The 24/7 Sneeze Factor

by Walter Brasch

      Hillary Clinton is recovering from a mild case of pneumonia. However, shortly after she collapsed at Ground Zero while part of the 15th annual memorial of 9/11, her campaign staff said she was just exhausted and suffered heat exhaustion. It took a couple of days for her to reveal the extent of her medical issue.

      Donald Trump, who had many times this past year questioned Clinton’s health and suggested she should leave politics, now tweeted he was hoping his Democratic opponent would have a quick recovery. However, the Renegade Republicans, fueled by scandal-makers of the conservative media, think Clinton is a piñata, and are hitting her hard—she has Parkinson’s disease; she suffered from a concussion; the Democratic National Committee is working on how to replace her because she is so ill; she is on her death-bed, and a body double is the one the public is seeing.

      Prior to Clinton’s bout with pneumonia, she had released a two page letter from her physician stating medical specifics about her health; he concluded Clinton is in excellent health.

      Donald Trump is still bobbing and weaving on releasing his medical records. Long after Clinton provided her medical statement, Trump released four paragraphs of juiced-up superlatives that read more like a campaign PR release than something a physician would write—Trump is “the healthiest individual ever elected to the presidency . . . [His] strength and physical stamina are extraordinary . . .  [his] laboratory test results are astonishingly excellent . . .  [his] his blood pressure and lab results were astonishingly excellent.” He followed that up with an appearance on the Dr. Oz TV show where he deposited more PR poop.

      Libertarian candidate Gary Johnson, who had said Clinton’s medical problems should not be an issue, declared, “I will be the fittest president of the United States ever.” Jill Stein, the Green party nominee, isn’t questioning anyone about personal health care problems, but may know more about medical issues than all the candidates—she’s a physician.

      All presidents had medical issues, but were still effective. Among the maladies, George Washington had recurring infections and malaria, Thomas Jefferson suffered from severe headaches, Woodrow Wilson had several strokes, Warren G. Harding had congestive heart failure, Franklin D. Roosevelt suffered from polio, John F. Kennedy had severe colitis and back problems, and Ronald Reagan had severe eye and ear problems, colon polyps, and early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease while in office.

      However, the 24/7 news media, desperate to fill time and pretending to be investigative journalists, have spent more time in the past decade peeling away layers of presidential candidate health histories than they have spent in asking tough policy questions. No matter who becomes the next president, one thing is clear—the media will be milking every detail for at least a week before finding some other story to report. Here is a scenario of how the media will probably deal with a president’s health issues.
 

      TV Anchor: This is Clyde Sparrow. The President sneezed about 2:45 this afternoon. We understand it lasted about three seconds. We have team coverage for this urgent and breaking news. We now take you live to the emergency room of the Bethesda Naval Hospital. Standing by LIVE with an exclusive you’ll hear only on Eye Witless News is Lance Redux.

      Lance Redux: The President hasn’t yet arrived, but in the meantime we’ll be interviewing bystanders, orderlies, and maybe even a nurse or two. Security is extraordinarily tight, and only the 237 accredited reporters have been allowed into the ER at this point. Back to you, Clyde.

      Clyde Sparrow: With an exclusive live interview, heard only on our network, we go to Susie Sweetwater with Sen. Porkbelly Pineapple at the Capitol.

      Susie Sweetwater: Sen. Pineapple, we just heard that the President’s sneeze was in sympathy with the plight of Americans everywhere. Do you agree?

      Sen. Pineapple: While all of us Americans are concerned about the President’s health, this particular sneeze was the result of a President who has disregarded the wishes of the people and the Congress.

      Clyde Sparrow: For an opposing view, we turn to Rep. Horace Sludgepump.

      Rep. Sludgepump: While I don’t wish to disagree with my esteemed and most distinguished colleague from the other side of the capitol, I should point out that the cretins from the other party filibustered the death of so many of our great and glorious programs which were designed by our party to help the working class, and that’s why the president put a chicken in every pot in this glorious country, sneezed, and—.

      Clyde Sparrow (interrupting): The President’s personal physician is about to make an announcement. We now go live to the White House.

      Dr. Alfred Chiu: The sneeze was probably caused by a pollutant in the air, but we haven’t identified it as yet.

      Reporter 1: Harry Hotlips. ABC News. Doctor, can you identify that pollutant?

      Dr. Chiu: As I mentioned, we haven’t yet identified that pollutant.

      Reporter 2: Judy Jumpstart, CBS-TV. Just how serious is this pollutant?     

      Dr. Chiu: We can’t determine how serious the pollutant is until we can identify it, but we’re pretty sure the sneeze poses no problem to the president’s health or threatens anyone near the president. I classify it as insignificant.

      Reporter 3: Darla Dazzling, NBC-TV. Doctor, what kind of pollutant could that have been? And does it have long-term effects?

      Dr. Chiu: I don’t know, but we will try to find out.

      Reporter 4: Sid Serious, CNN. Doctor, could you indicate what you believe would be the world consequences of this particular sneeze, and is the president or the Secretary of State notifying world leaders?

      Dr. Chiu: The president doesn’t believe this is important enough to notify anyone.

      Reporter 5: Polly Prattle, New York Post. What kind of illegal drugs has the President been taking?

      Dr. Chiu: The sneeze doesn’t call for drugs at this time.

      Reporter 6: Suzy Tanktop, Fox News. Can you identify the illegal drugs? And, how long has the president been snorting cocaine brought into the White House from the Colombian cartel?

      Dr. Chiu: The president is healthy and no drugs are necessary.

      Reporter 7: Edie Excrement, TMZ. So, the sneeze is the result of taking too many drugs. Is it because the president is in the process of a divorce or is it because the president is nervous because of preparing for a screen test?

      Dr. Chiu: I think I’m becoming ill . . .

      Clyde Sparrow: We have breaking news. LIVE from Dubuque, Iowa is Pauly Populist.

      Pauly Populist. In an exclusive you’ll only hear on the Eye Witless News Network, we are live from Dubuque, Iowa. Again, we are LIVE in Dubuque with breaking news. With us is Creepshot Commoner, an assistant night shift manager at McDonald’s. The entire world wants to know your opinion of this cataclysmic event.

      Creepshot Commoner: I think this latest health crisis is so severe that the president needs to step down for the good of the country. And, whoever the vice-president is should not become president because he’s probably also been infected.

      Clyde Sparrow. We temporarily interrupt our own in-depth team coverage to return you to the White House where the president’s physician appears to be babbling incoherently.
      [Dr. Brasch isn’t making any guesses about anyone’s health condition. But, he does recommend his latest book: Fracking America: Sacrificing Health and the Environment for Short-Term Economic Benefit.]

     

Senators Embedded Within a Brain Fog

by Walter Brasch

      The U.S. Senate—under the leadership of Mitch McConnell who once said his primary mission was to see that the Senate didn’t agree with anything President Obama said or did, and to limit him to one term—continues to be one of the nation’s leading obstructionists. This time, the Senate isn’t meeting to advise or consent to the President’s nomination of Chief Judge Merrick Garland to the Supreme Court.

      Garland was valedictorian in his class at Harvard College and a magna cum laude graduate from the Harvard law school. He worked in the Department of Justice before becoming the chief judge on the D,C. Court of Appeals, having been confirmed by the Senate, March 1997.

      The reason for the judicial committee not to meet to even discuss the nomination to the Supreme Court, according to the Republican members, is not because of the judge’s qualifications—he is widely praised by plaintiffs and defendants, Democrats, Republicans, and most third parties—but because they don’t believe a president in his last year of office should nominate Supreme Court justices, even though six justices were confirmed by the Senate since 1900 in a president’s last year of office. The reality is that the Republicans by violating their constitutional responsibility for more than a year are hoping a Republican president will appoint a less qualified but very conservative individual to the Supreme Court.

      The following scene reflects what the Republicans apparently want in a Supreme Court justice.

      Facing the Senate Sub-Committee on Obstruction of American Life was President Obama’s latest choice for Supreme Court justice.

      “Have you now or have you ever led anything and did you ever have any opinions?” asked the committee chair, Sen. Porkbelly Pineapple.

     “I once led Boy Scout Troop 7 on a Wilderness hike,” said the nominee. “But I never told them they must be led or that they should follow my example or that they couldn’t have any opinions about the hike.”

      “That’s very good,” said Sen. Pineapple. “What is your value system?”

      “I believe in Rush Limbaugh, God, motherhood, the American flag, and apple pie,” said the nominee.

      “Did you say apple pie?” asked Sen. Harry Hazelnut.

      “No, no!” said a sweating nominee. “I meant to say cherry pie. Yeah, that’s it. I believe in cherry pie. It was George Washington’s favorite pie, and whatever was good enough for the father of our country is good enough for me. Unless he later disowned cherry pie. And if he did, then so do I.”

      Are you now or have you ever been a member of a left-wing Commie pinko organization like the ACLU, the Southern Poverty Law Center, or the Democratic party?” asked Sen. Lizzie Catscratch.

      “No, ma’am,” replied the nominee. “I believe in whatever it is that you believe in. I’m real loyal to anyone who votes for me.”

      “That’s very commendable of you,” said Sen. Catscratch,  “Do have some views about the Bill of Rights?”

      “I believe in the Bill of Rights,” said the nominee, “but not that persons who don’t believe in it shouldn’t be allowed not to believe in it. If they want to believe in the Bill of Rights, that’s fine, but no one should make anyone believe in anything they don’t believe in.”

      “Not even about the government’s role in the First Amendment?” asked Sen. Salamander Peachpit, “and those lying scumbags who spend a lifetime defending all that free speech nonsense?”

      “Oh, those people,” said the nominee. “I say if they can’t buy their own newspaper or TV station, they shouldn’t be talking about anything, except how great it is to own guns. Lots of guns. Pistols and rifles and assault weapons and even a few mortars.”

      “A fine philosophy,” said Sen. Oiltanker Oldsludge. “Do you have any views about the environment?”

      “None.” When no one said anything, and several senators began writing furiously on their Post-it notepads, the nominee quickly retreated. “What I meant was that I have no negative views of what has happened to the environment. As a Supreme justice, it would be my responsibility to make sure that the environment didn’t adversely affect the rights of corporations to make money and take all the loopholes in the IRS forms it can find, thus strengthening the economy and our American way of life.”

      “Excellent. What about pornography?” asked Sen. Backwood Grimweed.

      “I’m opposed to obscenity and pornography,” the nominee firmly responded. “Unless, of course, it can clearly be shown that paying for pornographic films or books was done solely as an investment in American business or a relative’s desire to make a few bucks, and not just to look at dirty pictures.”

       “I assume you also oppose that obscenity known as abortion,” stated Sen. Philip Fullterm.

      “Abortion?” asked the nominee. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that is. And, even if I did know what it is, which I assure you I don’t, I’d argue that abortion is an evil curse given to us by the Devil himself. Unless, of course, you gentlemen believe in abortion, or ever had an abortion, or ever had a mistress have an abortion, in which case I’d say it was acceptable, but only for senators.”

      “Do you hate anyone or any religion or any ethnic goup?” asked Sen. Roger Wilco.

      “No, sir. I don’t hate anyone or anything.”

      Again there was a silence, soon to be filled by the future justice. “What I meant to say is that I love to hate. Muslims. Jews. Anyone whose religion isn’t mine. And I should elaborate that there are many ethnics who need to be kept behind walls in order to secure America as a safe place for all Americans with white pasty skin or suntan parlor orange and blonde hair. Yeah, that’s what I really meant.”

      The silence was filled by applause from a majority of the committee.

      After another hour of questioning, Sen. Pineapple told the nominee the panel was unanimously impressed with his qualifications but, most important, his lack of any ethics and policy views. “One other thing,” he asked, “It’s not really all that important, and certainly won’t affect our decisions, but did you ever attend law school?”

      [Dr. Brasch is or is not a professor emeritus from Bloomsburg University. His views and opinions, if he had any, which he denies having, may or may not reflect the views and opinions of anyone else, including his university. He is also the author of Fracking America: Sacrificing Health and the Environment for Short-Term Economic Benefit, which may or may not support the oil/gas industry or those who oppose the oil/gas industry or just about anyone who has a conviction of his or her beliefs.]

      

’Twixt the Cobwebs of Halloween and the Lights of Christmas

by Rosemary and Walter Brasch

      At one time, people placed carved pumpkins with a candle inside on their front porches to announce the beginning of the Halloween season.

And then it became a contest. First, best Halloween pumpkin. And then who could decorate their trees and hedges with the best fake cobwebs, followed by fake witches in trees.

      Next came Pumpkin Chunkin’, where teams make catapults and launch pumpkins.

      The beneficiaries of all this, of course, are the candy companies—which have steadily decreased the number of miniature candies and increased the price of them in giant bags—the card industry that began marketing their products not long after Labor Day, and just about every company that has figured out how to produce their products in orange and black.

      After Halloween comes Christmas decorations, bypassing anything for Veterans Day. At one time, homeowners and businesses set up Christmas displays after Thanksgiving, but it takes more than a month to replace pumpkins with lights, displays, and inflatable snowmen.

For Thanksgiving, wedged between Halloween and Christmas, we get supermarket ads shoving turkeys, cranberries, and sweet potato pies down our wallets.

      Overlooked in national celebrations, and shoved out of the decorating frenzy of the other holidays, is what is probably the most important day of the year—Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. Last year, 87 million Americans bought more than $50 billion in merchandise in the four-day period after Thanksgiving. This is definitely not enough. We consumers must push that number even higher.  

      There are no home displays to commemorate what is the busiest buying day of the season.

      We have an idea.

      Instead of replacing the cobwebs of Halloween with the Lights of Christmas, why not decorate our homes and yards with the spirit of commercialism? It’s definitely the American Spirit.

      Because plastic pumpkins are replacing organic ones, and artificial Christmas trees are replacing those pesky biodegradable real ones, we can make sure that Black Friday becomes a truly plastic holiday. Indeed, plastic pumpkins will never go away, much like our plastic credit card debt incurred on that one special day.

      In front of our houses we can decorate trees with maxed-out and cancelled credit cards. Special blacklights can shine upon the new silver data chips in the cards to create a ghoulish effect of avarice and conspicuous consumption. Batteries not included.

      Every season needs its own special clothes. In October, we wear Halloween costumes and orange sweatshirts; in December, it’s Christmas sweaters. For Black Friday, store clerks could wear black hoodies, reminding all of us about the mugging our bank accounts are receiving.

      Black Friday sales allow the human species to determine the survival of the fittest. That leads to thousands injured in car accidents while speeding to 30 sales in one day, and to the survivors of Mall Trampling exercises to reach those elusive 20 percent discount on whatever it is that the retailers think will attract the most customers this year. The benefit, of course, is to hospitals.

      In front of our houses, we can replace inflatable pumpkins with an inflatable ER, complete with an overworked inflatable nurse who automatically deflates after a 12-hour shift.

      On our doors, we can replace Christmas wreaths with Sheriff’s Sale signs or, at the least, “late notices” from the utilities companies.

      With proper merchandising, corporate America and fraggled homeowners can spend the last four months of the year, from Labor Day onward, in one long holiday. We can call it The Months of Con. Or, maybe, Months of Fusion. Or, perhaps, The Season of Debt and Con-Fusion.

      [Rosemary Brasch is a retired secretary, Red Cross family services disaster specialist, and labor studies college instructor; Walter Brasch is a journalist/author. His latest book is Fracking Pennsylvania.]

They Brand Cattle, Don’t They?

by Walter Brasch

      “Branding! We have to make you a brand!”

      “I’m not cattle,” I told my sometimes faux foil assistant Marshbaum, who had just burst into my office. “And if you think I’m getting a tattoo,” I replied, “my body isn’t a canvas.”

      “It’s sure wide enough,” Marshbaum flippantly replied. Before I could throw sheets of wadded up paper at him, he explained what he meant. “It’s not a fire-iron brand,” he explained. “It’s strategic marketing.”

      “I’m a journalist,” I reminded Marshbaum, “I don’t do that kind of thing.”

      “You will if you want to stay in business.”

      “I’ve been in this business four decades, and I’ve never been branded.”

      “That’s why we need you to do TV commercials,” he said.

      “I’m a print journalist,” I reminded him.

      “Yeah, well, not all of us are pretty enough for TV, but you still have to do a commercial! Just like Jennifer Anniston.”

      “As if she needs more money,” I sneered. “She’s got a net worth of something between $100 million and $150 million, depending upon which magazine you believe.”

      “You can never have enough,” said Marshbaum.

      “Yeah, that and her eight-figure salary for commercials that tell 45-year-old women they can dab junk on their faces and look like ingénues. She’s hawking hair products, beer, and some fragrance Besides, she’s taking money from low-income hard-working actors who do need the bucks.”

      “You said that before. And before. And before.”

      “It’s the truth,” I said. “A-list actors have branched into TV commercials. Selling everything from eyelash liners to prescription drugs to—”

      “Yeah, yeah, like that sorrowful Blythe Danner who’s got some kind of problem that keeps her on stage to break a leg.”

      “Exactly!” I replied. “It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The rich actors don’t need more money.”

      “But they do need exposure. TV and film aren’t enough. The red carpet isn’t enough. Being mentioned in the National Enquirer isn’t enough. They want it all, and to get it all, they need to be a brand. Corporate America loves it!”

      “There’s a lot that corporate America loves that just doesn’t matter to the rest of us.”

      “But it does matter. When you see Larry the Cable Guy, you think of bad heartburn. When Brooke Shields appears on the screen, you still think of her wearing Calvin Klein jeans with no underwear. And then you run out to your nearest box store and buy whatever they’re selling. Think you’ll do that if you see a commercial with some no-name talent?”

      “Some people,” I said, “already think I may be a no-name talent.”

      “And that’s why we need to brand you. Tie you to some product. It’d raise your profile, make you a brand, and make money for all of us.”

      “All of us?”

      “You don’t think I’d be doing all this for free, do you?! I have expenses. Besides, we’d have to pay for makeup, better clothes, a publicist, marketing manager, and a business manager. Then there’s your entourage. TV commercial talent has to have an entourage. That doesn’t come cheap.”

      “It comes a lot cheaper if I don’t do it at all.”

      “What?! And be responsible for even more unemployment? A whole industry needs you to brand yourself. You get exposure and money. And that will lead to more commercials. And more commercials lead to better recognition. And the advertisers will be ecstatic!”

      “Will it get me more readers?”

      “Don’t be ridiculous. If you get branded, you won’t need readers. You’ll live off your residuals from commercials.”

      “But I’m a journalist,” I again reminded him. “I write stories that give people information they need. Stories that affect people’s lives.”

      “TV commercials affect people’s lives. Where would America be if Ellen DeGeneres didn’t promote JCPenny’s or Michael Jordan wasn’t shilling Jockey underwear? Think you’d buy a Lincoln if millionaire Matthew McConaughey wasn’t telling you to do it?”

      “If I do this—and I probably won’t—what would I be selling? Cars? Watches?”

      “Toilet paper. It goes with your brand. A whole gaggle of conservative readers already say your column is full of—”

      “—great insight and sparkling language.”

      “Yeah. Sure. Something like that.”

      “Look, Marshbaum,” I said a bit testy, “I don’t need to be a brand. I do need to write my column for this week.”

      “I think you just did,” he said smugly.

      [Dr. Brasch’s latest book is Fracking Pennsylvania, an in-depth look at the economic, political, health, and environmental effects of high-volume horizontal fracturing. Rosemary R. Brasch, who never once did a TV commercial when she was an actress, assisted on this column.]

Practicing Subsidized Un-Medicine

by Walter Brasch

     Clutching newspaper clippings in one hand and a medical bag loaded with seeds in the other, my ersatz friend Dr. Franklin Peterson Comstock III, knocking down pregnant ladies, students, the elderly, and two burly construction workers who were waiting for a bus, rushed past me, leaving me in a close and personal encounter with the concrete.

     “Medical emergency!” Comstock cried out. “Gang way!”

     “You’ve returned to medicine?” I shouted after him.

     “I’m going into un-medicine!” he shouted back. “I’m getting the big bucks not to operate!” This was a story too good to let by, so I gave up any hope of the 7:11 “D”-line bus arriving by 7:30, and chased after him.

     “Slow down!” I panted. “You’ll kill yourself!”

     “No time to slow down,” he said, leaving a trail of broken bodies. “There’s money to be had!”

     “If you kill yourself before you get to the hospital, you’ll never see a cent from the insurance company.” That stopped him, giving me time to catch up and catch my breath.

     “I’m not operating,” said Comstock.

     “If you’re not operating, what’s the medical bag?”

     “That’s so I can get money from the Department of Agriculture,” he replied. I’m planting lots of stuff on lots of non-productive acres, and I’m waiting for the market to drop.”

     “You want the market to drop?” I asked suspiciously.

     “That way I can take advantage of crop insurance. Here! Read!”

     A newspaper clipping revealed that Congress approved $90 billion over the next decade to assist farmers whose crops didn’t yield previous production quotas. It was a sleight-of-hand change from a program that gave farmers subsidies not to grow certain crops. However, in this case, the crop insurance program primarily benefitted large corporate agribusiness industry. About 10,000 corporations are receiving more than $100,000 each, with some receiving over $1 million, according to the Environmental Working Group. Local farmers, however, are receiving less than $5,000 a year, and mostly when their crops are wiped out by floods. Also in the budget is more than $1 billion to insurance companies for “administrative” expenses.

     “When the public finds out which corporations are getting all this tax-funded bonuses, they’ll be outraged!” I said.

     “That’s the juicy part,” said Comstock. “Congress slipped in a non-disclosure clause in the bill, and who gets the bucks is secret.”

     “So, you’re entire income will be from not being a successful farmer?” I said, outraged.

     “Absolutely not! I’m not putting all my eggs in one basket. I’m also going to get money for not operating.”

     “You mean, like the farmers got for not planting crops?”

     “Exactly. And you can thank a congressman for this brilliant stroke of fortune.” With that, he handed me another newspaper article. In this article, Rep. Mike Kennedy, a Republican from Utah, in opposition to Obamacare, said, “Access to health care can be damaging and dangerous.” Elaborating, he claimed that as many as 1.5 million people die in hospitals, “and it’s access to hospitals that’s killing these people.”

     “That’s even dumber than subsidizing corporate farmers,” I said.

     “Not dumb. Just helping the medical profession earn a reasonably high six-figure wage. Even if we get them through surgery, they’ll die in the hospitals anyhow! Isn’t that wonderful!” Wonderful wasn’t exactly the word I had in mind.

     “Doctors are supposed to make people healthier,” I brazenly said.

     “I guess we can do that while we’re making money,” said Comstock, thoughtfully stringing out his scheme. “In the old days, we surgeons knew there was more money to be made in surgery than in pushing pills, so we rushed everyone into X-Ray, MRI, and CT scans—got a nice chunk of kick-back change for that—then into  surgery, and finally into the recovery ward where they sometimes actually recovered.” He paused a moment, grinning. “But, that congressman thinks access to hospitals is dangerous, so that means fewer patients. Fewer patients means we need to have subsidies. Just like the farmers.”

     “You’re going to demand Congress, which has already wasted millions of dollars and tried more than 50 times to wipe out Obamacare, pay doctors for not having enough patients?”

     “Doctors deserve no less than the MBAs running corporate farms,” he patriotically declared.

     “Most doctors aren’t as greedy as you,” I explained.

     “Most doctors aren’t as rich as me either,” he retorted. “Besides, it makes no difference. I’m sure the AMA would be thrilled I’m not doing surgery.” I had to agree with him, but I had another question.

     “What happened to your franchised Doc’s Gas self-service stations? I thought you became a multi-millionaire because of that.”

     “Lost a ton of money. It’s all Obama’s fault.”

     I knew Comstock blamed the President for everything wrong in the country—and a few things that were just made up by Fox News commentators who had too much air time and not enough time to do any fact checking. “How is it President Obama’s fault?” I asked.

     “Gas prices plummeted this year,” said Comstock. “Cost me a lot of money. But that Black socialist Muslim Kenyan dictator refuses to give me a subsidy for having too much gas in my system.”

     Yes,” I said sarcastically, “that does seem to be a problem. But, at least you’ll be getting tax-dollars for running an unproductive farm and may get money for not operating.”

     “Not enough,” said Comstock. “It’s always not enough.”

     And, with that, I thought I had enough, and ran after the 7:11 D-line bus, which, on time, showed up at 7:32.

     [Walter Brasch, an award-winning social issues columnist and satirist, is the author of 20 books. His latest book is Fracking Pennsylvania, an in-depth investigation of the health, economic, and environmental effects of fracking throughout the country.]

Passing Gas to the Consumer

by Walter Brasch

      Gas prices at the pump during the July 4th extended weekend were the highest they have been in six years. This, of course, has little to do with supply-and-demand economics. It has everything to do with supply-and-gouge profits.

    Over the past decade, the five largest oil companies have earned more than $1 trillion in profits. Last year, the Big Five—BP, Chevron, ConocoPhillips, Exxon Mobil, and Shell—earned about $93 billion in profits. Their CEOs last year earned an average of about $20 million. Included within the profits is $2.4 billion in taxpayer subsidies because it’s hard to make a living when your hourly wage, assuming you work every hour of every day, is only $2,283.

    “We have been subsidizing oil companies for a century. That’s long enough,” President Obama said more than a year ago. The Senate disagreed. Forty-three Republicans and four Democrats blocked the elimination of subsidies. Although the final vote was 51–47 to end the subsidies, a simple majority was not enough because the Republicans threatened a filibuster that would have required 60 votes to pass the bill. A Think Progress financial analysis revealed that the 47 senators who voted to continue subsidies received almost $23.6 million in career contributions from the oil and gas industry. In contrast, the 51 senators who had voted to repeal the subsidies received only about $5.9 million.

      For a couple of decades, the oil industry blamed the Arabs for not pumping enough oil to export to the United States. But when the Arab oil cartel (of which the major U.S. oil companies have limited partnerships) decided to pump more oil, the Americans had to look elsewhere for their excuses. In rapid succession, they blamed Mexico, England, the Bermuda Triangle, polar bears who were lying about climate change so they could get more ice for their diet drinks, and infertile dinosaurs.

      This year, the oil companies blamed ISIS, a recently-formed terroristic fringe group composed primarily of Sunni Muslims, who have opposed Shia Muslims for more than 14 centuries. Think of the Protestant–Catholic wars in Ireland. Because ISIS was laying a path of destruction through Iraq, the oil companies found it convenient to declare that oil shipments were threatened, and then raise prices, salivating at their good fortune that terrorists had come to their financial assistance during the Summer holidays.

      However, because the oil companies have laid a thick propaganda shield upon the America people to make them believe that fracking the environment and destroying public health, while yielding only temporary job growth, will lead to less dependence upon the Arab nations and lower costs to Americans, the Industry has to come up with some excuses to drill the taxpayers.

      Through deft journalistic intrigue and a lifetime of investigative reporting, I was able to obtain insider information from the ultra secret Gas and Oil Unified Greedy Excuse Maker sub-committee (GOUGEM). I have not been able to verify the transcript, but in the developing tradition of 21st century journalism, that doesn’t really matter.

      “We have a problem,” declared the GOUGEM Grand Caliph “We have run out of excuses. Last year, we had to find excuses not only for the Summer vacations, but also to justify our surreptitious funding of the Benghazi investigation.”

      “There must be a hundred different ways to nail Obama for this year’s increase,” declared the Sunoco representative.

      “What if we claim that Obamacare caused gas prices to go up for ambulances,” said a newly-appointed representative from the Hess Corp.

      “Tried it last year, but we couldn’t get much traction,” said the Grand Caliph. “Only Fox, Limbaugh, and some guy broadcasting through a tin cup from his room at Bellevue picked it up.”

      “Afghanistan!”  shouted the Marathon representative. “We’ve gotten good mileage from blaming the war for the cost of gas.”

      “Yeah,” said the Tesoro rep sarcastically, “while we’ve been reaping enough excessive profits to build a water park at every one of our executives’ McMansions. I’m afraid the American people after 13 years have finally caught on to that scam.”

      “If not Iraq and Afghanistan,” how about a new war? We invade Switzerland,” the ConocoPhillips rep suggested, “and claim we’re protecting the world from weapons of mass Swiss Army Knives. Every Republican and a few Democrats will back us on that.”

      “It only works if there’s oil in Switzerland,” said the Shell rep, “and since we haven’t developed the technology to frack the Matterhorn, we’ll have to find another reason to raise gas prices.”

      The BP rep suggested that the oil companies claim gas price increases were necessary because the price of Dawn detergent, used to clean oil-slicked marine mammals, went up.

      The Chevron  rep said they could blame the Treasury Department for their underhanded tactics in locating the companies’ tax-free stash in the Caymans.  “How could anyone complain about us needing more income to pay our lawyers?” she declared.

      The Valero rep wanted to blame the Veterans Administration. “We say we had to wait so long to get permission to raise gas prices that we had to do it ourselves,” he brightly said, and tagged that suggestion with the explanation that the companies could then claim they were being self-sufficient and not dependent upon the government. “The conservatives will love us,” he righteously declared.

       After a few moments of idle chatter, something committees have perfected, the Exxon Mobil rep spoke up. “We don’t need an excuse.”

      “You been inhaling too many fumes?” the Shell rep asked.

      “Slip on a grease spot in one of your garages?” asked the Murphy Oil rep.

      “We’ve always had an excuse,” the Shell rep whined. “Without an excuse, the motorist might not buy our gas.”

      “Oh, they’ll buy,” said the Exxon Mobil rep confidently. “We’ve bought out and eliminated most of the alternative fuel sources, public transportation is in the pits, and no one walks. That leaves cars, and they all run on what we decide they run on.”

      “So what’s your point?” asked the BP representative.

      “It’s as simple as 1-2-3,” the Exxon representative stated. “One. We’re Big Business. Two. We’ve already bought the Republican-controlled Congress. Three. We don’t need to justify anything.”

      By unanimous agreement, the gas bag cartel declared there would be a 10-cent a gallon hike by the end of Summer—and no excuse.

      [Dr. Brasch’s latest books are the critically-acclaimed Before the First Snow, a journalistic novel; and Fracking Pennsylvania, an in-depth investigation of the health, environmental, economic, and political effects of horizontal fracturing.]

The Phillies Are Not Phigments of Imagination

by Walter Brasch

     Newspapers are often a “court of last resort” for our readers whose problems can’t be dealt with elsewhere.

      Thus, it was no great surprise to receive a letter from a young girl who was confused about the Philadelphia Phillies. In her short life, she had never seen the Phillies.

      Her little friends, so she wrote me, said that the Phillies were a figment of her imagination, a team that was made up so that there would be something to anchor the National League basement. She says she was told that sportswriters went along with it because they always wanted to write fiction and needed something to do between calls from irate Little League parents.

      Well, Virginia, your friends are wrong. They have been affected by the cynicism of reporters and the skepticism of a nation with no direction. They think nothing can be that bad unless it was made up. But, Virginia, the truth is that there are Phillies and, unfortunately, they are that bad. But, it wasn’t always that way.

       The first game ever played in the National League was played in 1876 in Philadelphia. Of course, the Philadelphia team didn’t last a season, but if it did, it would have been a great team. In 1883, the Phillies showed up and never left—even if it seems that way now and then. In fact, since 1900, the Phillies have earned six of the top 20 spots of the worst records of any baseball team. That may or may not be why the Phillies tried to disguise themselves under aliases—the Philadelphia Quakers (1883-1889) and the Philadelphia Blue Jays (1943-1949). The Quakers, of course, are a peaceful people who don’t believe in battle; blue jays can be vicious. Neither name helped the team.

       Your little friends may tell you the only reason the Philadelphia A’s and Connie Mack of the American League eventually left the City of Brotherly Love, whoich has the most rabid sports fans in the nation, was because they were tired of competing for tickets against a team that sold about as many tickets for losing as did the A’s for winning. But, you must believe that even in losing, the Phillies are real.

       Not believe in the Phillies? You might as well not believe in their seven league championships, in the Whiz Kids of’ ’50, or the great collapse of ’64 when they were leading the league by six games with just two weeks to go, and then finished in a tie for 2nd. Only a Philly could pull that off. You might as well not believe in the Phillies of ’80 who won the World Series, the only time in a century that happened. 

       Not believe in the Phillies? You’d have to not believe in Mike Schmidt, maybe the greatest third baseman ever; you’d have to forget Garry Maddox, the “secretary of de-fence” who covered the outfield better than snow in February. You’d have to give up believing in Ed Delahanty, the first Philly to enter the Hall of Fame, or Chuck Klein who entered the Hall with a .326 average and statistics that would choke even the Nielsen ratings.

       If there were no Phillies, there would have been no Grover Cleveland Alexander, one of baseball’s greatest pitchers, who was sold because the owner needed the money. You’d not hear about Steve Carlton, Robin Roberts or Tug McGraw, no Richie Ashburn, Bob Boone or Del Ennis, no Larry Bowa, Granny Hamner, Jim Konstanty, or even “Puddin’ Head” Jones. Not believe in the Phillies? You might as well not believe in John Kruk, Darren Daulton, Mike Lieberthal, Jim Bunning, Curt Schilling, and Lenny Dykstra.

       If there were no Phillies, there’d be nowhere for Jimmy Foxx, Pete Rose, and Dale Murphy to have gone at the end of their careers.

       You’d have to forget about managers Dallas Green and Paul Owens. And, you’d have to not believe in Charlie Manuel, the manager with the most wins for the Phillies and who led the team in 2008—the year after it racked up its 10,000th loss in its history—to its second World Series title, only to be fired three years later.

       Not believe in the Phillies? You’d have to not believe that owners are poor judges of talent who can take great teams and trade them away, and then spend millions for a pitching staff that proved it could be competitive at the Little League World Series.

      Not believe in the Phillies? You’d have to suspend your disbelief that a beer and hotdog can cost $11.50, and the cheapest seat, with a view of—well, actually, nothing—is $20. 

      Your little friends with their little minds can’t comprehend the vastness of a team that is again about a decade or so out of 1st. In this great playing field of ours, we are but mere synthetic fibers on the Astroturf of life, unable to grasp the universe, let alone the origin of the Phanatic.

      Yes, Virginia, there really is a Phillies. It exists as certainly as injuries, dropped balls, and parking lot jams. No Phillies? Thank God it exists, and will exist forever. A decade from now they may even again win a championship, and continue to make glad the heart of frustrated fans everywhere.

      Somewhere, Virginia, the sun is shining bright. But, there is no joy in Citizens Bank Park, for the anemic Phillies have once again struck out.

      [Assisting on this column was Francis Church of the New York Sun. Dr. Brasch’s latest book is Fracking Pennsylvania, an in-depth investigative analysis of the economic, political, environmental, and health effects of fracking throughout the country.]

Lettuce Look at Some Prices

 by Walter Brasch

      I was resting at home when Marshbaum called to ask if I wanted to go with him to look at the lettuce.

      “The supermarket’s got lettuce for less than two bucks a head,” he said enthusiastically.

      “What’s so unusual about that?”

      “Because it’s going to be extinct in a few weeks.”

      “You’re buying up lettuce and selling it on eBay as antiques?” I sarcastically asked.

      “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m buying the best heads, storing them, and selling them for four bucks in a couple of months.”

      “What makes you think anyone would pay four bucks a head when they can get them now for less than two bucks?”

Let’s Phrase This Another Way

by Walter Brasch

      O.K., all you loyal readers, I’d appreciate it if you would “Put your hands together” for today’s commentary. I want you to “give it up” for me. But, most of all, I want you to “show me some love.”

      If you’d like to stand and applaud enthusiastically, that’d be waaaay cool.

      At one time, TV audiences saw a flashing light that had the word, “applause.” That’s all that was needed, just in case no one wanted to cheer an oncoming actor or TV guest.

      Now we have the host telling us in so many ways that we have to—well—put our hands together and give it up while showing some love.  

      I have no idea how those phrases became a part of the American language, but they are there. And they are annoying.

Government Planning to Ban Junk Food

by Walter Brasch

      Usually when I get a phone call at 2:13 in the morning, it means someone is in trouble. Sometimes, especially when Marshbaum is at the other end, it’s better to have had the prescience to have unplugged the phone.

      “Know anyone with a vacant 200,000 square foot warehouse?” he asked.

      “Not at this hour,” I replied. “Call me in the morning.” By morning, Marshbaum has either forgotten his latest scam or been arrested.

Practicing Un-Medicine

     

      by Walter Brasch

      Clutching a sheaf of newspaper clippings in one hand and a medical bag in the other, Dr. Franklin Peterson Comstock III, knocking down pregnant ladies, students, the elderly, and even two burly construction workers who were waiting for a bus, rushed past me, leaving me in a close and personal encounter with the concrete. Since he had given up medicine to invest in a string of service stations and an oil distributorship, I assumed what was in his medical bag was the morning’s take from obscene profits.

A Father’s Day Barbeque—Washington-Style

By Walter Brasch

    It’s Father’s Day, and that means the Great White Republican Hierarchy in Washington smells burnt charcoal and is ready to barbeque some Democrats.

    Because Father’s Day is special, the Republican-proposed Sequester is waived, and there is no budget limit for the day’s food and frivolity.

Look for the Union Bunny

                 by Walter Brasch

Bullied, harassed, and lied to, District 1 of the Amalgamated Association of Easter Bunnies, AFB-CIO (American Federation of Bunnies–Cottontails International Organization) went on strike, forcing a halt to this year’s Easter egg hunts.

At Bunny Headquarters, Solomon P. Bunny, union executive secretary, and a militant corps of Easter bunnies were preparing picket signs. I walked in, notepad in hand.

“Excuse me, Mr. Bunny, but why aren’t your members delivering eggs this week?”

Bunny looked up from the papers on his desk, chomped harder on his cigar, looked at me, scowled, and answered harshly, “Don’t you know!?”

“No, sir,” I replied apologetically. “I always thought you were happy and content passing out your Easter eggs.”

“We love it,” growled Bunny, “but the reactionary governments of several states don’t love us. They claim unionized bunnies are anti-American and a drain upon the limited budgets.”

“Don’t the people have a right to balance their budget without excessive union demands?” I asked.

“Listen, Ink Breath, if these bobbleheads didn’t roll over and let the corporations rub their fat little behinds and expel corporate welfare, there would be enough money to deal with reasonable worker demands and the social services these granite brains are cutting.”

“Even with these facts, I doubt you’d have much support,” I said, noting that most taxpayers don’t want to pay more taxes, and think union workers are greedy opportunists who deserve to be thrown on their tails, even if made of cotton.

“Listen, Lead-type-for-brains, collective bargaining is one of humanity’s most fundamental rights. Says so in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, approved by 48 countries in 1948.” Bunny then went into one of his files, pulled out a sheaf of papers, and slammed it on the desk. “Read it!” he commanded. Not wanting to further upset a furious bunny, I skimmed the report that revealed about two-thirds of Americans support the rights of collective bargaining.

“What are your main grievances?” I asked.

“For one lousy week, we prepare and distribute colored eggs. That leaves 51 other weeks when all we’re doing is multiplying. You can’t make any money that way.”

“But don’t you get paid extraordinarily well on Easter Sunday?”

“Hey, man, ever try to tell the carrotman that all you have is some moldy lettuce to pay the month’s food bill?”

“I see your point,” I said, feeling a little sorry for the bunnies. “What are your other demands?”

“A decent living wage and a hutch of our own,” said the executive secretary. “No more of this lettuce stuff. We want cold hard cash. Just like what those religious folks put in the collection plates once a year.”

“That seems fair,” I responded. “Are there other demands?”

“You bet your union card there are,” said Bunny. “We want a 50-week work year, with two weeks vacation; that’s still fewer vacation days than in most civilized countries. We want nine paid holidays, reasonable sick leave, maternity and day care benefits, medical and dental insurance—do you realize dentists charge us double because of the size of our incisors?—and a prohibition against using us for cosmetic testing.”

“But Easter is only one day a year,” I said. “Certainly you can’t expect Easter every day.”

“What’s so bad about that? Look what it’ll do for the egg, Peeps, and clothing industries. If Easter was every day we’d soon have full employment.”

“What about religion? Wouldn’t the Church have objections?”

“Why should it? Look at all those people who’d be going to church and putting all that money in the collection plate.”

“You certainly have a point,” I said, admiring Bunny’s determination. “Are there other demands?”

“Other than membership in the Bunny Club, rigorous enforcement of safety standards, and a better employee grievance procedure—no.”

“You’re willing to disappoint all the children just because some adults are insensitive to worker needs?”

“We don’t want to harm the children. They haven’t learned how to be bought off to be effective politicians.”

“So you will deliver Easter eggs this week!” I said, thrilled that the bunny union was relenting.

“This is off-the-record, but this year everyone will get their eggs. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to preparing for a demonstration.”

As I left, Solomon P. Bunny was slashing through contracts, and multi-tasking on three different phones and two computer screens. But, he warned if the rotten eggs of some of the state legislatures and their buddies in corporate industry don’t stop pretending how religious and patriotic they are, while consistently violating the principles that Jesus stood for, “this will be the last Easter they will ever celebrate.”

[Walter Brasch is a social activist and award-winning journalist who has been a member of unions for four decades. His current book is the best-selling Fracking Pennsylvania, an in-depth investigation into the health, environmental, economic, political, and worker safety issues of hydraulic horizontal fracturing.]