What a weekend! There I was, in my ante room, cleaning mud off my cleats, when it came over the wire: the era of Keith Olbermann’s ranting is through. A tale immediately sprang to mind of how my father had learned of Hiroshima from his aunt, who despite her toughness, had cried and wept for days. I didn’t understand, at the time, how a bomb could bring tears.
But since weeping (for days), I now get it. For Olber-phobes this is similar, a victory, not over Yamamoto, not V-J Day, or even V-E Day, but V-K Day—Victory over Keith!
No more imbecilic diatribes and guttersnipe rants. No more self-serving tirades eviscerating civil standards. And no more quasi-intellectual infantilism which embarrasses Sigmund Freud.
Gone!
I (we) now understand why exposure to sadists builds fortitude in survivors. Why Parisians showered joy on General Patton, and ticker-tape buried troops.
No, there won’t be confetti this day, no picnic, but like munchkins from Oz, we grasp the moment. “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead” plays in the mind of every American who has ever filled-out an ACLU card for the sole purpose of sticking them for postage. For anyone who has ever mocked the Class Clown only to find him behind a mike, this is good.
Ding Dong the
Keith is Dead!
Not really, of course. Figuratively, meaning that it’s possible that a redux (Keith II) may develop, but why go there? Keith can now spend mornings feeding pigeons. And while no one is naïve enough to dismiss the aforementioned possibility, and no one is saying that when stupidity is vanquished there isn’t the tendency to invent new versions, it’s important, as Ram Dass
pointed out, to “be here, be now.” Joy is fleeting and should garner attention.
That said, there’s an issue so big, so vile, so
recklessly perverse, in this matter, that to hide it is wrong. I’m against taxes. I view them as theft, or at least a mugging, and am of the opinion that when Thomas Jefferson said, “To compel a man to subsidize with his taxes the propagation of ideas which he disbelieves in and abhors is sinful and tyrannical,” he wasn’t blowing smoke up Dolly Madison’s skirt.
Frederic Bastiat added, “When plunder becomes a way of life for a group of men living together in society, they create for themselves in the course of time a legal system that authorizes it and a moral code that justifies it.”
James Madison: “I cannot undertake to lay my finger on that article of the Constitution which granted a right to Congress of expending, on objects of benevolence, the money of their constituents.”
I could continue, but you get the point—it’s our money! The less we’re forced to give it to crazies for their enrichment, the freer we are.
But Keith has been fired. And a part of this is pay (severance)—
here $14 Million, the cost of shedding tripe.
And to which I take offense! Nothing so riles the sensibilities as seeing a jerk be the Man, but lest one cavil, let’s remember where he lives—New York, New York!
A mitigating factor. For this reason, that NY “hearts” government, I vote to hike rates. In addition to supporting egregious local taxes, harrowing state and federal taxes, and every form of Social Security and Medicare tax on the wealthiest Manhattanites, I use this forum to implore Mayor Bloomberg, Governor Cuomo, and the freak from The Rent Is Too Damn High Party, to nail Keith, specifically.
Call it the MSNBC Blowhard Suppression Tax. Call it the Keith Tax, retroactive to his firing…. But whatever you do—forget Bastiat! Keith has been hammering enterprise for years. He’s water-boarded decency, spewing Agitprop while in the Palace.
In secret!
Who in their right mind didn’t believe that between rants he lived in a cage (a nice one, but a cage), to be trotted out each night like the chimp at the carnival? Fourteen mill? Isn’t this the same guy who painted anyone pulling down a quarter-mill as Bernie Madoff?
It is.
It’s important, therefore, that we temper emotion. Joy is deceptive. Something in it will always remind us that babies grow old, that Brett Favre will retire, and that weirdos who spew trash on TV will make more in a day than we do in five-hundred. He’s gone, and for this I’m grateful. But at the same time, the pain he caused should be punished.
Replay his words, comb them for lies, and for every one seize a buck! Call it the Hypocrisy Tax. The Loon Levy…. PASS IT!
Then watch as our friend slinks across the border, seeking refuge in a low-tax state.
