I had not, to be frank, realized how crazy I actually was, until I read this in the hilariously oxymoronic “liberal values” blog.

Some have expressed surprise over such great differences in belief between two blogs on the left. The left versus right division is only one division of beliefs. There are many other intellectual battles which are equally important. This includes defending reason and science over superstition, and opposing bigotry regardless of the source. I will continue to disagree with leftist blogs such as The Democratic Daily when they spread claims that the attack on the United States on 9/11 was committed by parties other than al Qaeda terrorists, that Mel Gibson was just a misunderstood actor with a bit too much to drink, or that astrology and new age beliefs can be a substitute for modern science.

If The Democratic Daily chooses to respond to disagreements over these issues with personal attacks, so be it. Just don’t be surprised if I respond.

Written by Ron Chusid

At first, as a contributor to The Democratic Daily, I wanted to reply, but then I thought that it might be a lot better to channel a REAL liberal. Alas, Thomas Jefferson was attending the 316th “Haunting & Fishing” convention in Shambhalla (Something about the Northern Solstice), along with Abraham Lincoln, John Stuart Mill, Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Benjamin Franklin and even John Locke.

Heck, I’d have settled on a channelled statement on the deleterious effects of a censorious disposition and what sort of purgatory awaits the “heretic hunter” from Anthony Comstock, but he was running a booth in the huckster room at the H&F #316, as well.

However, I WAS able to contact Charles Ward Beecher (the famed orator, and father of Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of UNCLE TOM’S CABIN). Beecher was boycotting the convention for reasons that remain obscure. Here’s what he had to say:

On The Importance of Controlling Everything

Channeled from a lecture delivered by the Rev. Chas. Ward Beecher to an assemblage of Ponderosa Pine numbering in the thousands.

NB: The Additional Channeled Essays of Rev. Beecher are not presently available. My cat became sick on them, unfortunately, and they have not been yet retyped. Nor, perhaps, will they be.

— H. Wms., Ed.

In the tides of fortune there floats the expectation that Life will, finally, meet our expectations. That hoped-for and, perhaps, someday- to-be-grasped Ideal bears us ofttimes through the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

Why is this?

What irrepressible Spirit in Mankind abides in the sure knowledge that the Universe exists to be subdued and controlled? Whence derives our magnificent drive to dominate all; to urinate, once and for all, on the fence posts of Eternity?

It is a mystery.

Let us, then, wax our eloquence.

Is it not right; is it not meet that we should gambol in the Fields of Elysium one day, even as we gamble in the mudpie of Moloch here, in this, our visible life? Is it not our destiny to challenge the very chain link fencing of heaven’s gate through our fortitude, our enduring self-love and our hubris? Is it not obnoxious to read people who can only make their points through rhetorical questions?

That the species of Mankind was formed of the mud and clay of the Earth to make the whole world, and the Universe beyond into a mudpie with a flaky clay crust is beyond question. But to what purpose, to what end may Humankind bend its sweaty brows in the accomplishment of this end? And to what purpose in fighting the Universe itself, if the Universe is, obviously, much bigger than us, and would whip us in any fair fight, no matter how drunk we might manage to make the Universe?

Obviously, we’ll have to rely on quickness and deception.

Whence derives, then, this unquenchable thirst in each one of us to fully command our surroundings? The mere fact that we can transform a tree into a birdhouse with louvered blinds, and shutters, and a pitched roof in a Late-Victorian style seems rather pointless in its teleology. Was not the tree already a birdhouse? Of course! we must reply, but that is not the point.

Life is no improvised dance, but an endless and pitiless urge to order. We emerged from the teeming pool of stygian chaos, and diligently have maneuvered to regulate all the moments of our lives, from cradle to grave. This was not an easy struggle. It was not without its rigors: its arduous ascents, its crushing defeats and its stunning victories.

The wristwatch was bought for us only by the sacrifice of countless lives, through numberless minutes and hours learning to make files smaller and smaller until, at last, we could carve the tiny little gears which would give us mastery over time itself.

And what of the terrible conflicts and upheavals which made it possible to standardize time, so that, anywhere there might be an uplink, anyone, ANYONE could set his or her wristwatch to the right time? And this only a minor skirmish in the war to subdue chaos.

If, as some pessimists believe, the laws of Entropy are, finally, unbeatable, we have already conceded that struggle to Entropy. But is not our history one of achieving the improbable in the face of the impossible? The imperfect in the face of the important? The impassable in the face of the impervious? Are we not impressive?

Cynics–men of little faith and smaller intellect–have claimed that it would be impossible to travel from Portland to Boise in less than a week. Now, we fly!

Critics–those who cannot write writing about those who can–have belittled and abandoned any hope that chaos can be controlled, and yet Major League Baseball has not missed a year of play, even when Europe was in flames, and the whole world arrayed in full battle gear to strive in the greatest expenditure of gunpowder Marco Polo could ever have imagined.

We must buck up.

The odds are long, but the risk of defeat is too intolerable.

Even now, our implacable foe moves against us, locked tight in the death-grip of an arm-wrestling tournament that is smugly believes it cannot lose. Rust never sleeps.

But the race is not to the swift, nor the victory to the strong. There are too many ways of bribing the referees, of drugging the racehorse, of training at high altitude with anabolic steroids. Chaos need not be treated fairly to win. We can cheat.

And, in a contest for our very lives, the day will come when actuaries will be able to breathe easily, at last. When the very word “accident” will fade into meaninglessness itself, as have such chestnuts as “Iron Curtain,” “States’ Rights” and “Liberal Republican.” Randomness is a force, true, but Mankind has made sense rule where senselessness had never been challenged before. And we have done it with a completion percentage that would make Vince Lombardi proud.

Consider algebra, or consider the Leap Year.

It is Man’s destiny to not merely endure, but prevail, said one. And, we might add, it is also Woman’s destiny to prevail not merely, but to have her cake and eat it too. As Marie Antoinette stated so succinctly, with an equanimity which included not merely her class, nor only those who spoke whatever Austrians speak for their first language: “Let them eat cake.” And so we shall, with diligence and an unwavering devotion to universal empowerment, at last eat that very cake.

But this is merely icing. What must be recognized; what must be finally acknowledged is the unquenchable thirst to micro-manage Reality which is every human’s birthright. We were born with an aversion to disorder. Ultimately and finally, we, the last and greatest hope of Mankind, must prevail.

The Universe is a large place, but we are quick learners, and it is not in our nature to accept the chaotic mess of Nature, no matter how cute we may find bunny rabbits and squirrels. The spontaneity of mindless ants must never again menace the picnic basket which is our lives. To be or not to be—precisely, with no wishy-washiness—is our birthright and Destiny.

The End.

Now, I’ve got to get back to my crystal gazing. BTW: breaking news. You know that “scientific” thing about hormone replacement therapy? You know: it was recommended for EVERY woman over 50, and then they found out that it was dangerous, and UNrecommended it for those women, it being highly dangerous and all?

Well, it’s good for them again.

Glad to have the certitude of science and all.



© 2007 Hart Williams. Cross-posted from Zug - Hart Williams' Blog
The continuation of
Skiing Uphill and Boregasm, Zug is 'the little blog that could.'

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About Hart Williams

Mr. Williams grew up in Wyoming, Nebraska, Kansas and New Mexico. He lived in Hollywood, California for many years. He has been published in The Washington Post, The Kansas City Star, The Santa Fe Sun, The Los Angeles Free Press, Oui Magazine, New West, and many, many more. A published novelist and a filmed screenwriter, Mr. Williams eschews the decadence of Hollywood for the simple, wholesome goodness of the plain, honest people of the land. He enjoys Luis Buñuel documentaries immensely.
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8 Responses to FOOD FIGHT!

  1. Darrell Prows says:

    I believe that there’s that thing about “hits” being converted into revenue. Is Mr. Chusid making money out of this?

  2. Ginny Cotts says:


    That was no food fight. That is a drunken rampage through humor, philosophy and sheer sanity.

    I am in your debt – for a long time. Forever is just beyond either of us.

    I also have to go to work. Hope they don’t choose today to ask for a pee specimen. The endorphins will have turned to something illegal.

  3. cadmium says:

    Pretty funny post Ginny. I find these personal blog wars really unfortunate and self-defeating. I know Pam does too. Take care at work and don’t eat any poppyseed bagels just in case the do test.

  4. Cadium

    Hello stranger. Yes I do, we all do here. I must say though that Hart’s post is one of the funniest things I have read in a very long time. It makes me think of that great line from The Sixth Sense…

    “I see dead people.”

  5. Well, as I always like to say: “Never yell ‘THEATER!’ at a crowded fire.”

  6. Hart

    Can we get some more contemporary dead liberals to chime with a channeled statement too? Maybe next time we can aim for John, Bobby and Martin?

  7. Sandy says:

    “Let us, then, wax our eloquence.” I can’t breathe.

    Consider algebra, or consider the Leap Year.


    And I’m supposed to trust them with my estrogen??

  8. Ginny Cotts says:

    We have been getting some sterling posts lately and this one makes me think there should be a mini category on the best of the best or something. The Dem Daily’s greatest posts?

    I also think this one needs an Editorial heads up:

    Before reading this post, empty your bladder and be sure you have plenty floor space to roll around on. Use your lowest reading speed, you will need to stop frequently for additional breathing time.

    Being a devout advocate that laughter is the best medicine and the daily requirement should exceed the number of fruit and vegetable servings, I heartily endorse the use of this post to add a significant boost to your endorphin level.