We had trekked onward from our stronghold in the suburbs and progressed both with mindfulness of the law and speed limit as well as an ill placed aggression that is the norm with Chicago drivers.

As the density of police officers grew steadily while the number of country clubs dwindled, we knew we were getting closer and awaited the dread that is motoring in traffic under the watchful gaze of the surveillance cameras in Chicago that come equipped with a perfectly chilling pulsating blue light, there just to remind you that you are indeed being monitored.

The cameras make you think that any misstep you take will lead directly to a ticket, and having Chicago’s notoriety in mind, that one ticket could easily escalate to a few more if not handled with care.

Arriving closer to our destination, somewhere around Halsted, we tried to find parking only to encounter the familiar three states of parking spots in the city:

1. Occupied
2. Occupied by snow
3. Occupied by furniture

We were upset that on a Thursday night in Chicago, at 1 AM, these people had the audacity to be home and sleeping so that we couldn’t find a spot. They did this on purpose.

We tried parking in a few snowed in spots, only to get stuck a few time while managing to wake up a few neighbors to the lovely screeching sound of zero traction.

We didn’t mess with the furniture placed on the street to save the parking spot for the resident.

YOU NEVER MESS WITH THE FURNITURE.

For 15 minutes we drove around the block trying to find a spot, and right before we did, we came to a red light.

While pulling up to stop at the light, a police car passed us coming the opposite way, and being the careful driver that I am, I made sure to come to a complete stop before progressing on making my right turn.

I approached closer to the intersection and saw another police squad car on the other side. Driving upon the street intersecting with the one the cop and I were on was a taxi. This taxi had the uneventful task ahead of it to make a left turn and be on its way. For reasons unknown, the driver of this taxi could not pull off this maneuver and went straight into the left turn lane of oncoming traffic on the road he was turning in on.

On the other side of the intersection was the officer with a front seat view to this embarrassment.

Q. Was this a ticket-able offense?
A. Yes.

Q. Were my friends and I laughing at the predictable coming ticket-slapping of this cab driver that we were about to witness?
A. In the immortal words of Sarah Palin, “You betcha.”

This poor taxi driver thought he could simply just reverse and get out of the way, until he discovered there was an officer sitting right behind him; sitting like a jaguar observing its prey. The driver of the taxi was trying to correct himself but was getting so nervous because of the police officer behind him he couldn’t think of where to go and just stopped his car to let the officer by.

So much time passed that now the light was green for the road the squad car and I were on, and before making our right turn we waited to see the cop turn his lights on and bust the taxi driver.

What the officer did instead is make a U-turn and casually drive away, pretending he didn’t see anything.

As much as I dislike what law enforcement has become, it is people like this cop that make me cling onto the faith that there are decent human beings behind the badge.

That Chicago cop displayed one of the coolest moments of not only mercy of the law, but human understanding and compassion; all the signs of a true keeper of the peace.

Mary, though a wife to Joseph at the time of the birth of Jesus, must have considered her newborn with a much different perspective than mothers who must first have sex to become pregnant.

The content Mary carried in her womb, as told to her by the angel Gabriel, was to be the light of the world and salvation for the sinful and faithless. The mother of this great individual to come couldn’t have been older than 18, an age younger than that of the author of this post. Though the cultures were surely different, regardless of the era, early motherhood is never a walk in the park.

Sexual reproduction usually involves a male and female of a species. The male and female attract the other and copulate with hopes of impregnating the female. If the mating was successful, a new infant grows inside the female until it is ready to exit in a simultaneously violent and beautiful display of the continuance of life.

In humans, the attraction phase of finding a mate is infinitely more complex than that of the animal kingdom. Higher level thought processes come into effect that can combat instinct by choosing a mate that is nurturing but may not be as physically or biologically pristine as another. Many times what seems to be sophisticated methods of humans choosing a partner is nothing more than a illusion; for example being attracted to someone for reasons that don’t seem to make sense could simply boil down to the fact that the odors of the two are compatible, an instinctual trait.

Joseph, Mary’s wife, chose her based on first and foremost her appearance; with her family history adding to her attractiveness. As a Jewish man, Joseph clearly had intention of having children with his young wife, but had his hopes interrupted when he realized she was pregnant, as a virgin.

This is key to understanding how Mary must have saw Jesus when she gave birth to him.

She did not experience the carnal pleasure of sexual intercourse with her spouse; she had not planned to have a child but was told she would be the vessel for a great man. Mary had never undergone the throes of passion and lust to conceive Jesus. What she must have felt when she saw him in her arms could not have been the same as what a “normal” mother feels.

All mothers release oxtocin during birth and that in a way forces the maternal feeling in a woman, but a “normal” mother would equate the feeling of love during birth with that she felt during sex as the same chemical is released. A mother remembers how her child was conceived. She recalls the sensations during the moment of conception. She equates orgasm with feelings both of well being and child bearing. Mary could not have felt any of this.

To Mary, Jesus was a part of her but not of her, and she loved him immensely. Her love, though, was in a sense was more pure than that of a “normal” mother.

Mary had her bundle of love expelled from her body in the usual method, filled with plenty of blood and excruciating pain. Mary had never experienced any physical pleasure from pregnancy to birth. Her love of Jesus was the most innocent form of love, free from any worldly influence. She cherished her child as a little girl cherishes a little puppy, without limit or deviation. Jesus was not her subordinate, but a part of her; an equal in a way, superior in others if you believe the story. To Jesus though, Mary was his mother, and much like any little boy sees his mother, a goddess. The love the two shared is a model for how every mother and son should treat their inseparable bond.

Imagine the strength of this young woman!

She held a package to grow inside her by orders of an ethereal being whose orders were given by the Supreme to direct Mary to raise, protect, coddle, and teach this savior of how to live so that He may couple the love that was shown to him by his selfless surrogate-birth mother, who had to take up her own cross and deal with the pain of motherhood, and everlasting Holy Father, from which all love comes.

Now, this is not to say that Mary treated Jesus like a God. He probably got a few deserved spankings as a youth .

But frankly, what loving mother would deny her child some Godly discipline?

Dip, not to be confused with chewing tobacco, is a nasty looking mass of tobacco and nicotine delivery systems (read: broken glass) packed inside a container the size of a tuna can. It carries a rather pleasant aroma that reminds one of candy, as if the tobacco industry needed any more reason to be accused of attracting more customers. The method of using dip is to take a pinch of the mass and place it between your bottom lip and teeth while sucking said mass of tobacco and spitting out the black juice produced. Remember, I did this twice.

A friend of mine in the military is an avid consumer of tobacco products. He introduced me to the substance one day playing Frisbee/disc golf. For those of you not in the know, disc golf is exactly what it sounds;instead of a set of clubs and ball with tee, you throw disc towards a target which is a 3ft diameter basket with a metal pole through its center and metal chains connecting the top of the pole with the ridge of the basket in order to halt discs on target.

The terrain of the course was dynamic, varying from hills to wooded obstacles and open clearings. In our group that day were four  with two others taking too long to arrive and as we were close friends, we proceeded without them. My friend in the Marines had a fresh can of apple flavored dip and took a pinch the size of a fun-sized Snickers bar and placed it in his mouth. Offers to take a pinch were presented to the other three of us and we accepted with little reservation at the time though we had all heard stories of mouth cancer patients and baseballs players missing half of their bottom jaw due to the product we were about to indulge in.

Having placed our share in the correct location of our jawline after some considerable struggle with errant pieces of tobacco getting stuck on our tongues and teeth, we began sucking to absorb as much of the active ingredient as possible. When sucking in, the bottom lip presses on the mass of tobacco which, may I remind you, contains materials to pierce the skin to feel the effect more intensely. There is a slight cold sensation as the dip presses against your  tissue to remind you that, yes, the inside of your mouth is being torn asunder microscopically. As I have never been a regular user of tobacco, I was unsure of what to expect of dip, or what exactly is the reason tobacco is consumed so much (other than being legal and addictive). I had never understood why people smoked cigarettes; I have tried before but the smoke of a cigarette is harsh and disgusting to taste and smell. What was different about dip from cigarettes though was there was a feeling almost immediately and it tasted rather good; the apple flavored dip resembled a tart fruity candy.

While sucking on my tobacco candy, I had accumulated enough spit and juice to warrant elimination via spitting. I gathered all the liquid in my mouth and proceeded to eliminate the waste and almost lost the dip in my mouth to gravity. Not wanting to waste, I quickly closed my mouth, choked a little bit, and swallowed absentmindedly. I swallowed the pinch of dip I was enjoying to the laughter of my compatriots who warned me I wouldn’t be feeling so swell in a few minutes.

My friend readily offered me another pinch, and I readily accepted. By this time, we were finished with the first hole and had already teed off on the second. After our initial shots, while walking to where our discs landed, the dip hit me HARD.

I have smoked a few cigarettes before and saw no benefit of tobacco, but could understand how someone would enjoy this legal drug. It was the most light-headed and dizzying effect I had ever felt while “sober.” To get to our discs, we had to walk up a hill; a hill I could not conquer under the condition I was in on one journey. I had to sit down and rest, walking in a straight line was proving to be a challenge. With my head spinning, waiting for the world at large to stop spinning, my Marine buddy laughed through it all and asked me if I liked it.

The disturbing part was that it wasn’t that bad once you got used to it. The only real challenge was expelling the waste juice from the tobacco while not swallowing, and being able to have a drink with the dip in place between the lip and teeth. The buzz was pretty fun when one forgets the cloud of cancer that hovers every can of dip.

Done with the second hole, moving to the third, we were joined by the two laggers, now making a party of 6, and we progressed through the 6 other holes (our course only has 9) rather uneventfully. The four of us that had no will power and tried the dip were having a jolly, dizzy time, and had learned to control the stumbling. At the end of the 9th hole, we spit out our dip and washed our mouths thoroughly to make sure no one would swallow any. My Marine friend made it very clear, you don’t want to swallow any. Previously, I had swallowed quite a bit of dip, I began feeling worried.

Our party had decided to rendezvous at a house, and we split up into two cars, three in each. Walking to the car, on the warm, stagnant, summer day, I began to feel hot and heavy. I began to feel pretty sick.

I sat down and started taking deep breaths to try to calm my stomach. My Marine friend was driving, another in the backseat, I was riding shotgun.I was starting to sweat a bit and could feel my body temperature rise sharply. They laughed at my misfortune telling me I had swallowed a lot more than anyone realistically should their first time without expecting to expel it all later. I fought very hard to get that image out of my head as we pulled out of the parking lot and drove to our friend’s house.

Then, it hit.

I had my first dry heave in the car, frantically begged for a window to be opened, and my friend responded with great timing as a second heave came just as I was able to get my head out. I moaned about needing to vomit badly while I had my head out the window, like a German Shepherd sans the tongue wagging about, trying to cool my face down. No good, I was poisoned, and was going to pay dearly for it.

My friend, finding this absolutely hysterical, but being genuinely concerned, kept asking if I wanted to stop on a curb somewhere to expel all my innards. The only areas we passed were residential areas in our suburb and would not feel to comfortable throwing up on someone’s freshly mowed lawn. I heaved again as we passed a youth soccer tournament, complete with hundreds of players and adults all walking to their respective fields when a car passed them with my body dangling over the side of the passenger side window, begging the driver to get to our friend’s house as quick as possible so I could hurl. I had no concern of the display I was putting on to these young, impressionable athlete; I was thinking about spending some quality time in the bathroom praying to the porcelain gods.

My friend in the backseat called early to make sure the garage would be opened and door unlocked so I could run in to the bathroom as soon as we got there. That was exactly what I did, saying my hellos as I darted towards the bathroom in the den usually reserved for my friend’s cat. I ran in, closed the door, saw the cat was in there, had mercy on the little creature and let him out lest he witness the destruction I was about to wreak upon the toilet he would regularly drink out of.

On my knees, hunched over, lid lifted, I commenced my grand purging. I purged, and purged until I could purge no longer; then I purged some more. I was choking from heaving so frequently, pausing to take a breath was presenting itself to be a challenge. Once my stomach no longer had contents to get rid of, and the dry heaving subsided, I had realized I was in the bathroom for 45 minutes. I collapsed on the floor to rest a bit and ponder the terrible drug I had tried with great conflict between my mind, body and conscience. My friends were rather worried about me and apparently had been knocking on the door for quite some time asking if I’d like to eat something to settle my stomach. After declining their offers of aide three times, I caved in and accepted a piece of bread and a chocolate chip cookie. I closed the door and went back to my quiet meditation on the bathroom floor.

Laughter came from beyond the door as I overheard phone conversations of how I had swallowed a grand sum of dip and was paying the price for it. I ate the bread, and was about to yell at the punks for making light of my woeful situation when I threw up once again. Vomiting isn’t all bad; many times right after the process is over, one will feel much more at ease. The coolness of the bathroom floor definitely helped calm my system for a while, but the bread I ate to settle my stomach reminded me rather quickly that my stomach was anything but settled. As mentioned before, I had been forcefully removed of all matter in my tummy, and now had chewed up bread wanting to go back up the way it came down. There was a problem: when you vomit, you use the liquid in your stomach as lubrication to move the solids through your esophagus; I did not have said luxury of liquid to make the passing of the bread any easier.

I vomited and started choking as a chunk of bread that had no moisture going down was being throttled back upward with the same amount of moisture. It was as if someone was shoving a dry loaf through me, and I couldn’t breathe, so I did the only thing I could: I yelled for some water while I used the sink as a water fountain to try to alleviate the pain of dry food scraping at my throat. A glass of water quickly came, and with the bread now in the toilet, my thought process was to drink some water so this scenario would not happen again if I had to vomit once more. As soon as the water hit the bottom of my stomach, it made a rumble, and shot right back up. It didn’t even taste like vomit, it was pure water going in and out. There was nothing I could do to ease the eruptions, so I took my place once again on the cold bathroom floor.

Remember, once again, I did dip two times. This was the first.

After having spent an hour in the closed bathroom, I was feeling well enough to make the next step towards full recovery; I opened the door, and sprawled myself out between the threshold of bathroom and den. I was now able to chat with my friends whom were very curious as to whether I was done being a little bitch puking all over the place. I was not amused, but had no energy to yell back, so I played with the cat that had come back to inspect what havoc I had wreaked upon his home.

A friend handed me my phone, saying it was ringing off the hook for almost the entire hour and a half I was catatonic, but he wasn’t sure who the name was. He told me it was a female name so I got curiously excited and with a new wind was able sit up for periods of time longer than a few seconds. I fumbled through my phone’s recent calls list and saw no less than 22 calls and eight voice mail messages. The only call I missed was from my mother. I pondered why she would have had to call me so many times seeing as she was working downtown and it would take her an hour to get back. There shouldn’t be any problem that would warrant such frantic dialing unless there was something wrong with my sister, but I was going to get her at 5:30pm from her after school activities and bring her home.

Oh wait, it was 6:00pm.

Oh wait, my mother had reminded me with great Italian emphasis that I would undergo a wrath of which I had not seen if I ever forgot to pick up my young sister. We had worked out sort of a deal in which I would pick her up from school and make sure she was safe until my mother got home and in return my mother would start treating me more like the adult I was trying to become at age 18. It was too evil of a thought to try to play in my head what my mother would have done to me if she knew the reason I didn’t pick up my sister on time was because I was essentially in a drugged out stupor.

Saying my goodbyes, I darted to my house which was eight suburban blocks away so I could get my car to bring home the little one. I listened to the messages, in each one my mother’s voice booming exponentially with rage and threats of a severely diminished social life in the coming month if my sister was dropped from the program because I had neglected to arrive at the correct time.

I managed to get my sister in time.

She told my mother my breath smelled funny. This did not bode well considering how my mother is with my use of happy-happy substances

My mother, to say she was furious would be an understatement, gave me the talking to of my life, but through it all I was just thankful that my father was on a business trip out of the country at the time so I would be able to survive for another day.

I threw up three more times that evening.

I had the grand wisdom and insight to convince myself, “Hey, this wasn’t so bad,” and used dip a few weeks later.

I am an idiot. Don’t do this.

Please be intelligent when using any intoxicating substance, and don’t drive. I tend to kill those that are DUI. Cannabis and other substances which affect one’s ability to think and act should only be used by those who are mature enough to understand the consequences and are able to use the substance safely.

So without further ado, here’s a guide to being a more sociable toker with your buddies:

Supplies

• Le Ganja
• Smoking Device (Paper/Bowl/Bong/Bubbler/Gas Mask/Etc.)
• Lighter (A coveted item that gets lost at the most inopportune times)
• Friends (Yay!)
• Safe Location. (Saves thee from paranoia/jail time)

Setup

1. If you have any ganja on you, ALWAYS offer to pack the first bowl/paper. If more than one bowl/paper are going to be smoked, everyone should eventually contribute to the smoke.

2. If you have a smoking device, offer to use it (Bonus: You get resin in a bowl. aka free THC for later).

3. Pack a bowl with plenty of green so that it overflows the brim but doesn’t fall out (aka Salad Bowl).

4. Make sure bowl/paper is not too tightly packed so greens aren’t burned needlessly as the smoke in a bowl/paper packed too tight will not be able to enter one’s lungs and will simply burn away.

5. Arrange friends in a geometric shape and discuss the smoking order’s progressing starting with the person who first sparks the bowl/paper.

Get Smoking!

1. To be courteous, if you packed the bowl, offer greens to the person to your right.

2. Always hold the lighter on the brim of the bowl/paper to ignite the least possible plant matter first, then inhale to spread the flame to the unburnt green. (This saves some fresh green for your buddies).
Hold the hit in for as long as you can, but be aware that most THC gets absorbed in 10 seconds and after that you’re inhaling other cannabinoids and potential carcinogens if not using a piece that filters through water.

3. Make sure you take a hit equivalent to what you can handle, coughing up your hit will only anger your friends.

4. Take no more than two hits per round as it is selfish to take more.

5. Make sure you have not slobbered on the bowl/paper. If you have, use a lighter to lightly kill bacteria/dry the piece.

6a. Pass the bowl to the person next in rotation either bowl facing them or sideways so the mouthpiece is towards them but do not hand it to them with the mouthpiece directly facing them; that is rude and shows impatience.6

6b. If using a paper, always hold it in a manner so your fingers are closest to the burning plant matter as to not burn your friend when passing it along.

7. When done with your hit(s), join in conversation and be social

8. If using a bowl, the next time it comes to you, use a lighter to move the plant matter on the sidewalls down to the middle and pack it down. If using a paper, make sure the paper is burning evenly.

9. When done with the first bowl/paper, if you didn’t pack the first bowl, offer to pack the second and the cycle continues until everyone’s done.
Etiquette

• Use the lighting method mentioned above, it is referred to as “cornering”
• Do not keep the flame burning the ganj if it is still green.
• Only keep the flame on when holding it for a solid second won’t heat the ganj to a point where it will continue to burn without the flame on the next inhale (known as the “cherry”).
• Do not hold the bowl/paper without taking a hit, this will cause the cherry to die down and will only waste weed as it will continue to burn without it being put to use.
• If you have water, offer it to anyone that asks. Bonus if you offer it beforehand.
• Same thing goes for food. If you have it, offer it.
• If you’re hungry/thirsty, do not abuse your host’s generosity.
• The rules of the logistics of the smoke (location/rotation) belong to the owner of the place where you’ll be smoking.
• The rules of how much will be smoked using what methods belong to the owner of the ganj/piece.
• Try to always use a grinder. If you’re grinding for someone else using your own grinder, dump the rest that you can’t pick up back into their bag, thief.
• Do not inhale too hard for the possibility of sucking through the weed if using a bowl. If smoking a paper, there really isn’t too much of a problem inhaling hard.
• If the bowl is clogged, do not continue to light after the first attempt. Get a pin/needle and poke through the hole to clear it.
• Do not drop someone else’s bowl
• Do not drop someone else’s ganj
• Do not drop someone’s waterpipe/water in the pipe.
• Do not do the above 3 things if you own them and others are relying on you for the smoke; don’t ruin everyone’s day.
• Do not pass a finished bowl/paper to someone else. If you think a bowl is done, take another hit where you keep the flame burning the ganj. If little or no smoke comes out, declare the bowl/paper “beat.” and empty it out where the owner of the location asks.

Ya see, I’ve got this rabbit and her name’s Angie, short for Angel (an 8 year old girl named her, not me).

We bought the little rascal on a humid ass, cloudy day in summer on a whim. That morning my mom left to hang out with some of her friends for the day leaving my father, sister, and I to fend for ourselves. She called to let me know she wouldn’t be home for lunch because she was doing some crap I had absolutely no interest in and made sure she knew this; she called me a turd. I aptly hung up the phone after a few quick, but sincere, I love you’s and bounded along to let father dearest and sister-o-mine know the news. My tummy growled angrily at me and I knew it would be time soon for some delicious Chicken Fries from the delicatessen, Burger King.

There was a quiet voice in my head screaming “hell no” when my father suggested we go to Old Country Buffet with my sister agreeing whole-heartily. It isn’t just the food there that I don’t like, but I had shit to do later that day (not really) and whenever we go to the hell hole that is OCB (warning: acronym), we spend an hour or more sitting and chatting in the friendly atmosphere of stale food and uncomfortable chairs. Halfway through playing with my bread pudding, my sister got antsy and wanted to leave and go do things around town. Screw that, I was ready to go home and kick it on my Super Nintendo and bust out some sweet moves in Shaq Fu. Something had to be done to prevent the rest of my afternoon from turning into quality family time so I suggested that I just get left home and the rest of the herd could do what they wanted.

My father then pulled some fascist, guilt-tripping, Jedi mind trick and implied it was in my best interest being a newly licensed driver using my father’s automobile to stay and show my sister a good time. I was pissed, needless to say, after the meal, but it was an anger akin to what those my sister’s age must have felt. It was an annoying “grrr” running through my head in shots constantly and it gave me instant contempt for anything. My father came up with the idea of getting some ice cream at some shop a little walk away in the plaza where the OCB was located. I refused said ice cream because I was trying to show my disdain by rejecting the offer in a mature way that went along the lines of me saying “No,” frowning, and looking generally displeased with life…Much like the scene when you let your 6 year old son know he can’t get the latest toy because it’s sold out and when you try offering a substitute, it is met with extreme resistance. Just ain’t good enough, bitch.

I ended up having some ice cream just to make it through my temporary angst. Chocolate with some darker chocolate in it, chocolate chip chunks, WARM cookie dough/cake yumminess with chocolate fudge and caramel all upon, and some whipped cream with chocolate shavings to top off. Must be had with gigantic glass of cold milk. Delicious.

We washed up after what was an admittedly decent, and dare i say, fun time hanging out with my dad sister and casually gathered our things to make the trip back to the car and go home. It was my belief that sister-o-mine was probably so full up on food now that her little frame is pretty sleepy and in no mood to go gallivanting around for the time being which meant I could make some calls and get sweet loving soon enough from a rabbi’s daughter down the way.

We were a 10 minute drive from home when my sister shrieked, “Daddy! Can we go to that pet store?!” My father replied. “Let’s go princess, you gonna look at the doggies?” “I want a basset hound!” My sister would quip, “Or maybe a beagle…or a…maybe a…”

The rest of the conversation they had was rather lost on me as I was too busy walking 5 steps behind the two, weeping and silently cursing God’s name as we walked into the store. I had asked to stay in the car, but that was met with a staunch counter-argument from my father trying to convince me I’d have a blast with the animals. Turns out I did, a rectal one.

It was the first time I had used a bathroom in an animal store and it felt strange. Did the dogs and cats in there poop here? If so, what nasty bug can you get from sharing a bathroom with an animal? Of course the little critters weren’t sent to do their business in a people-bathroom, but it made the 10 or so agonizing minutes I was squatting on the toilet bearable. Why was I being a little girly-man and sitting on the toilet instead of whipping out my manhood and emptying my bladder into a urinal? To answer that you will need to read the previous paragraph. The fantastic meal I had consumed at Old Country Buffet (screw the acronym) can only be described as an angry, squeaky freight train barreling out of a cavern at full burn amidst a mysteriously moist mist. I won’t get into the rest of the details as I’m eating at the moment.

Upon my departure from the battle zone where I had successfully deployed my ordinance, I returned to join with the rest of my unit to try to convince them I was freaking done and was more than ready to return home. When I had entered the bathroom, pa and sis were standing by the area for cats and birds. Crappy deal for the cats frankly; the felines have to watch what would be their meals in the wild roam freely while they’re stuck in glass boxes. I’ve always felt kind of bad for the kitten or puppy that looks particularly melancholy of his existence, but hey, who hasn’t? I’ve wanted to buy those wittle wovely fuzzy friends just to see them happy but then was quickly reminded by the ugly voice of Logic that I wouldn’t have the cash to send them to a vet or the heart to put them to sleep if they got really sick. Instead I just get close to the glass and whisper a hello and if the wittle ones get close to the glass I try petting them and they try rubbing against my hand to feel some affection, I assume, but alas neither of us feel anything other than the cold breath of the glass.

But I digress…

So, as I stated prior, when I had entered the bathroom, my father and sister were gazing at the cats and birds (who used to be DINOSAURS!) and she was doing what every child in a pet store does, and that is beg for a pet. My father would humor her by laughing heartily at her requests and then suggesting they look at the puppies and lizards. He’d assure her that we’d get a pet one day soon. My family has had pets before, just not any mammals. Lots of gold fishes have passed through my home. Lots of gold fishes won in carnival games because when I think carnival prize, I think a living organism that can easily die under the not so watchful care of a child and scar him or her for life. The totally unfair part of this is that both my parents have had a plethora of dogs and cats and wouldn’t allow my sister and I the same satisfaction citing the weather in Northeastern Illinois because nooo one here has pets…Except every single one of my friends who own a dog.

I got curious as to where my father and sister were, but was more curious as to who would buy or sell crickets for $.25 each. I eventually found my sister when I heard her little voice crooning a very cute, very audible “awww.”

She was holding a little bunny, specifically a dutch; black and white, perfectly symmetrical

It was the smallest bunny of the bunch and I was thinking, “it would be cute to have a bunny.”

I noticed my father was speaking to one of the employees at the store while holding a cage, bunny food, and some hay. I asked Amanda what was going on and she said, “we’re buying the bunny, I named it Angel, you can tell it’s a girl because they marked her ear pink.”

I for one, was less enthused because I had heard of bunnies being boring pets and wouldn’t be very friendly or warm as a dog or even kitty would. I also knew that I’d be the one stuck cleaning the cage, feeding the bunny, washing the bunny, and picking up after the bunny.

All this work for a pet I didn’t choose nor necessarily want over a dog and was about to state my case to my father when the bunny, hereafter known as Angie, bit my sister and pooped on her.

She gave the bunny for me to hold while she went to clean up and little Angie looked at me with her big eyes and cotton ball cheeks and licked my thumb.

I fell in love.

I’m a 19 year old registered Republican and have spoken with friends on whom we feel truly represent what our party is supposed to stand for, and your name comes up regularly amongst the ranks of Mr. Goldwater and Dr. Paul.

I’ve read speeches you’ve made as well as searched your name earlier today on Wikipedia after viewing you on CNN speaking candidly on the state of the union.

If you leave, we’ll have one less outspoken patriot who, as you put so beautifully, “took an oath of office to the Constitution” and “didn’t take an oath of office to my party or my president.” Long gone are the days when that statement made sense to the masses. Long gone are the days of checking the power of the President; the majority of Americans now are either too apathetic to care or are uneducated on the system which this country was founded on. Our President is not an emperor and should never be given power equal as such.

What amazes me is the complete lack of knowledge most Americans have of the Constitution on both sides of the aisle. Our Republican Administration is acting more like Democrats with their irresponsible spending and big government policies while the Democrats are acting more and more conservative. Neither party is acting American.

It is my strong opinion that the base of the Democratic Party’s philosophy is flawed and foolish at best, dangerous at worst. They are the party having our government tell us how to live our lives. Though they feel our government should be our nannies because of the cruel, bestial nature of humanity, they can’t see that this idea, articulated by Thomas Hobbes in his publication, “Leviathan,” will create a tyrannical, “strong man” society where Democracy is impossible.

The Republican Party’s stance of spreading the power around the states to check the Federal Government is so obvious as the best way to function that it is the platform the Democrats are running on this election! James Madison wrote in Federalist #10 to make the Republic as large as possible so no factions can overpower any others. We have two titanic factions that are disenfranchising the majority of the nation. These parties are merging into one larger entity where the lines between the platforms are becoming so blurred that in time we will be in danger of a system kin to that of Russia where the State takes care of everything with disregard of the public.

An example to this is the Department of Education. The Democrats are appalled at the thought of removing it as a Department from the Federal Government while Republicans want to get rid of it, but instead leave the issue to the states. The Democrats have been told to believe the Republicans simply want to remove any and all regulation of education and leave the poorest to suffer! No Child Left Behind has failed so miserably that it is impossible to believe the public can’t see that if the Federal Government really was concerned with the state of education, they would have changed it. They are getting exactly what they want and are paying to keep it that way at our expense.

This is so astoundingly painful to listen to that it has led me to get into shouting matches with ignorant Democrats. I cannot get mad at them because they are just that, ignorant; they just don’t have the information, and for that, I blame the Department of Education.

Democrats think Republicans don’t want businesses to be regulated; of course Republicans want to maintain a fair free-trade market where the safety of consumers’ and employees’ health and rights are protected. Our party simply feels that the government should have no power in telling the businesses how to run because that isn’t free-trade. In fact, free-trade can’t even exist in our system with the FDA failing to protect the people from disease and these no-bid contracts being handed out to create mega corporations. No company can get as powerful as some have without explicit government support. This support cannot exist in a free-market. Neither can the Federal Reserve: The most shameful corporation in existence.

You can’t retire. You must keep speaking the truth. Once the people realize what is going on, those that have been fighting for them will be the ones in power and you, sir, would solidly be in place for the Presidency.

We are tired of the sustained dumbing down of our citizens. We are tired of politicians who will not speak out in fear of losing their power. We are tired of politicians who forget who they are working for. We are tired of the precedences being set that could make America the complete antithesis of what it was intended to be. We are tired of the apathy of the American people. We are tired of the idiotic notion that our government is supposed to control us instead of it being our obligation to check the power of the government.

You are not the typical politician, you are an American and Hero.