible Endeavors LLC is an online publishing firm, a start-up of the micro mini variety — not Mom & Pop but Me, Myself & I. America and Americans are in need of honest, independent thinking and analysis. I am in need of an income. Voila, Pay Attention & Have Opinions R the Committee In My Head.
Here I am after half a century, FINALLY transitioning into the presidency of my own life and, lo and behold, what do I find? Now that it’s “my” time — read that, at least I can finally put me first after having been dropped with all the ceremony of last year’s cell phone — America “finds itself” ALSO in a mid-life crisis? Tough titty — line forms at the rear, Bub.
I not only “find” that I and my country are both squaring off against terrorism, financial pandemonium and Middle Age (the OTHER terrorism), I “find”
that I am utterly expendable and that, were it not for the high cost of travel and the strong arm of government, I would be entirely at liberty. Let’s get me moving around and spreading the word. We can fix us, IF PEOPLE WILL QUIT LYING. Your tax dollars presently pay Liars, Thieves, Nincompoops, Perverts and Yes Men — and you know it.
I propose to be paid for writing, free-market style. Is my writing worth a couple of bucks a year to enough people that it floats my boat as a gypsy journalist, THAT is the question.
A.) The public pays me to write.
B.) The public looks at advertisements and I answer to sponsors.
C.) I teach English overseas.
D.) They kill me on the Capitol Steps when I march up for Redress of Grievances.
Them’s the choices . . . what’s it gonna be?
To Family and Friends, I would ask you to ponder how many times you have told me that I am the smartest person you know, only to promptly dismiss what I say as kooky. Look around NOW for evidence of the rantings with which I have bored or annoyed you. I would ask you to recall how many times you have enjoyed my sentences and how many times you have expressed confidence in my ability to earn a living as a Writer — ‘you should write a book,’ I’ve heard it a million times. Look around for evidence that I AM writing. A lot, though much of it to date has been typed-unto-arthritis under the moniker Cheapseats.
Which is where I now sit. Poor to be sure, but with a panoramic view.
Here’s the thing. It’s 2009. Technophobe that I am — literally, no one is more surprised than me — I write online. Not only do I write a lot, I write better and better. I may be slow as molasses in January, but I am ALWAYS working. And I am fighting the good fight. Support me as you would any other business, by spending money. I need money, okay? Can I be any more clear? Can I be any more pathetic?
God knows, I spent PLENTY of money in MY heyday on/at/in/over/behind some of YOUR businesses. Some of your businesses feature in my reversal of fortune, truth be told. Show me ONE ethical attorney, fer example.
Here’s the premise. I can spend millions of dollars more productively than millions of people can spend one dollar. Productivity is key. Incredibly — it took me 50 years to learn it and I’m STILL disappointed — throwing more money at a situation is not only NOT always the solution, it is sometimes an Instigater or an Exacerbater. It’s crunch time, People. We’re Busted Flat in Baton Rouge, waiting on Light Rail that is decades late in arriving while we throw more Bailout Bonanza Billions at Detroit.
Our nation’s capitol is littered with Nincompoops and N’er-Do-Wells, and it MUST be owned that it happened on our watch. God won’t have it any other way.
C’mon . . . we are nuthin’ if not fourth quarter players.
Clicking on any of the red buttons in the right-hand sidebar will take you to a Blog, which stands for Web Log, which is internet-eze for Big Pants Dear Diary.
Clicking on a Donate button opens a secure page on which you can show a little support for me more easily than you can buy one more thing that you don’t need. Trust me on the mindless consumerism, I KNOW what I’m talkin’ about. Or there’s a mailbox address below — presently Beverly Hills, though I expect that will change to I’m-not-sure-what-or-when. One dollar, two — maybe a fiver — checks are good, cash is gooder.
Give the relentless, intrusive, unaccountable G-Men a taste of Honor System reciprocity.
I am moving into Solution as pertains to my homelessness and aimlessness by acquiring a mobile home and more media equipment, and setting off on a grand tour of America’s Greater Depression. Mark Twain’s Roughing It unites with Studs Turkel’s Working to revisit the Grapes of Wrath via Blogging and Podcasting. More Real Than Reality TV, Baby — so bad, it’s great. Think serial non-fiction. Webisodes that you can view at your convenience.
I’m gonna finally get ‘round to Fiction, too. Literary fiction.
You mark my words, I will make you laugh and I will make you weep.
If my Baby Boom generation — the largest American voting bloc ever born — refuses to stand up and reclaim this country, our heritage, our dignity and indeed the Future, Adios. I will concede defeat, wish you well, and expatriate.
If you want this American Writer to grace the internet with this American’s insights and observations, composed with my wordsmith skills — the former generally thought to be pretty insightful and observant, the latter generally thought to be wordy but worthy — then you gotta pay for it. Like you do with anything else, a book or magazine fer instance. If you will not pay me to write, I must do something else that DOES pay. That is my reality, thanks be to Max Sr. — conscienceless uber rich republican philanderer, AIPAC member, stock market wizard, real estate tycoon, liar and welcher who is the gotch-yer-DNA-test-results-right-here father of my son and only child.
The question is not whether you LIKE everything I say, but whether you support the risk I assume by speaking up. I am a better risk than the slick investment “instruments” and “derivatives” that are key to the financial meltdown, I can promise you that. Macro and micro, I know a thing or two about a thing or two.
Americans are being run over roughshod, myself included, and America is being driven into the ground, your children’s futures included. Not MY kid’s, yours. MY kid is on EASY STREET, spirited away and indoctrinated into the cult of the Conscienceless Uber Rich. I miss my son, and like a mother bear fighting for her cub, I’m gonna do what I can to bring him back into the Light.
Might does NOT make Right.
Rich people are NOT better than other people. Very often, rich people are strikingly WORSE than other people. I know Conscienceless Uber Rich up close and personal. Taxation, Justice, Energy and Healthcare ALL cater to the Uber Rich and the Bottom Of The Barrel. Passive-Aggressive. American Government dastardly plays both ends against the Middle Class, for no purpose greater than Personal Gain. Wankers.
Implausibly, I endeavor to sing for my supper by slaying dragons with my mighty New World Order pen.
I am kicking ass and taking names.
I am Menopausal Woman . . . hear me roar.