The Same Old Recipe

Whenever we look at politics we have to be objective; not influenced by our personal feelings or opinions in considering and representing facts. Sounds like a simple thing but humans forget there are spices in every recipe we want to taste.

I was married to a lady holding a dim view of additives when she made meatloaf. This included the adding of any spices might allow her meatloaf to become palatable. It was dry. It was grainy. It was an agony to eat as served. But, there it was every Thursday unless we were called to her mother’s house where more taste buds were murdered before the altar of Satan’s Cook Book.

While I begged for a more consistent and helpful reading of the recipe making the food acceptable as a source of nutrition, neither the mother nor the daughter believed meatloaf should do anything more than loaf around the dinner table like a self-invited and unemployed relative. Voluminous amounts of ketchup was my father-in-law’s (and my) salvation at dinner-time.

The problem was nobody involved in the cooking process remembered why the recipe was written in the first place. It was a guideline drawn to direct the food toward acceptability by the assembled diners: not merely for the gratification of the cook. These women got the meal prepared but it was a nasty, miserable affair ultimately leading to gastric disappointment and more than one time, a generalized emigration of the diners to other rooms rather than try eating what none wanted.

The two ladies (the “ex” and her “mutha”) felt required to cook but cared nothing beyond the idea of actually burning the food and serving it. That was the job. Cook it and serve it. It didn’t matter if you liked it, savored it, or anticipated the serving of it: it was on your plate and you had to accept it whether it was good looking, good tasting, good for you or approached anything good at all.

Being married to her was similar to getting an invitation to dinner from the Congress of the United States or the President. You’re told to feel privileged to be invited. You’re assumed to be grateful for the effort expended to put the meal on the table. You’re expected to acknowledge the effort and stand in awe of the fact you’re being served a meal YOU (as a taxpayer) funded and you’re silently commanded to feel privileged to witness the spectacle.

But, DO NOT recognize the meal consists of a nasty boar hog killed well after his prime and after developing a muscle and gristle texture reminiscent of boiled rope and tasting like sty-floor droppings. Feel grateful and privileged to witness somebody was thinking of you. DO NOT complain or make requests for understanding how the meal was selected, how it was cooked, what deliberative process was followed to create the meal; and for the love of the almighty don’t ask what they’ll do to make it better. The grizzled mess they drop on your plate was a “gift” of a grateful government wishing only to serve you. (Remember: the gift was financed with your taxes.)

We’ve got a lot of discussion floating through the air concerning the “Fiscal Cliff” we’re about to fall over to our international monetary deaths. It’s the Boar Hog again. It’s on the plate. It stinks and it doesn’t address the problems.

We have NO answers on Benghazi and the murder of Americans. But more importantly, it doesn’t allow us a chance to see what else is in the kitchen; what else has been hidden away that we CAN’T have to feed us that might make our nation healthier. We have Beaurat Obama slopping tasteless gravy on hog entrails and telling us we should be happy. We have Congress slicing pig intestines and asking us to “take a little more ‘honey’ you’ll love it!” You get more and more garbage piled on your plate while politicians get what they want because they concealed the “good stuff” and fresh ham in the cooler at the back of the kitchen.

Isn’t that meal getting kind of old now? 

Thanks for listening

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