By Rick Bishop
March 27, 2010
Some claim
the U.S. is becoming a socialistic democracy and moving swiftly towards
communism. They point to President Barack Obama’s associations
with Weather Underground alumnus Bill Ayers and the radical socialist
reverend Jeremiah Wright, the many Mao admirers on the present
administration’s cabinet, his “community work” with whore-mongering ACORN,
and now, the cherry on top, the Democrats muscling through a 2700-page
health-care bill that Teabaggers call “socialized medicine.”
The passage of the bill met with the approval of Fidel
Castro. Colin Powell, a Republican who endorsed President
Obama, probably approved, too, so you make the call.
Most of us don’t know much about all this, really don’t care. Like
Congress, we didn’t read the bill. Life goes on. We’re just Americans.
We go about our business, content to believe we live in a capitalistic
democracy.
Some think we’re like proverbial frogs in pots of cool water . . .
on top of a stove. We’re floating comfortably, going to work, to school,
eating, drinking, fornicating, looking forward to our vacations, not knowing
the heat is turned on high.
Supposedly, frogs can’t feel the temperature rising and end up being
cooked without realizing it. I don’t know if this is true. I would never
try it because I like frogs. They’re cute. When I was a kid, I used to
catch ‘em, hold ‘em for a sec or two, and let ‘em go. I’ve never eaten
frog legs, never would.
There’s another famous proverb about a scorpion and a frog. Let’s
pretend President Obama is the scorpion and those Republicans and
Independents who voted for him looking for hope and change are the frog.
The scorpion asks the frog for a ride across a stream because he can’t
swim. The frog says, “But you’ll sting me.”
“I’d drown,” replies the scorpion.
“Okay,” says the frog, after a long beat. “Hop on my back.”
Soon as they reach the other side, the scorpion stings the frog.
“Why? Why?” asks the frog, dying.
“I’m a scorpion,” says the scorpion.
No shit. He might as well have said, “I’m a politician! I’ll say
anything!”
Scientists say frogs are a sort of barometer. If something’s wrong
with the environment—polluted water, air—they die or mutate in strange
ways. They’re very sensitive, supposedly. More of them are
being found
with three legs, five, none; three eyes, one, no eyes.
That’s too bad. I like frogs. Not the metaphoric ones in fables or who
throw teabag parties. I like the real ones, the ones whose heads I don’t
see sticking out of the water and whose croaks and chirps I don’t hear
much anymore. I hope they’re okay.
Oh, well. Life goes on, or
doesn’t.
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