All Obama, all the time?

Random takes:

Again, the White House staff is trotting the Bamster all over the place to beat the drum for his new budget and his vast and half vast plans. OVEREXPOSURE, I mean big time over exposure. President Obama comes from an academic background and it shows. He is bright and smart (perhaps not quite as smart as we hoped, but who is?).

There is one big problem with this, besides his off the tell-a-prompter gaff’s, like yesterday’s gratuitous slam of Las Vegas, which got Sin City’s Burgermeister to say, “He’s not a friend of ours.” It also earned him a pained snarl from ever loyal Harry Reid and the Bamster made the required chest beating apologia. Poor Harry Reid is literally burning on the funeral pyre of the Health Care Reform fiasco and didn’t need the Bamster to trash his home town. The GOP crew no doubt will treasure this and Obama’s other snide cracks about Las Vegas and run them all night long on Nevada TV.

President Obama’s over exposure problem is compounded by his cool professorial demeanor and slightly above the fray distance. He ain’t warm and fuzzy. He doesn’t have have JFK’s charm and disarming wit or Ronnie Reagan’s midwestern version of the same. He isn’t the warm hearted varsity football coach like Jerry Ford. Most Americans -- even those who hated their regimes -- would have liked to had a beer with Bill Clinton and George W. Bush because were flesh and blood humans, and in private are lively guys who pepper their conversation with rude rustic jokes and lots of funny stories. They both mastered the “I’m just an ole country boy” persona, even though they really were a lot more.

The Bamster unfortunately is much like Jimmy Carter, who Bill Clinton often called “The Parson” because he could never come down from the moral heights nor stiffle his need to preach. Nixon had a huge warm and fuzzy deficit, even worse the Bamster. Bush the father seemed so tied up by his patrician DNA and upbringing, he always seem awkward.

There is no way to make Barrack Obama a warm personality. He is not Harold Ford, cute enough to be a TV star, overflowing with charm and good humor, an ability to listen and as my daughter says, those flirty eyes.

So my free advice to the White House is, cool it with the Bamster on the Road National Tour. He isn’t Bill Clinton or Ronnie Reagan. I honestly think like with Jimmy Carter and Herbert Hoover, the public is tiring of his preaching and his odd Chicago combination of high concepts and rough house politics. They have noticed his inner stiffness as the did with Bush the father, and his stubborn streak like Bush the son’s.

One more thing, I think Michelle Obama is doing her job very well and her hubby could take some lessons. There are even times I think we put the wrong half of the First Couple in the Oval Office and she in fact would be a far more effect manager of the country’s business. She like most female leaders would do, not go into Hamlet like contemplation and on things like legislation would talk a lot with not talk to the Republicans and bring them on board when she could and knock them around when she couldn’t.

The Adventures of the Bamster and 9 fingered Rahm, #3.

The Snow Queen & The Dragon Lady

haunt his every sleeping and waking moment.

At the regular afternoon meeting, the Bamster and 9 Fingered Rahm fell into a somber mood, things had not been going as well as hoped and the press office was down to feeding the Bamster clips from ever loyal and adoring commentators like Rachel Maddow and Chris (my leg tingles) Matthews. Rahm had yelled at Press Secretary this morning over some very snippy remarks by Jon Stewart on the previous night’s Daily Show. “Find out what got into him, the rat, how come he’s turning on us.” “But Rahm, if the Bamster floats one his off the talking points non sequitur’s, Stewart can’t help himself.” “Yeah, I know it’s his shtik, but I still don’t like him making us look bad. I should have known he’d be trouble ever since that chop about Herself last Fall when he showed the old Miami pentioner looking at Michelle and saying ‘“Vat a touches.”’ She is still pissed about it.”

The Bamster sat forward in his great chair, head in his hands on the Presidential desk, “Rahm, did you hear, the Snow Queen, Sarah Palin herself, she was on Rachel Ray’s show this morning.”

“Don’t worry about it, just two air head broads what can they do?”

“But Rahm, they cooked, they made this Alaskan stuff.”

“Get a grip, man, so Caribou Barbie can make some kind of goyish Lox, big F****ing deal!!” Rahm said in firm voice.

“But the audience applauded like they loved her.” The Bamster was spooked.

“Chill, man, so she can cook . . . she probably can since she has to feed her kids and that big ox of husband of hers. I don’t think many people are going to be eating her favorite Moose Goulash or whatever she makes.” Rahm explained.

“You’re right, I don’t think I’d like to eat a moose. Nobody would like to eat a moose would they?”

“Sure, Canadians might like Moose, but not our voters. It’s not bad, you know, I had some at a great little deli in Montreal one time, smoked moose on rye.”

“But Rahm, she still scares me,” the Bamster looked at him pleading for reassurance. “She is a killer, I’ve seen the pictures. She’s some kind of wild cracker Princess Xena or something.”

“F*** her, shake it off, big guy, be a mensch. Do I got to call the kitchen have them send up Spam Fry Rice or Ahi Poke or some thing?,” Rahm knew that the Hawaiian snacks of his boyhood always perked up the Bamster.

“That would help, it would,” the Bamster raised his head.

“At least Hillary Clinton will not be on Rachel Ray’s show, I don’t think she can boil a f***ing pot of water.” Rahm laughed. Then he realized his mistake. The only person the Bamster hated and feared more Sarah the Snow Queen was his Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, or as he and Rahm called her, Dragon Lady.

“I have this nightmare, Rahm, it’s horrible. There I am trying to run for reelection and the Republicans and the back stabbing Blue Dog Democrats run a special fusion ticket of Hillary for President and Sarah for VP. I can see them together in a VFW Hall in some awful little town in Pennsylvania drinking’ beer and doing shots with the peasants, talking about guns and all that other blue collar white folks stuff.” The Bamster was beginning to sweat as he recounted his recurring frightful vision.

“Cool it, can’t happen, we got Hillary right where we f***ing want her. She can’t go nowhere. I got my guys keeping my eye on her and her little shlep Blumenthal. She can’t make a bleeping move without us knowing first.” Rahm assured his heroic leader.

“Are you sure?” Bamster pleaded.

“F***ing absolutely certain, them mother f***ing mothers can’t lay a glove on us!” Rahm almost shouted. “We're holding our friends close and our enemies even closer,” Rahm quote the Godfather epic, it always bucked up the Bamster’s spirit.

At this point Press Secretary Gibbs burst in, “Sorry, but you guys got to see this, it’s unbelievable.” On the huge plasma TV we see the tarmac at Anchorage International Airport and through a light snow fall we see Secretary of State Hillary Clinton in a fur coat and hat on a stop over on her return flight from Moscow. Next to her in a bright red parka is a smiling Sarah Palin handing her a slab of smoked salmon in bright foil and red ribbons. Hillary beams, “Why thank you, Sarah, this is so sweet and you know how I love smoked Alaskan salmon.” She gave a little peck on the cheek to Sarah and Todd.

Sarah smiles back, “You bet’cha, I made it my self and my husband Todd, he caught it right here in Alaska.”

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.” Hillary purred.

“I’m so glad we had a chance to get together Madam Secretary, you know how I’ve always admired you, one American woman to another.”

As the camera pulled back, a radiant Hillary climbed back up the steps into her sky blue and white Air Force plane, Sarah and Todd waved and Hillary clutched the smoked salmon to her breast and smiled warmly.

Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!

Gibbs and Rahm patted the stricken Bamster on his back and got him to take a drink of water.

Rahm shouted, “The bitches.”

- xxx -

Clunkers come in and new cars fly off the lot.

Today got off to an increasingly common start as I read the news and saw another one of Obama whiz kid Ivy League Frat Boys brilliant ideas misfire. This is becoming a hallmark of this administration. The Clunker program worked like a charm, but not how it was planned. The White House Whiz kids are great on high concepts but often as not they muck up the mere details.

The $4,500 Federal voucher for your old gas guzzling clunker program was wildly successful, but not exactly in the way it was intended. The money is going whoosh into the car dealers as people nationwide line up to take a $4,500 gift from Obama’s evergreen federal munificence for their old clunker and apply it toward a new car. This is actually his first program that gives working, middle and upper income folks a nice slice of boodle. Think about it, can you imagine the outrage and shouting if Dub’ya had proposed such a profligate give away of public money to the same people. Of course the Obama idea was to leverage middle class money as a way of subsidizing UAW workers without seeming to just hand over the bucks.

The purpose of this program was three fold: First, it would allow people to clear away the inventory of new cars collecting dust on dealer’s lots. And it has done that amazingly well. Second, it would replace cars with lousy milage with new and higher milage cars. That has worked too. The new cars and trucks average ten more miles per gallon than the clunkers they replace. Finally, it would give the long suffering American car manufacturers a shot in the arm, reopening shuttered plants and putting thousands of American back to work and speeding delivery of the spiffy new models out to the dealers. That didn’t really happen. As we are coming to expect, when the Obama Administration comes up with the brilliant idea, it never works quite the way they expected. In fact the huge surge in buying new cars flowed right around the American manufacturers, except for Ford.

Sign of trouble # 1. After the early numbers came in, the famously transparent and open Obama Administration unexpectedly clamped down and is refusing to release the data on who the program is working. Wonder why?

Sign of trouble #2, smelling something was amiss, the press began asking questions about the project and how it was going. With the White House suddenly clamming up, the news people got data from the manufacturers themselves. Guess what, of the top five models people are buying only the Ford Focus had an American brand name. Ironically, it is actually assembled in in Mexico while the next top four cars are from Japanese companies but all of them are made in the USA. Go figure. But the Japanese see American workers who are very productive and relatively cheap. Nice that somebody does.

Sign of trouble #3. The White House has yet to admit this project went off in unintended ways and has yet to figure out how to pin the blame on Dub’ya or Rush Limbaugh or whoever is the villain for the day at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The Obama spin machine should come up with something. They are masters of their favorite game: pin the tail on the elephant.

So what happened?

The Bamster and his guys are going to score big time “Domo Arigato” and “Muchas Gracias amigos” for coming up with this package. Even a “thanks a lot man” from non union American autoworkers. That was not the plan.

This was thought to be a bonanza for the United Auto Workers and the salvation of the State of Michigan, the three billion dollar clunker project missed its pet targets big time. The big winners are overseas firms who are now big time US manufacturers and Ford who makes cars and trucks here in Canada and Latin America and ship them into the USA. Ford has built and has the most modern auto factory in the world. It has its own docks for shipping in parts and shipping out cars plus its major sub contractors have their plants clustered alongside the Ford assembly lines. It is an awesome facility. Brazil is a major industrial power now, and very proud of the huge facility.

Whoops. I am going to love it as the White House fumbles and bumbles an explanation on how this happen. International trade agreements forbid a subsidy that is not equally available for domestic and imported products. However, that was a given. The preferences of the public were seriously misread. After all the billions that the Fed’s have poured into the wreckage of GM and Chrysler it appears the American public has no desire to lay its money or the free government money on the line for their products. Obama promised to personally stand behind the new GM and Chrysler products. The public was not impressed and largely ignored these Presidentially approved vehicles.

In the end Ford, Toyota and Honda have done very very well out of this deal. Car makers that employ UAW members didn’t sell many cars, so like a lot of Obama’s over hyped and under thought out projects this one rewarded the firms that didn’t need help and delivered very very little to the folks the Obama whiz kids figured would scarf up.

It’s only money and like all Obama projects, this one was brilliant in concept even if it misfired. Hey, I could be wrong but this program like the others that always seem to go off the tracks is becoming a Obama hallmark. We understand that the whiz kids at the White House don’t have a lot of street smarts, but they have long been taught to leave the trivial details to middle management types. So the half baked crusade and the program gone wrong is their stock in trade. We are getting used to it just as we got used to the interesting but small and cheap programs Bill Clinton launched monthly and the bland acceptance of ear mark pork by Dub’ya when Congress sent bloated spending bills over for his signature. Every Administration falls into its comfortable rut. We know now what we can expect from Obama.

Three kinds of Democrats

Looking across the political spectrum you have Democrats, you have Liberal Democrats and then you have the Moonbats. Regular plain no hyphens Democrats have feet that touch the ground, a strong grip on common sense and usually a sharp if somewhat cynical sense of humor. They usually drive American cars, some even drive pick up trucks. They often talk with a regional accent and even hint at blue collar or country heritage, they don’t blush or feel queasy when they say the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag or observe common and accepted patriotic rites and gestures. Real Democrats think Republicans are tight wads who begrudge the poor a minimal level of social services but are not hopeless, just inhibited by their party’s terminal stuffiness. Real Democrats love a good fight, in fact feel uncomfortable if things get too lovie dovie, because they know in their hearts the Liberals and Republicans are cunning upper middle class smoothies who are always willing to go bipartisan if it screws the working class.

Liberal Democrats read the New Republic and other slick paper up scale publications Vanity Fair and hip life style and how to magazines, they like you to think they can speak at least one foreign language, dress with a touch of old money style or what they think is old money style combined with a bit of hipster chic and they are never at a loss for fluent cocktail party chat. They never own an American car but they are up on current food fads, food no-no’s and know when certain things are hot and when they are not. While they can always come up with politically correct reasons to look down on blue collar, Southern and rural folks, they are helpless before minority ethnic firebrands and almost always get rolled even when they know better.

A Liberal Democrat will do everything possible to push up Black and Latino college enrollment percentages while at the same time be coldly ruthless in squashing the percentage of Asian heritage students. Only a liberal could tell Asians they have been demoted to White and do so with a straight face. A Liberal Democrat will also ignore bad news, like the very high drop out rate of minority kids who are enrolled without the academic background to keep them enrolled. The single worst moral flaw common to Liberals is their willingness to let good intentions trump good results. The other thing Liberals do is run the word “unconscionable” into the ground. Nobody to their right or left ever uses the word. It is their word and theirs alone.

When push comes to shove in foreign policy Liberals will spot dictators and terrorists one chance to roll them. That is how they demonstrate their diplomatic skills. The next time the bad guys try to roll them, they will bomb the bastards, even send in the Marines. Bill Clinton actually bombed more countries in his eight years than George W. Bush. Liberals will always come up with a “multilateral” strategy that will leave the the heavy lifting to the American Military with token assistance from a small number of nations and the advice of those who are unable to do anything but talk. The deepest and darkest fear of older Liberal Democrats is that somebody will look back and discover the Vietnam War actually was their idea.

What makes me real nervous today is that President Obama has rediscovered and brought us the old liberal dream of government by our “Best and brightest.” He can be forgiven because he was an infant during the Kennedy and Johnson years. That time, the best and brightest fucked up big time and then denied they had anything to do with it. Right now the Harvard and Goldman Sachs alumni in his government seem to be doing the same thing to the American economy and maybe militarily in Afghanistan too. I’ve seen this movie before, it ends in tears.

Now we come to the Moonbats. These are people whose feet don’t touch the ground. Their Burkenstocks, Ugh’s and sandals might, but they don’t. Facts, reality, common sense and rationality have no measurable effect on them, ever. Where real Democrats view Republicans as tight wads and Rotary Club stalwarts while Liberal Democrats look on them as tiresome but energetic “C” students, even if they attended a prestigious college or didn’t sit in the back row snickering, mocking or peppering the good students with catcalls and spitballs. Moonbats see Republicans as criminals at best, by definition both ignorant and stupid, if not demented. In the worst case they view Republicans as a species of hateful and dangerous sub human primates that should be exterminated.

To be fair it should be added that Moonbats consider ordinary Democrats as little better than Republicans. If you doubt this, just try to imagine a Berkeley Moonbat trying to talk with a Teamsters Business Agent. Liberals Democrats are almost the very worst possible thing to Moonbats since they could and did vote for Bill Clinton and then compound it by voting for Hillary. The Moonbats not only want to jail George W. Bush for the Iraq War and not singing Kumbaiya with Osama Bin Lauden, they would put every single so called liberal Democrat that voted for the war in the cell next to him.

The pure and ardent Moonbats fit the bemused description George Orwell wrote in the 1940’s about the far left fringes of Britain’s Labour Party -- they burn with odd enthusiasms, they dress in awkward and often impractical clothes, they advocate a wide range of distinctly minority opinions, they are often eccentric in their dietary preferences and frequently have highly unorthodox religious views. They combine a highly demanding set of ethics on almost everything except sexual behavior with the aggressive moral imperatives and heresy suppressing zeal of a Counter Reformation Dominican Friar freshly arrived in town with a wagonful of seasoned firewood and a list of suspects.

Real Democrats sit down to a steak at Peter Luger’s without the slightest moral scruple. They also gobble up bratwursts at a NFL tailgate party and drink name brand beer without shame. A Liberal Democrat can eat sushi and allowing for a few moral hiccups, a Liberal Democrat could even go so far as to eat veal. Goose liver or Fois Gas, in its common French name, would never ever pass their lips unless Anthony Bourdaine was present and ready to denounce them as philistine idiots if they didn’t eat it. While a few might eat free range organic meat and get away with it, most true Moonbats pose as or claim to be vegans or vegetarians. Many of them go far beyond those two diets. adding to them every sort of marginal food fetish. They attribute many good things to various rare fruits or vegetables, they believe in the near miraculous power of rare and exotic tinctures and extracts, they of course have not a shred of scientific proof for any of this, but Moonbats still passionately believe it anyway, especially if it rooted in the most distant third world folklore. The one trouble with these bean, grain and greens diets is the unfortunate side effect of considerable if not heroic flatulence. In the human gastrointestinal system the typical vegan diet produces enough methane gas to power a small car. Raw grains, organic heirloom beans and Brussels Sprouts as a steady diet could create enough natural methane gas inflate a Goodyear blimp.

The Las Vegas Mob Mo.

Buried deep in the fine print of the current Economic Recovery act are a cruelly wonderful collection of absolutely necessary life enrichment projects that will goose the economy back to life and enrich the cultural and recreational life of hundreds of cities and communities. There are bike and walking paths on old railway right of way’s, there are beaches where citizens can take their dogs and allow them to run free, there are restored landmark homes and commercial buildings, railroad stations restored to gaudy three color Victorian glory, 19th century churches converted into hipster friendly restaurants, wine bars and hang outs.

Of all the life enriching projects one stands out. The City of Las Vegas Nevada proposes a national museum of organized crime. This project jumps off the page at you, it’s not just another city beautification dream. This museum grabs you by the lapels and says in soft but ominous voice, “You got a problem with that?”

Please join me in my time travel speedster and let me give you the highlights from a long review of the newly complete National Museum of Organized Crime, or as it is called by everyone in Las Vegas, MOB MO.

You approach the domed three story monument on a long fountain lined arcade. The large building is in tasteful classic forms inspired by the 16th century Italian architect and author Antonio Paladio’s Venetian country villas. Three balanced wings extending from the central rotunda but the finish and feel is very elegant Ocean Liner Arte Deco, reflecting the 1930's golden age of organized crime.

On entering the building you proceed to the soaring rotunda. In niches in the four piers that support the dome are bronze busts of Alfonse “Scarface” Capone, Meyer Lansky, Giuseppe “Joe Bananas” Bonanno and Benjamin "Bugsy" Siegel. A pair of marble staircase fall gracefully into the rotunda. Each of the wings is dedicated to one branch of organized crime. To the right is the Cosa Nostra wing honoring the titans of Italoamerican crime, to the left is a wing dedicated to the great Jewish criminals while passing through the rotunda is the Gangsters All wing honoring a wide variety of historic American felons, thieves, murders and criminal giants. In the basement is the Garage, which has a collection of thirty important automobiles. Additionally, there are a bookstore on one side of the entrance vestibule and On the other side, a delightful New York style trattoria, “Mama Gambino’s.” The New York Chopped Salad and the hand made veal and spinach ravioli are amazing as are the authentic scungilli fritters. (Italian for meat of the spiral shellfish Conch. Pronounced: Skun'GEE'lee.)

In the cosa nostra wing are some fascinating displays and life size portraits of leading mobsters. In the center of the grand gallery is the barber chair where Albert Anastasia got whacked. At the far end of gallery is a fresco of Joey’s Clam House the night Crazy Joe Gallo was machined gunned. On the second floor on the right side of the gallery is a large hands on display of Bootlegging and Speakeasies. On the right side is a definitive display of weapons of the Mafia, s superb collection of pistols, sub machine guns, sawed off shotguns, knives of every sort including beautifully made Parthenopian (The region around Naples, Italy) stellettos, switchblades, and "butterfly knives. Also are other things like car bombs, garote's and special piano wire implements and last but not least baseball bats and other clubs. On the third floor is a dazzling 1930’s night club based on the elegant main dinning room of the French Line flagship, Le Normandie. The rest of the floor is dedicated to fashion displays of famous mistress, or as they were called at the time, “Gun Molls.” Strippers and whores, moonlighting librarians, society girls out for trills and of course leading Strippers and torch singers.

Across the rotunda in the wing of Jewish Gangsters is a large display honoring Las Vegas promoter, Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel. This display shows the great compelling vision of the New York born and bred mobster. On the other side of the hall is a large display dedicated to the long fruitful career of Meyer Lansky (born Majer Suchowliski in Poland), the J. P. Morgan of crime. It includes his 1960 Plymouth sedan and a reproduction of the modest home he lived in Miami in his sunset years. At the far end of wing is a café, actually a reproduction of small deli in the Bronx where all the favorite delicatessen comfort food is available, soups, sandwiches, desserts and other Gotham City favorites. Additionally, the Jewish wing includes a display noting that the last big time Capo of New York crime, John “The Teflon Don” Gotti was in fact half Jewish by virtue of his mother who was the daughter of a minor Jewish gangster.

In the central wing, "A Diversity of Gangsters Hall" are two displays: On the right hand side, Irish gangsters are remembered. The Hell’s Kitchen gangs, the Five Points gang and the O’Bannions of Chicago and their cohort "Machine Gun" Kelly. Included is a tableau of Valentine Day’s Massacre where Capone’s guys settle score once and for all with the Northside O’Bannions. Across the way, on the left hand side, the outlaws of the old west are honored: The James Brothers, the Dalton Gang, John Wesley Harden, Butch Casady and the Sundance Kid, additionally their enemies are also noted: Judge Roy Bean, Judge Parker, the Texas Rangers and the Earp Brothers.

Upstairs there are displays on other ethnic gangs: the Chinese Triads, the Japanese Yukusa, the Filipino “White Flower" Gang, Chicano gangsters, the African American Crips and the Bloods, American Indian and French Canadians bootleggers and smugglers, red neck moonshiners from the South and river pirates from the great Mississippi.

On the top floor are various financial crooks: Jim Fisk, Jay Gould, Mr. Ponzi and Mr. Madoff his greatest successor. Then there is a fascinating display of the great bookies and gamblers, centering on Arnie Arnstein and how he fixed the 1919 World Series and led to the conviction of seven players on the Chicago White Sox.

The final display is in honor of little known felons, the Midwest’s unique and entprising criminal figures, the German American and Scandinavian American Margarine runners. These bold Lutheran mobsters in their hot Studebakers and Hudson Hornets would smuggle colored margarine from Des Moines and Chicago into Wisconsin and Minnesota where state laws made it a felony to possess or traffic in margarine. The Supreme Court threw out the anti margarine laws in the early 1960's.

All in all, the tasteful museum provides a look at a colorful if lethal slice of American life.

- xxx -

Who is Bill Ayers? I refer you to Gossip Girl.

Who is Bill Ayers?
Is he a pal or just another guy in Mr. Obama's
neighborhood?

The short answer is he was a real and leading domestic terrorist, of the mad bomber subspecies, in the late 1960's and early 1970's. He was one of the weathermen, a hyper radical infantile Marxist group, who chanted
"Power to the People" (Don't you love it) wore jeans and tie dyed shirts, didn't shave or wash much and burned with political ambition.

Their name came from a Bob Dylan song, the one that says the times they are a changin' and you don't have to a weatherman to see it. (Forgive me but this brings back memories of the sixties: the feel and the smell of marajuana, the goofie certitude, condomless sex, head lice and odd rashes.)

Now the one little kicker to the Weathermen, as opposed to other New Left groups and luntic collectives of those days, was the social position of most of their members. This is where GOSSIP GIRL comes in because most of the Weathermen/women were debutantes and assorted other rich kids. Bill Ayers's Daddy was the Chairman of Board of Con Edison, New York City's power company.

Do you understand that? We are talking Blair Waldorf plus Chuck Bass plus plastique explosives. We are talking upper east side Marxists, like think about that. Debutantes and Molotov Cocktails. Debutantes in jeans and Bergdorf Goodman blouses talking about "offing pigs and racists." It was the sort of leftist operations where people would say things like, "Have we been introduced?" or "Were you in the Hamptons last summer?" Ah, they were so Junesse d'ore.

So there we are, the cast is insufferable queen bee bitch deb's and WASP princesses like Blair Waldorf and selfish spoiled brat rich cad's like Chuck Bass. They planted bombs, but they were not that good really. Not as good as Ted Krysinsky -- UC Berkeley Math Wiz and real mad bomber. They were not as good at as Tim McVey a shanty Mick with USArmy ordinance training.

Beside the buildings and relatively small number of victims of the Weathermen, there is that totemic achievement. They were plotting away in a posh upper east side town house one afternoon, no doubt drinking Veuve Cliquot champaigne and gossiping as they assembled their bombs and I guess one of them crossed the wrong color wires on a detonator. Well,
that was it! KABOOOOOOOOOOOM and they blew the townhouse and half the block to smithereens. They never found much but stray pieces of three debutantes and their Marxist beaux and boyfriends. Power to the People and there was a huge crater in the middle of a very "A" list neighborhood. Anyway, that is the story of Bill Ayers and the Weathermen.

XOXO

Pretend this was read in a wonderfully arch voice by the lovely Kristin Bell.