Post Turtles

An elderly farmer was in the Emergency Ward having stitches put in his hand, due to an accident with a piece of machinery.

The doctor carrying out the procedure struck up a conversation with the old man.

Eventually the topic got around to Politicians and their role as our leaders.

The old farmer said, “Well, you know, most Politicians are ‘Post Turtles’.”


Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a ‘Post Turtle’ was?

The old farmer said, “When you’re driving down a country road and you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that’s a post turtle.”

The old farmer, seeing the puzzled look on the doctor’s face, continued to explain.

“You know he didn’t get up there by himself,
he doesn’t belong up there,
he doesn’t know what to do while he’s up there,
he’s elevated beyond his ability to function,
and you just wonder what kind of dumb ass
put him up there to begin with.”

– Author Unknown


Hey, #OccupyWallStreet, Don’t Speak for Me!

Good Point.

Danette Clark

By Danette Clark    December 11, 2011

We are the 99% quickly became the political slogan of Occupy protesters from the movement’s inception. The phrase reportedly originated with a tumblr blog in support of the Occupy movement. However, the motivation behind the slogan very well could have come from a Vanity Fair article written by George Soros-funded economist, Joseph Stiglitz, titled “Of the 1%, by the 1%, for the 1%.” In the article, Stiglitz writes that America’s top 1% will come to regret their wealth when they learn that “their fate is bound up with how the other 99% live.”

Sounds like a rallying cry for a movement, doesn’t it?

Stiglitz, who advocates for a “new economic world order no longer dominated by 1 superpower,” taught a course to Occupy Wall Street protesters in New York and has addressed protesters in Egypt, Tunisia, and Spain.

The 99% slogan has struck a…

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Ode to The Lonely Occupier

Dear Brothers and Sisters of the Occupy Movement:

So there I was, standing by myself, in the den of complacency and inequity we call Cambridge City Hall.  Around me sat lawyers, residents, a handful of civil workers, and council.

The last municipal election saw problems with people missing from the voter’s list, a list they get from somebody else.   People were registered in the wrong wards, electronic voting machines wound up having problems, the data wasn’t up-to-date enough.   Those same problems will be compounded with the increase of voters if you don’t fix the reasons for the errors in the first place.   With new technology comes new reasons for failure.  Tonight was the decision on whether or not our city was going to take the next step in municipal elections by adding the Internet, telephone, or mail to vote.  Here I am, in a city of 130,000 residents, and I was the only guy there playing the devil’s advocate.

One of the most important aspects of The Occupy Movement, our democracy, was in for a radical change, and I was alone.  They’re doing it, anyway.

Society needs to upgrade, too.

The Occupiers Cometh

An Occupier running for Mayor?

Who would possibly vote for some pot-smoking techno-hippie who lives on baked potatoes, yells ‘mike check’ in the middle of public parks and smells like pepper spray?

That stigma permeates within most popular media outlets today regarding the Occupy Movement; the portrayal of the individual demonstrator as merely a fringe activist.

Television and radio during the Vietnam War is another good example of where government swayed popular opinion by controlling what was broadcast, in much the same way Germany did in the war before that.  People of the day were portrayed in much the same way as those caught up in the Occupy Movement; the students of Kent State were all a bunch of acid-tripping hippie freaks, too.

Well, maybe some were; of course that would have been before they got cut down by gun-toting retards.

How could an Occupier possibly be expected to oversee a billion-dollar enterprise like a city, or a corporation?  Well, in many instances they already are. The Occupy Movement had no specific demographic when it came to the individuals who chose to participate in 2011’s global demonstration on human rights and social services.  Every walk of life was represented by someone, somewhere.  One thing is for certain, more people then ever are taking notice of changes in the world.

The societal system we currently use was designed to work with Neanderthal technology in processing information; remember there were no computers before Bill Gates was born.  I can faintly hear the Apple crowd getting ready to lynch me as I write this.  The last Apple I ever used was a ][, but we’ll get to that another time.  Governance is a system; with rules and procedures and operations.   It’s mission statement to serve the people will be as effective as it’s structure allows, which may be why the world economy nearly collapsed a couple of years ago.


Only the radical anarchist believes that the entire framework of government, commerce, and law have to be upended.  One thing I know about entrenched systems is that you’ll  never remove them in one fell swoop, you optimize and enhance existing systems in proper bite-size chunks.

When something is not working in my world you identify and diagnose it, correct it, enhance it, and redeploy.  What you don’t do is hire more people to handle complaints.

Society now has the ability to identify all the issues facing humanity from within a little plastic box that fits in one’s hand.  It will take the efforts of all to make decisions on all of the chores we as a species need to deal with; the tools of modern technology make achieving it a plausible reality.

The System needs an upgrade.

2-9-6 Is a Flying Corps; What In The Hell Are We Walking For?

The Air Cadets rock; kids learn to operate aviation equipment free of charge. I flew real gliders before I had my first car.  I got to eat real U.S. Army chow once while visiting a base south of the border, I was a teenage eating machine.   I also learned to march really well, for miles and miles and miles. That’s an organization the Canadian Armed Forces should always support, as many view it and it’s counterparts as vital to promote the purpose of the military to the upcoming taxpayers of society; our youth.

I was a typical 1980’s long haired headbanger who showed up and they said ‘come on in;’  good people.  You can rest assured that the thousands of aviation enthusiasts that passed through the doors of their local Canadian Armoury joined the Royal Canadian Air Cadets for more then just love of planes; the sense of patriotism can get instilled at an early age in the right environment and mine was no exception from that.

Asking advice from the experts in any situation is the earmark of successful accomplishment in many given predicaments.  I wonder if anyone asked the pilots of our Armed Forces if they approve the F-35?  If they answer ‘yes’ then that’s high praise for the selection process that Canada’s defence system underwent to purchase new jet fighters for the military; otherwise it says a lot about how our governance regards those who risk their lives in defence of our great nation.

I’m not an expert on planes by any means but from what is being revealed through Wikileaks and other organizations, we can understand the selection process generations of  elected officials took to choose our country’s next line of national air defense, and I’m betting ‘no’ may have been heard more often then not.

The Military needs an upgrade.

CBC News: Exclusive new revelations about the troubled F-35 program

REUTERS – Pentagon tells Lockheed to shape up on F-35 fighter

WIKILEAKS : F-35 Joint Strike Fighter (JSF) Program: Background, Status, and Issues

Swimming With The Fishes

When I first opened my shop back near the turn of the century, I built a nifty computer for a local kid, and delivered it to his house for installation.   I had to fit it into this lad’s room along with a venerable cornucopia of exotic aquatic marine life, housed in massive salt water tanks. His obvious knowledge of marine biology later manifested into one of Ontario’s premier retailers and importers of the most exotic tropical fish in the world;  a successful new venture built right here in Cambridge. His dad, being the ‘uber’ salesman with an eye for successful endeavours came on board to help his son launch the enterprise;  this is a guy that can sell milkshakes out of an igloo in the middle of a snowstorm.

Suffice it to say, the place just oozes success in the making.

One of Cambridge’s busiest industrial corridors connect the villages of Preston and Galt; home to a wide variety of retail, commercial, and industrial companies providing goods and services to local markets, global markets, and everywhere in between.  These businesses do business in many different ways at the same time all in the name of quality cash flow, and it’s hard to define many private enterprises these days strictly as an industrial, retail, or commercial operation.  There’s one thing everybody on Bishop Street agrees on;  whether it comes off the street, off a telephone, or off a facsimile;  you never turn down a good paying job.

The policies  of our municipal laws forced one of Cambridge’s most successful home-grown retailers into an ultimatum;  pay $10,000 in re-zoning fees or move.  ‘The Men Who Stare At Fish’ nestled right in beside a music store that fixes, sells and teaches guitars, a commercial sheet metal association head office, a manufacturer of nuclear-grade metal fabrications, a machine shop, a sign shop, and (until recently) a courier, all in the same industrial mall.  Perfect fits for the place.

The complex is a living, breathing biosphere;  an assembly of living coral, plants, oxygenation, waste disposal, and filtration machinery, all engineered to warehouse a vast assortment of living product.  This is one of Cambridge’s most successful industries.

They have a shop full of equipment to manufacture plankton for feed and breed fish for reselling to their customers;  they also import and resell fish from the most exotic locations around the world.   On-site servicing of existing aquarium systems rounds out the goods and services being provided to a growing Ontario market niche.

After six months, the city councillor responsible for interjecting on their behalf at the time, Karl Kiefer, seemed to have not been able to juggle it in between vacations and weddings going on.


In the years previous the dwelling had another retail tenant who went as far as erecting a road sign, getting the city’s stamp of approval all along the way.  I built about 450 computers there;  lots of finger cuts, let met tell you.  I guess manufacturing imaginary things like software there is okay but not warehousing un-imaginary things like fish.

I should think that Cambridge be thankful it’s not a vacant dwelling, especially in this day and age, and leave it at that.   Our government directly affects the very survival of the private enterprises and civilians that support it;   procedures in our municipal operations must be such that accommodate the needs of the town folk, and to do it effectively. They should have just told the complainer, ‘no dice.’

Absorbing more and more working capital from an already struggling tax base is a recipe for collapse; a recipe that has gone, relatively unchecked, since before the recent global economic crash of the early 21st century. When those who speak for us fall silent, they fail to uphold their sworn duty to take charge in the light of government abuses; our very liberties as free men are weakened.  When injustice prevails, it punishes all.

The ‘System’ needs an upgrade.

Crack Whore

In my youth, a group of us used to hang out, spending our days and nights getting together, traipsing throughout the town, hanging out in the local park to throw a ball around, going to friend’s places for movie night, or to enjoy a barbecue, the typical things teenage kids do.

We all didn’t come from the best side of the tracks, but most of us lived with normal families, who did normal things together, and carried on with their normal day-to-day lives, like most people do.  When we graduated out of high school, most of the gang had already taken jobs, beginning their ascension into adulthood. As was the case, we were becoming productive, active, tax-paying members of society.

She was a good kid in retrospect; a free-soul with a penchant for dancing and singing, and was a genuinely nice person.  She was a lovely young woman, and had her fair share of boyfriends, plenty of suitors in her groups of friends.  She fell for a boy who seemed to be The One; eventually they wound up conceiving a child. The boy was a child himself, and the news of this event caused him to basically leave, not to be seen or heard from again.

Many of her friends were spending their weekdays pursuing various careers.  She wasn’t employed at the time; she was a mother now, raising a baby girl at her parent’s home, no time for a paying job when parenthood becomes a career in itself. Jobs were scarce for the youth in those days; our country was undergoing another typical economic downturn, so she was one of the unfortunate ones who couldn’t land a job that worked with the timetable of her parental responsibilities.

Her only escape from the responsibility of her life became weekends with friends.  Still, she was still enjoying her youth, spending her days with her child, enjoying the summers together or tobogganing in the cooler weather, along with other parents.

We all knew of the local ‘sub-culture’ around town, and our ranks were not immune from its influences. One night someone suggested smoking a ‘joint,’ a marijuana cigarette. She took to it immediately, as did others.   The old adage that one thing leads to another was the case here, as time marched on tastes in ‘social drugs’ can tend to graduate from smoking ‘dope,’ to crack cocaine, amphetamines, and Timothy Leary’s drug of choice, LSD, all available throughout the town, in spite of the police force’s best efforts to quash those responsible for the organized crime factions behind its production, packaging, and distribution.

The time came where there were no friends around to smoke up, no free lines, no tabs of acid.   Drug dealers are shrewd enough to know that young girls who like doing drugs are apt to want to continue with their vices; she was no exception.  He suggested that she didn’t need to purchase her ‘fix’ with money, he was sure they could work out some sort of arrangement.   She proceeded down a path in life she had never expected to find herself in.

Who knows what was going on in her head, the events from that day spiraled out of control; all the drugs she wanted, to escape the life she never planned, never wanted, never asked for. All she had to do was endure emotionless, unsatisfying time with strangers who pretended to be friends.  Eventually, the last bastions of her normal life were destroyed, her parent’s raised her daughter themselves.  The gang she used to hang out with were gone, replaced with the sub-culture; a new group of people always willing to exploit her vulnerabilities, her lack of self-worth, her disgust with the way her life was proceeding. Alcohol and drugs ravaged her life, her family’s life, her child’s life, and there was nothing to be done about it.

I know of the plight she endures to this day. I have a friend who wrote a song about drug addiction, a song that hits home every time I hear it.  I still saw her around town, literally years later. The last time we met I was stopped at a light, saw her and offered a lift in my car.  She fit the bill in terms of looks; a notably toothless smile crowned by soulless, empty eyes encased in a thin, frail body that was obviously sick from lack of nutrition and sleep. She offered me a free bout of her specialty in exchange for a lift across town. I declined and gave her a ride to the bus terminal.  I missed city council that night; just the same, someone was probably there complaining about something, anyway.

What started as a beautiful, vibrant, loving young girl, ended up in this condition.  I had to wonder if she felt like an old woman before her time,  filled with regret, waiting to die.   In the previous municipal election one candidate opposed a drug treatment facility in their neighbourhood, a mistake that may have cost them the election.  Many of us view these people as damaged, useless drags on our society.  Most of us, however, know the true stories of these unfortunate victims; victims of a decadent and brutal world where cruelty and exploitation are the norm.

I was never disgusted with my friend, I feel sorrow for her, as I know many people do when they are dealing with their friends, family members, who have ‘slipped through the cracks’ of society.  The mark of a true friend is to help; we all want to help the less fortunate, and we all have our ways of doing it. The first step is not to shy away from the problem; the first step is to acknowledge it, to accept it, and to do what we can to help. In my case it’s to bring the problem to print; to tell a tale to those sheltered from the harsher realities of life, people not really aware or believing of our world’s ‘hidden culture’ that permeates throughout society, causing havoc in it’s wake.  From this, perhaps, one person out there will have the ability to help someone else save themselves, and I will have done my job.


The other night as I was heading home, I pulled up to a stop sign downtown.  One of my friend’s latest ‘apprentices’ saddled up to my driver’s window.  She was about  my daughter’s age,  pretty enough to turn heads, looking to meet new friends.   I gave her cigarette a light,  and smiled to her as I departed her company, turning the corner to head home.


What’s old is new.

The title of this article reflects a derogatory and spiteful attitude of those who are unaware of a cold reality many of our society face every day; it is this ignorance of perception that needs addressing, in order to provide more assistance to one of humanity’s most helpless demographics.  There’s more to a ‘crack whore’ then meets the eye, and we as a society have not done enough to help them, yet.