Distractions

Protesting property taxes, having a baby, and work have been distracting me from finishing a single Sasquatch Files post in several weeks. Being this blog is the juncture between time, space, and reality, I really need to adjust that trend...

The Children Are Our Future

Quantitative Easing Explained

The content of the following video is common knowledge among a growing number of people. Reporters are doing stories, people are making movies, and there are even children's books about this (including mine). But, no matter how much we are educated, most Americans don't take this seriously. They don't believe it. Why? I have observed a dangerous dichotomy:

1. The thoughtless and uninformed simply don't care and don't think about it.
2. The thoughtful and informed are not confident enough in their understanding given the huge scope, number of factors, and unknowns. This is reasonable.

This leaves an interesting situation. Because of this easy-to-identify dichotomy, a small number of folks at Goldman Sachs and the Fed have popular support in their practice of overtly and legally robbing the general population. It's brilliant. Our collective silence gives their individual consent. The few who see the racket are watching Ben and his buddies shovel our money from the bank into their money bin while most of everyone we know–our friends and family–are part of the bucket brigade. Hell, we are letting them get away with it by doing things like voting for their robber friends like Mark Dayton. He has openly revealed that he doesn't get it, will (at least implicitly) attempt to help them, and we still vote him into office because people think the candidate who does get it killed a woman's son while driving drunk because of some disingenuous attack ad!

The sad (and dangerous) thing is: I don't blame Goldman Sachs. I don't think folks like me blame Goldman Sachs either. In fact, I think some who are watching this think there is some sick justice in the fact that all of the willfully ignorant people around us are quietly being robbed and exploited. Some think it is almost worth being robbed themselves to know that the idiots all around them are looking the other direction while the community's bank accounts are being looted. This is the dark side. It is filled with apathy and disgust at the nature of man. I choose not to consider the robbery justice. It is a crime, and something worth writing about.

The Swaddle

Very young people have a tendency to remind you how genuinely helpless they are. There is no one more desperate and dependent than a screaming, hungry infant. They are obsessed. They cannot be distracted with shiny objects, or the bouncy-bouncy, or even a pacifier (in my case, pinky finger) for long. Hard-coded into their brains is the need for a nipple planted deep in their mouth and the procurement of sweet, sweet milk. In want of this they are certain of their immanent death. Waking from a deep slumber, the first tingle of hunger marks the inevitable descent to a slow, miserable, painful emaciation. They taste death. They do not hope. They do not believe or wish. They do not have faith that milk will arrive. They only know that they are sure to die, and that is all. Without the warm fluid flowing down their throats, there is only darkness.

Finding the breast between his lips, the infant, somehow, still cannot believe he has been saved. He tests, and then resumes crying. His lips touch the one thing that grants him life, and he refuses, pulling away. His own tiny hands flail about, intercepting the connection, preventing what he requires. He sucks on his fingers and then wails, cheek pressed against the only thing that will relieve his pain. The loving mother, determined to relieve his suffering, grows frustrated as his small but powerful fists and fingernails batter and scrape her tender flesh. The restless infant knows nothing other than to resist the one thing he desperately needs and desires. At this point, particularly when mother and infant are frustrated to tears, the father's role becomes essential. He takes the infant gently in his arms, places him on a flat surface, and initiates the swaddle.

swad·dle tr.v. swad·dled, swad·dling, swad·dles
~To wrap or bind in bandages; swathe.

Perhaps the most enjoyable part of being a new dad has been learning to completely immobilize my wily and self-destructive son so that breast feeding is plausible. This velcro-enhanced swaddling blanket is basically a straight jacket for kids, and works really well. Here is a quick, step-by-step swaddle tutorial...

1. Place swaddling blanket on flat surface.


2. Procure baby.


3. Place baby in blanket.

4. Pull foot hoodie thing over legs and restrain right arm to the side.

5. Wrap left flap over velcro patch while holding down right arm.

6. Wrap left flap all the way across and hold down the left arm.

7. Tuck the left flap tightly around to the back.

8. Pull right flap across torso and secure tightly with velcro patches.

Voila! He's swaddled.

9. Place in front of mommy for a peaceful feeding. He is now less capable of self-destructive behavior and ready to chow down! Yum.


The swaddle is really a temporary measure. While the binding may be enjoyable for the parent, it should only be practiced when absolutely necessary, and not purely for recreation. When the baby is old enough to feed unrestrained without causing harm to himself and others, swaddling should be ceased (sniff).

Why "The Sasquatch Files"

Because I am a hairy, reclusive primate with big feet, and no hope of assimilating into the general community of self-aware bipeds. I have no interest in the success or failure of mankind, because the forest provides everything I need–the forest and my highly sophisticated subterrainian bunker deep within the bedrock. I am just a curious observer of your world from beneath. The sasquatch community lives underground in a peaceful, friendly society with no need for "government" or "employers" of any kind. Every sasquatch is his own sovereign nation engaging in trade with other sasquatches on his own terms. We have only one rule: "don't do anything that would cause us to make a rule." Rare offenses are dealt with individually and without use of force. We are heavily armed at all times. (There has never been a case of sasquatch murder.) We carry firearms always as a symbolic reminder of our sovereignty and responsibility to the peace of the sasquatch society. Pretty simple, really. Also, when you homo sapiens struggle with technology, we sometimes give you a nudge, or not, depending on whether we think you deserve the power–whether it will be put to use for the advancement of life or the destruction of it. Yes, even though it gets dark down here, it's good to be a sasquatch.

The Portrait

Senator Max Goodwin was retiring after 6 honorable terms as a senator. He had never lost an election. Marvin Plank was an intern considering a campaign for Max's seat, and approached Max's office for some advice. Max was napping, but awoke when he heard the knocking...

"[snort] Ahem...yes, come in."

Marvin cracked the door.

"Senator, do you have a moment."

"For you, Marvin, I've got two. Please sit down."

A relieved Marvin walked into the office, which was rich with dark woodwork and leather furniture. He sat in the large armchair in front of the mahogany desk. The senator leaned back in his chair, casually observing the young gentleman. Marvin's head was tilted up and to the side, observing the new painting on the wall beside them.

"Marvin, just look at that portrait. Isn't it lovely? Majestic. Powerful. The adept strokes and rich hues present nobility beyond reproach, don't they? It's not only the image of a man, but the body of his work, even the integrity of his soul. The man is blameless and perfect, his every fiber built for the honorable, selfless service of mankind. You know, that portrait will likely endure longer than anything that gentleman has ever done. It will probably leave an honorable legacy more persuasive than anything he has said or written. Marvin, I believe that in the future, some will mistake the man in that portrait for me, don't you think?"

"It is a lovely portrait sir, and captures you well."

"You're too kind. Really. You want to know how I did it, don’t you."

"A talented, um, painter?"

"Quite right, I suppose. Yes, the painter. He needs to look into the subject's eyes, and see him not for who he is, but who he would like to be...his essence, his soul. A very good painter can see beyond the surface; dig deep to capture whatever glimmer of humanity remains beneath the bruised and battered shell of a man that defines his actual existence. You know, Marvin, beneath the ugly, rotten surface, most men carry some remnant of this true soul. Most men cling to some spark of decency deep within, like a tiny, perfect diamond in a mountain of cold, black, coal. For those of us without it, a painter of exceptional talent is required. The artist, failing to observe any goodness at all in his subject must rely purely on his own."

The senator paused, looking into space in what became an uncomfortable silence for the young intern.

"Pardon me. Senator? You are saying that..."

"I am saying that if you win, I recommend a good painter."

Marvin was caught off-guard. He nodded, trying to comprehend the strange advice. The senator regained focus.

"Marvin, if you intend to do well in politics, dissolve any remnant of such a diamond. Republican, Democrat, Independent, it doesn't matter. The careers of good men in this profession die instantly, like dogs. Whatever brought you here, your belief in 'goodness' or 'service' or 'virtue,' is your weakness. My colleagues and I shred men like you before breakfast. If you expect to see a painting of yourself like the one hanging on that wall, you will abandon any concept of 'morality' or 'goodness' and consider the merits of pragmatism, preservation. Only when you can do that will you be begin to succeed. I suspect you believe that, theoretically, once a foot is in the door, you could do 'good.' But, son, by that time, it is far too late. It is a shame that all rookies dismiss this fact until they see it for themselves, then look back upon the welded hatch that forever forbids them from returning to the naive, innocent world left behind. A sad fact, indeed."

Marvin nodded slowly. Max took a deep breath and continued...

"You say you are 'independent' and 'libertarian.' You believe the people can govern themselves. I made this mistake when I was your age. Obviously, they cannot govern themselves, or we would not be here, sitting on fine leather furniture. I will save you some time: abandon this nonsense at once. If "the people" knew or cared what was best for themselves, they wouldn't have cheered every time I took their money and spent it on fine leather chairs. If they knew what was best for themselves, they wouldn't put up with any of us. Marvin, make no mistake that whoever sits in this office has the unenviable job of assembling the plundered excrement of society from some available trough to sling it randomly over the heads of mankind in general. The one who shovels the most shit gets re-elected by the select few who benefit from the slinging. I represent the 25% of the people in my district who like to steal from the other 75%. How do they do it? They VOTE! They have the time and inclination to look over our shoulders. Your job, as senator, is to ensure the plundering continues by convincing the plundered 75% that they are not being robbed. Talk about children, use the word "elderly" a lot, and "security." So long as they don't look at their paycheck too closely, and they never do, they will remain seated upon their sofas being harmless, and probably watching our party propaganda. Remember this: they beg for it with their silence. Their silence is their consent, and your mandate, for whatever you prefer to buy with their silence. After the election you will use their silence to drain them for every dime you can and redistribute whatever is necessary to those 25% of the voting few who are paying attention.

Oh, and remember, give a token amount to some large charitable organization in a highly-publicized way to keep up appearances."

Marvin was speechless, paralyzed in his chair.

"Run as a Democrat, Marvin, if you want an easier job. Democrats are two trick ponies. You're libertarian, so the first part will be easy: tell them gays can marry and women can have abortions. They'll support you. Why? Because most Democrats think the state defines society. Therefore, lead your attack with false promises and attractive, popular, ideological delusions. You know...call it "reproductive rights" and "gay rights" as if they need your permission to engage in their preferred behavior. It works. I mean, you know the facts. You know any two women can cohabitate, fertilize themselves (naturally or artificially), and perform ceremonial abortions on a regular basis, and cannot be stopped. Yes, you understand the state's definitions for these things are essentially worthless. Much legislation is unenforceable and ridiculous. But, pretend it matters and you'll win elections. You are only the servant, the messenger. Remember that. They pay you to pretend to give a shit.

But Marvin, if I may speak freely, for Democrats, it's not really about the issues. It's about style. It's a high school popularity contest won by charisma, emotion, and blurting enough statistics to get the "wow, he's smart" tag. Steal their hearts, confuse them a little, and their vote is yours. As for all the actual stealing, they don't need convincing. They already believe rich people's money belongs in your pocket, or their own, so you don't even need to convince them of this. By the time you take office, you already have the power to legislate the confiscation of millions from their paychecks before they even see it, and then compensate the executives that employ them for the trouble. Yes, it's a racket, but it has massive advantages on two fronts: 1) The poor think you're looking out for the little guy, and 2) The poor and middle-class actually grow poorer, become dependent on the state, and become more likely to vote for you. And...you know what..."

Max put his forearms on the table, leaned forward, half standing. He whispered loudly...

"There is absolutely no disadvantage to running on a 'robin hood' platform of stealing from the rich to give to the poor while actually doing the opposite. If you can do it, this is how you win in politics. It got me elected to office 6 times."

The senator leaned back again and pulled a bottle of Scotch from his drawer. He pulled the cork and poured it into two glasses, pushing one across the desk toward Marvin.

Marvin was stunned, but grasped the glass and both took a sip.

Max leaned back in his chair.

"But kid, let me tell you what...if you want to kick some ass, run as a Republican. A gentleman I admire once said: 'although it is not true that all conservatives are stupid people, it is true that most stupid people are conservative.' I wouldn't say they're 'stupid,' exactly, but conservatives tend to outsource their brains and virtue to organized religion and advance slowly in giant herds without really thinking. This means you can control massive numbers of them easily, which is a very good thing politically. Basically, Republicans are susceptible to a slightly less sophisticated fraud than the standard, "robin hood" Democrat. Where the Democrat asks government to define society, the Republican asks government to ‘do God's work.’ This is especially true of Christians; Protestant, Catholic, doesn't matter. While the most noble, thoughtful, and convincing pacifist individualist who ever lived is worshiped and hanging on the cross at the front of their churches, they generally ignore this in practice. They yield the entirety of their own brains, bodies, and souls to their pastor, congregation, and political party. Instead of serving this "God" character according to scripture, they are somehow capable of believing whatever some pedophile priest or Bill Oh Really tells them. They can be persuaded to fear anything, and are therefore obsessed with safety. This means you can count on them to blindly follow you in the violent pursuit of world domination for the sake of security. Don't chuckle. That's really what we're doing here. While Democrats are a virile breed of hypocrite, applauding you for stealing from their own pockets, Republicans have them beat in that arena. Republicans steal it and use it to perpetuate an oppressive, violent, globalist, authoritarian state diametrically opposed to the virtually-impossible-to-misunderstand core of their traditional belief system. Worshiping the decision to die on the cross, in the most horrific manner possible, rather than rule the world might seem like an obvious anti-imperialist clue. It apparently isn't. Modern American organized religion does well to obfuscate that fact. You might have the stomach to deal with such dangerous, paradoxical irrationality. I never did."

Max lifted his glass to his lips, sipping the golden liquor. Marvin, still shocked, tried to compose himself.

"Senator, can I ask just one question?

"Shoot, partner. That's why you came, isn't it?"

"Is there any hope?"

Setting the glass on the table, Max cleared his throat and tapped his finger on the desk...

"Is there hope? Heh. Don't kid yourself. For hope we'd need something I've never seen: a man with nothing to lose; no skeletons in his closet or sound bites to be taken out of context; no scandals or criminal record or even 'alleged' activities. He'd need to be squeaky clean to get through the media, the public. Let's see...no doubt, no fear, no weakness. He'd require faith in nothing...he'd know everything. Ha. But hell, a man like that wouldn't need government anyway. He wouldn't need an election. His authority would be obvious and the election would just be a formality. Let's see, he'd have compassion, humility, dignity. Now, I want you to imagine such a man. Just imagine him. Do you think he'd last two minutes in this place? This world? Hell no! He'd have a blaze orange target on his back. He'd be a prize buck in an open field surrounded by starving hunters with machine guns. The guy would have a death wish. Ha, is there any hope? What kind of question is that..."

Max held his glass and paused, looking up at his portrait for several long moments.

"But, you know what, Marvin, there’s good news. If you can rule it out altogether, you'll have greater success than I ever did. Alright, you got what you came for. Now, get the hell out of here. I've got work to do."

Citizens For Authoritarianism

Over the last several hundred years, or even longer, the global population has been increasingly obsessed with the so-called "individual." Since Christ on the cross or earlier, a radical element in the human collective has toiled to convince us that this "individual" has some sort of mystical sovereignty beyond the understanding of legitimate organizations of collective power. They profess some invisible authority "within the human spirit" that stands in defiance of real, worldly power, and claim its strength can exist within even the most meek among us. Of course, whenever they are pressed to explain the source of this "power," they cannot identify it, exposing the obvious fraud. They mumble something about "rights" or "faith" or even "love" of all things, characteristically invoking sad appeals to emotion. When pressed further, they grow frustrated, even enraged, and are finally reduced to tears when they reach the limits of their capacity to rationalize and fabricate.

Pathetic.

If you have some justification for individual human rights, simply say so. I'm listening. I would be delighted to hear what "one man" can be worth compared to thousands marching in step. Sensible people know the truth. The individual is nothing. He is an ant to be stomped upon. An individual has the right to die a miserable martyr like this ancient, acetic, insufferable masochist they worship. Pain. Misery. That is all. That is the best they can do. The truth is apparent. No one wants what the individualist is selling.

There is no such thing as the "individual." Aristotle was quite right when he famously said: "he who is unable to live in society, or who has no need because he is sufficient for himself, must be either a beast or a god." If you are a god, show me. If you are a beast, then die. "You" are a part of "we," and if there were no "we," you would be nothing. That is the nature of your existence–an obscure speck on the surface of a gigantic spherical organism. If and when you become a parasite to this organism, it will consume you like a grain of sand beneath a tidal wave. The choice is obvious: conform or die. It is so blatantly obvious that anyone who cannot understand it cannot be reasoned with. They are savages, barbarians unworthy of the body of man. By their insolence, these maligned anarchists seek death, and they encourage us to join them. One incapable of understanding this cannot be "human," and are therefore a parasite to be managed.

This is the very nature of my struggle in this insane, irrational world–to advocate the assimilation of parasites into the body of the living human collective. When an employee has a problem, the company has a problem. My humanitarian effort is to conform the parasites so that they can be saved from inevitable extermination. To this end, I have founded a new organization.

Citizens For Authoritarianism
Even the most degenerate and insolent dog of a human is susceptible to the fear of physical death. That is why I have founded Citizens For Authoritarianism. This humanitarian organization encourages rule by terror and force for the sake of survival in these very difficult times. It strives to crush all opposition to its authoritarian ruler, and suppress all threats to authority with swift and thorough retaliation. Its mission is to assimilate every possible potential human that is available. Unfortunately, it is known that not all humans can be assimilated. Therefore, after all true humans have been assimilated, the remainder of bipedal, human-like creatures will be swiftly exterminated.

Why should you join Citizens For Authoritarianism (C4A)?
We are just like you. We like safety, and there is no safety like safety in numbers. In the school of fish of humanity, you want to be right in the middle. Let the shark eat the miscreants on the fringe. You don't need to rock the boat. You don't have any crusade to fight. Be sensible. Rather than make many difficult decisions about how to run your life, just make one: join Citizens For Authoritarianism. You'll be glad you did.

Who is a C4A member?
Honorable and true humans in the C4A community are easy to identify. They work for a large corporation or government department. They recycle and compost to save the world. They are members of either a large fundamentalist religious organization or a liberal activist organization or both. They are good at following directions. They color between the lines, and they will press the "chop" button on the machine that instantly decapitates thousands of children (not "real" human children, of course–but ones that look just like them). Why will they press the button? Because that is what they were told to do. They respond to mortal threats reasonably, by cowering with fear, and remain loyal to authority under all circumstances. These true humans are already signing up in droves to be foot soldiers in the Citizens For Authoritarianism institution.

What is "assimilation," and how does it work?
A "parasitic human-like creature" is pathetic and paranoid. They ask questions. They do strange things. They are "kooky." They waste valuable time thinking about nothing of importance when they should be acting. The "true human" is loyal and instantly obeys the orders of the authoritarian. Assimilation is the conversion from a "parasitic human-like creature" to a "true human." This is done in four stages...

1. Ostracization
   
2. Public ridicule
3. Terror
4. Extermination

These tactics require numbers, suspicious legislation, mass media propaganda, and military might. The larger the group, the more successful the assimilation. More details upon being officially assimilated.

How do I join?
Contact the leader of your mega church, environmentalist organization, national political action group, corporation, or public academic institution. You will be given orders explaining how to assimilate more parasites in order to save them from extermination. Thank you for considering Citizens For Authoritarianism.

"Individuals are always stupid."

Individuals are always stupid.

Dr. David Acheson
Assistant Commissioner for Food Protection
(Food Safety Czar)
Food and Drug Administration
U.S. Dept. of Health and Human Services

This lovely little quote is from a spot on the Colbert Report regarding the raid of a raw foods store in California (Rawsome foods).

In the bit, he candidly explains how "raw milk has led to serious illness and death...ecoli, salmonella, diphtheria," how "the FDA is composed of public health professionals" and "is interested in protecting the public and public health." He calls any accusations about the FDA being under the umbrella of the WHO or the U.N. "nonsense."

Here is the quote in the context (presented by Colbert):

Rawesome employee: "If we're all adults, why can't we choose to drink paint if we want to?"

Mr. Acheson: "Individuals are always stupid."

I'm going to assume Mr. Achenson, being an individual, didn't really mean that.

I think he is really saying "people who depend entirely upon their own faculties do not benefit from the specialization provided for them by social partners, and are therefore stupid."

Fair enough, David?

If so, we are in agreement. We are exponentially smarter because we all benefit through the collaboration of specialized individuals. I learned not to drink paint without even having to try it for myself. I don't need to carry water in a bucket from the lake because water treatment professionals pipe it in for me. Everyone is smarter and more capable and more free because of specialization.

But, is raiding a market of willing buyers and sellers benefiting this social collaboration?

The assumption, made by this David individual, is that some buyers will be unintentionally harmed by this "unsafe" collaboration, and, therefore, "all of us" will be less-well-off as a whole if this collaboration is permitted. What has happened is very simple: David has responded to a demand, by the people, to save themselves. He is simply responding to a legitimate need for safe food. The only problem is–he is doing it very, very poorly...

We all want safe food. Why does getting it require men with guns?

There is a correct answer.

Because we lacked the leadership and imagination that could have otherwise peacefully responded to the true demand for safe food.

Here's what really happened: no businessman had the balls to invest in a real, large-scale, quality-control business (as prevalent in other industries). As such, the issue struck the bargain-basement social safety net of government responsibility, and we all suffer from this stagnant, unchecked, authoritarian, armed government food safety monopoly.

Rather than respond to real public demand, bureaucrats manufacture an estimate of the public demand. They basically say: "people want 'safe' food, so that is what we will give them." Then, they get together to define "safe," author verbose works of fiction, and, if you don't agree with their story, they brandish a weapon. Their narcissism, believing that they know what is best for you, is one culprit.

But, they couldn't have gotten their without your tacit consent. You, the American citizen, is culpable for begging your government for a food safety handout. You gave your hard-earned money away to thieves with guns who write laws that they can shoot you for violating. What the hell did you expect? Safer food is not free. TNSTAAFSL (There's No Such Thing As A Free Safe Lunch), and, in this case, your payment is not only the scourge of taxes ripped from your wallet, but the harassment of armed soldiers.

Is that really the price of safe food?

Consider a non-authoritarian approach. Any quality-control company would immediately recognize the demand for safe raw milk. Competing quality-control companies would jump at the chance to be the first to provide safe raw milk. (Unsafe raw milk is most common in large, industrial farms with drugged-up cows). Consumers, none of whom wish to get sick, would highly value the company's identification of a safe raw product, and pay a fair price for it. Yes, safe raw milk would be expensive, but you could actually buy it.

In our current authoritarian system, you cannot buy "safe" raw milk. Because of laws, no quality control company has the incentive to illegally establish an underground "safe raw milk" certification program. No, instead, you trust the individual farmer who offers the black market raw milk. The farmer is also the quality control specialist because the government effectively prohibits specialization in this field.

How is this collaboration with social partners?

According to their site, the FDA is responsible for...

protecting the public health by assuring the safety, effectiveness, and security of human and veterinary drugs, vaccines and other biological products, medical devices, our nation’s food supply, cosmetics, dietary supplements, and products that give off radiation

What about the "safety" and "security" of the raw milk portion of our nation's food supply? If raw milk is not suitable for consumption, why call it "food" in the first place? Classify the stuff as a type of white paint. Everybody knows not to drink paint. "You drank raw milk? Why would you do a stupid thing like that? You had it coming." Let the crazies do what they will with their raw milk. If labeling "milk" a type of "paint" prevents the raiding and pillaging of innocent people, I say do it! This new legal definition is no less of a fiction than your other ridiculous legislative compositions.

David Acheson is correct that an individual is stupid. He is stupid when he believes he can force another not to harm himself. So blithe an error seems easily dispatched, but is the lifeblood and justification for all governance. It is proven wrong in every case, yet we cling to it. We acknowledge and champion the truth intuitively in all great works of art, movies, novels. Yet, in practice, we are terrified of it. We continue have faith in this grand fallacy that other individuals are stupid and unworthy of the opportunity to earn their own lives. We cannot stop the suicide bomber, yet, we believe we can stop the man from drinking from an udder. In practice, our terrified, apathetic, nihilistic will continues to worship this great golden calf and believes it has the divine power and inclination to save us from ourselves. It cannot. When we replace the "we" for "I" I it is obvious that David Acheson is full of shit. You are not stupid.

I'm going to go drink some paint.

The Complete History of the U.S.S.R

Arranged to the theme from Tetris...

Ocean

A woman in labor needs soothing, comfort, and words of encouragement. It is a long, painful struggle for her, and as a coach, I will need to be prepared for this. I will be helping her endure the pain in any way I can, and this will involve massage and other relaxation techniques. Visualization exercises are one way to help her relax during the contractions. Here is one I have been working on...

You are floating, floating in the middle of a vast ocean on a calm summer day. The water is warm and you hover on the surface, feeling the small waves gently dance against your skin. You float with perfect ease and allow the water to embrace you and comfort you. There is only peace here, and nothing but sun and warmth and serenity in all directions. White, billowy clouds drift slowly by. You extend your arms and feel weightless, like a feather, and allow the water to absorb all your troubles and all your fears. The tranquility is serene and irresistible. It pulls the tension from your shoulders until they are completely relaxed. Your arms melt down to your elbows and then all the way down to your fingertips. Your worries are pulled from the base of your neck and through your upper back, and the sensation cascades down your vertebrae and triggers a soothing warmth throughout your ribs and torso. The weightless relaxation is overwhelming your entire body now, and you find yourself helpless to resist as it absorbs every bit of tension from your waist and thighs all the way down to the tips of your toes. As you relax the sky grows bluer and the water feels warmer, softer, and you become one in this vast ocean of peace that has welcomed you.

You allow the ocean to consume you slowly. You feel your weightless body descend, the water flowing over your feet, legs, and chest. You are at perfect peace. You know the water cannot hurt you. This water of life feels weightless, and you know you can breath normally as you sink beneath the surface, and welcome the refreshing water gently flowing over your cheeks and forehead. You look up and see the waves on the bright ocean's surface and realize you are completely submerged in this vast ocean, and are perfectly at ease here in every way. You relax and allow this ocean to take you, surround you, and consume you. The more you relax, the more you feel yourself sinking, and the surface grows more distant above you. You descend slowly, deeper and deeper as the waves drift farther and farther away. You have fallen into a new marine world. As you fall, the turquoise water begins to turn blue. As you continue to relax, you fall deeper, and the water grows darker, first into a blue, then to purple. You realize your body can move effortlessly in this new ocean world, and you float deeper and deeper still as the surface becomes lost entirely and darkness surround you. You have become one with the ocean, and know you are in a place of perfect safety, and although it is completely safe, it is also vast and unexplored...

You move freely in the warm waters of this deep, deep ocean. You must be miles and miles down by now, but you continue to descend, and blackness surrounds you. Deeper, deeper. Then, you notice there is something glowing faintly in the distance, far, far below you. It is a barely perceptible green, and you swim towards it. Miles and miles, deeper and deeper. It is green, and becomes less faint as you swim towards it. So incredibly deep now, but you keep descending. You keep descending toward the green light. Then, as you gaze into this glowing green light you notice tiny shapes. Squares, circles, and lines. As you approach them they get bigger, and you see roads and houses, all so tiny and distant, still far, far beneath you in this perfectly clear water. You descend and see churches and schools and people walking on the sidewalks. There are others floating around over the roads and buildings, and you want to join them and see this underwater city. Finally, you float all the way down to a street and feel your feet touch the ocean surface. There are shops on both sides with windows and people walking around in them. You look up and see street lights that cast a green glow over the whole street. You walk down the sidewalk and admire the little shops and carts, and people going about their daily lives. A guide invites you to float with him as he shows you all the town landmarks, the statues, the museums, the art galleries.

Then, the guide drifts into an apartment, and you follow, and it seems familiar. You feel welcomed here, and at home. It is bright and spacious, with plenty of room for floating around. There is a table with a vase and flowers, a fireplace, some cozy furniture, and all the amenities you could ever need. It is the special apartment that has been reserved for you, and it is available whenever you need it. It is a place that nobody knows about except you, and it is the perfect place where nothing can ever disturb you in any way. The guide explains that it has been here all along, and is so glad you finally came to enjoy it. You drift onto the comfy bed and close your eyes and know that nothing can ever trouble you ever again.

After you have rested for an eternity and enjoyed your special underwater apartment, you see that everything is in order. The bed is made, the counters are clean, and you float out of your special apartment and look up into the darkness. It seems to be calling for you, and you notice that almost without thinking you are floating up towards it, and you let yourself go, floating up, and up, and up. You look down as the streets and houses grow smaller and smaller and the roads turn to tiny lines. The bright green glow grows fainter and fainter as you ascend, until it is almost imperceptible. Then, you notice complete blackness, silence. You float up, and up, and up, and finally see some very dark purple high above you. The dark purple slowly turns to very dark blue and then a rich, deep blue. Then, as you ascend, you look up and see turquoise, and finally detect the waves way up on the surface. You float towards them, and the sun is bright and you see streaks of sun rays pierce the water, and finally the surface is right above you, and your face breaks through the surface and you feel the warm sun again on your body, and the fresh breezes on your cheeks, and see the large blue sky with white, billowy clouds drifting slowly by.

Lady Gaga on National Defense

Lady Gaga insists senators "do their job," repeal Don't Ask Don't Tell, and permit closet homosexuals in the military to identify themselves. Further, she believes the prohibition of openly gay soldiers in the military "infringes on of civil rights."

This story is from the front page of CNN.

I wonder why more pop singers aren't making their contribution to these crucial matters of national defense policy. I, for one, see no reason why Nora Jones hasn't used her success in music to change politics for the better, specifically, to compel officers and generals to disclose their sexual orientation and those of members of their battalions. Indeed, is the whole music industry derelict in their responsibility to advance the public good by ignoring these important matters! After all, we're the world's last superpower. You'd think one member of Cake could give a shout out for the closeted fairy in Company B. What has this world come to when our most talented American icons are helpless to wield the legislative pen?

How are our politicians supposed to know what the hell to do without sages like Gaga telling them what the populous thinks? Have we descended so far into anarchy that the words of a woman so well-known, so in-your-face, can do nothing to shape the future of our military policy?

Let us all breathe a sigh of relief that Gaga will not be ignored. Yes, her words, and the exposure of the National Media will persuade, cajole, and outright stuff the ballot box to ensure the mob of the majority usurps reason at every opportunity.

I am not afraid that gay men will soon be permitted to identify potential sexual partners in their barracks, and even have incentive to join the military in order to do so.

Thucydides

You've probably never heard of this guy. I hadn't. He was the Athenian who wrote The History of the Peloponnesian Wars. These were the wars between Athens and Sparta.

If I had the floor before the Council on Foreign Relations, the Department of Homeland Security, or even the Department of Defense, I might share this brief observation from the 5th century B.C.

It is useless to attack a man who could not be controlled even if conquered, while failure would leave us in an even worse position.

But, I'm even more fond of the following...

A nation that makes a great distinction between its scholars and its warriors will have its laws made by cowards and its wars fought by fools.

Who was this guy, and why couldn't he live in our century?

The Best Slave

The following is an excerpt from the graduation speech by Erica Goldson, valedictorian of Coxsacki-Athens high school student, age 18. (full text here)

I am now accomplishing that goal. I am graduating. I should look at this as a positive experience, especially being at the top of my class. However, in retrospect, I cannot say that I am any more intelligent than my peers. I can attest that I am only the best at doing what I am told and working the system. Yet, here I stand, and I am supposed to be proud that I have completed this period of indoctrination. I will leave in the fall to go on to the next phase expected of me, in order to receive a paper document that certifies that I am capable of work. But I contest that I am a human being, a thinker, an adventurer – not a worker. A worker is someone who is trapped within repetition – a slave of the system set up before him. But now, I have successfully shown that I was the best slave.

...

For those of you out there that must continue to sit in desks and yield to the authoritarian ideologies of instructors, do not be disheartened. You still have the opportunity to stand up, ask questions, be critical, and create your own perspective. Demand a setting that will provide you with intellectual capabilities that allow you to expand your mind instead of directing it.

And, the last paragraph...

I am now supposed to say farewell to this institution, those who maintain it, and those who stand with me and behind me, but I hope this farewell is more of a “see you later” when we are all working together to rear a pedagogic movement. But first, let's go get those pieces of paper that tell us that we're smart enough to do so!

As someone who endured public school and also observed the development of academic assessment software, this speech gave me chills. Although her youthful exuberance paints this dismal and serious situation with vibrant colors, there is an eerie feeling of dread that her words do not fall on deaf ears, but those whose indoctrination efforts obviously require improvement.

American academia, the assembly of interconnected public institutions dedicated to the systematic removal of humanity and individuality from children in order to produce docile, obedient, subservient slaves for efficient labor in the future Corporate/Government Industrial Complex, seems to have failed here. With this particular student, years of influence, generations of indoctrinated teachers, and an arsenal of carefully crafted textbooks couldn't sufficiently do the job. The overwhelming facade of legitimacy in buildings, auditoriums, classrooms, desks, whiteboards, and computers was still not enough to break this one student of common sense. Somehow, the efforts of all the forces working together to advance the cohesive lie over the most impressionable years of childhood were exposed and smashed to pieces in one brutal speech.

What does this speech say to me? It is just a sad reminder that much of what the world calls "humanity" pursues death as a matter of course. In so doing, through ignorance or spite or carelessness, they groom the same pursuit deep into the psyche of the next generation. Academia is very effective at this, and is the hive of the wasp colony that eventually becomes our government bureaucracy. The old and wrong linger and die while a few bright sparks like Erica expose the embarrassing and obvious truth before being stifled, threatened, appeased, or somehow cornered into silence by one or more pincers of popular society. She has bitten off a large chunk, but did it at the right time, as there is still some refreshing and non-threatening naivete acting as her shield. More importantly, there is an empty but persistent vestige of general respect for the sanctity of young people's minds that will vanish a little bit with every astute valedictorian speech.

Mediocrity is forgiven more easily than talent. The plain truth isn't forgiven at all.

In large states public education will always be mediocre, for the same reason that in large kitchens the cooking is usually bad. -Friedrich Nietzsche

Quote of the Day

Whatever a theologian regards as true must be false. There, you have almost a criterion of truth. His profound instinct of self-preservation stands against truth ever coming into honor in any way, or even getting stated. Wherever the influence of theologians is felt there is a trans valuation of values, and the concepts "true" and "False" are forced to change places. Whatever is most damaging to life is there called "true" and whatever exalts it, intensifies it, approves it, justifies it, makes it triumphant, is there called "false." When theologians, working through the consciences of princes, or of peoples, stretch out their hands for power, there is never any doubt as to the fundamental issue–the will to make an end. The nihilistic will exerts that power.

Is it possible to have a warm spot in one's heart for Friedrich Nietzsche? Call me a sentimentalist. I do. My eyes even get a little watery as I listen to this public domain Librivox recording of "The Antichrist." I know it's irrational, and I just don't care.

Oh, oh, and this one...

Definition of protestantism: "Hemiplegic paralysis of Christianity, and of reason."

I think I'm in love.

Probably not thinking clearly.

The Great Carrot Caper

Nate planted his carrots the second week of April. I remember there would be a chill in the morning air as I looked out through by bedroom window. Way off in the distance I could see Nate's hunched silhouette slowly moving back and forth against the dark orange sky. Each seed was placed into the ground by hand. We all knew those seeds were something special. They would grow into the most delicious carrots you could imagine. That was many years ago.

They were called Stigler Sweets, a breed of vegetable unmatched in quality–the plumpest, sweetest, most delicious carrot you had ever tasted. You can't find them anymore. They disappeared and nobody knows why, for sure. Some say they are simply too difficult to grow. Others say that one day Stiglers suddenly lost their sweetness. Still others report events so strange and curious that one could hardy imagine they had anything to do with carrots. But, most talk about the Stigler's disappearance is gossip and hearsay. Over the years much has been forgotten, and much more than that has been fabricated. A humble horseshoe maker such as myself ought not speak too much about those things beyond my own experience. I reserve my testimony to the events as I saw them, and as they were told to me by those directly involved...

The Stigler crop was a popular topic of discussion among all the neighbors in those days, and the year our story begins was no exception. The weather had been ideal throughout the spring and hot summer, and the characteristic green, bushy tops had erupted from Nate's fields. His harvest was about to begin, and many waited to see if Nate would need assistance. The harvest season was short, and this year's crop was the largest anyone had ever seen...

In those first brutal days of the harvest Nate slept little. He would awaken to the call of the rooster, roll off his straw bed, and scatter the morning dew with his worn leather boots as he walked to the soft soil of his fields. In those dim hours Nate would begin his daily harvest, pulling the leafy carrot plumes from the ground and gently placing the ripe orange vegetables into one of his great tweed baskets. As the chill of the morning air yielded to to the warm, dry sunlight, Nate would continue to advance down the long, bushy rows, wiping the sweat from his brow with his loose, muslin sleeves. At noon, Nate could be seen enjoying his lunch in the shade of a large willow tree, which, no doubt, included a hearty portion of his delicious carrots.

After his lunch beneath the mighty willow, Nate would gather as many baskets as he could carry and begin his daily march across the fields, through some woods, across the creek, and into a small collection of wooden structures nestled in a grove of mighty oak trees known as Acorn Row. This was our little village, which sat along the small country road. I would see him walk by my shop and over to the marketplace where he would exchange his carrots for the tools or supplies he needed. This was also his chance to seek help, if it was required, to help him pick his carrots.

Nate preferred to pick all of his carrots himself. There were various reasons for this, but it was probably because the work was difficult and risky. Any Stigler bumped or bruised during harvest was ruined, and instantly tasted like rotten cabbage and vinegar. But, what was most disturbing was the curious risk of picking an unripened Stigler. What I am about to tell you has been affirmed to me from none other than Nate himself, and while it may seem unbelievable, it is certainly not the most absurd of all the atrocious tales on the subject. It so happens that a Stigler, if picked before it is ripe, is strange and unpredictable poison. It is a fact that anyone who eats it will inevitably go mad, performing incomprehensible feats of danger and insanity. This was virtually unknown to anyone but Nate and his workers at the time. And, there is another, even lesser-known attribute of a young Stigler: it is just as sweet as a fully ripe one, if not sweeter. And, it has even been said that the intoxicating Stigler exhibits a subtle, tangy flavor even more delectable than the flavor of a ripened one. But, of course, there can be no reliable account of the flavor of an unripened Stigler, as the testimony of anyone who has eaten one is questionable at best. Thus, it is a fact that the only possible way to know the true flavor of an unripened Stigler is to taste one for one's self, a feat so dangerous that one would need to be mad to do it in the first place.

Needless to say, when Nate required help to pick his Stiglers, he would select only the most capable and experienced pickers to be sure only the ripest and safest Stiglers would be picked. On this particular season, there were far more Stiglers than Nate could ever pick. In fact, he estimated he could only pick half of them himself and therefore required pickers to help. If he did not acquire help, half of his crop would be wasted. Thus, on one afternoon, after he had sold his baskets of Stiglers, Nate asked three folks in Acorn Row to help him with his harvest.

Nate decided to offer some of the carrots that would otherwise be wasted to workers in exchange for their help with the harvest. His workers would be permitted to keep half of the carrots they picked to either sell or eat themselves. This was a generous portion, and plenty were willing to work for Nate. But, considering the dangers, Nate was cautious to select only pickers who were qualified. He wanted to be sure none of the Stiglers were bruised, and he needed to be able to trust that his workers could identify which Stiglers were ripe.

Charlie was Nate's first choice. Charlie had taken great care of Nate's carrots in the past, and was capable of picking 3 baskets a day. Barney was Nate's second choice. While Barney was only capable of picking 2 baskets, he also took great care of Nate's carrots, and Nate trusted him. With both Charlie and Barney at work, Nate realized that he would only require one additional basket each morning in order to complete the harvest in time, so, his third choice was not based on the number of baskets, but the degree of care delivered to picking the fragile Stiglers. As such, Aaron, a young man of little experience, was offered the job. The year before, Aaron had demonstrated an ability to pick only 1 basket of carrots each morning, but he was very meticulous, and took care never to damage any of the carrots he picked. Therefore, he was the ideal choice for this position. Even though he would only get to keep one-half basket each day, much less than the others, Aaron was surprised and delighted to be offered the position.

The next day, Charlie, Barney, and Aaron arrived early in the morning to pick as many carrots as they could. As expected, by noon Aaron had picked one basket of carrots, Barney, two baskets, and Charlie, three. After lunch under the great willow tree, they all walked back to Acorn Row where each gave half of their carrots to Nate and sold the rest themselves. Nate sold his own carrots as well as those he had acquired from Charlie, Barney, and Aaron.

Not everyone appreciated Nate's operation. An old-timer named John approached Nate one afternoon as he was selling the Stiglers he had received from his workers. John asked, "Now Nate, do you think you ought to be selling carrots that you didn't pick yourself?" Nate would just say "yes, of course." He wasn't much of a talker. (I always bought my carrots from Aaron, myself. They were a bit more expensive, but always in extremely good condition.)

Acorn Council
In those days I was a member of something called the "Acorn Council." This was a group everyone in Acorn Row was expected to join at some point. We met in "Oak Hall," which was in the center of Acorn Row, to discuss the public issues of the day. This was how we helped each other take care of tasks everybody in the area needed, like fixing up our road and maintaining the well so that we always had water. We even had an official document: the "Acorn Ordinances," (also called the "AO") which was sort of a code of conduct for everyone in the community. Specifically, the AO stated: "Ordinances should be written to prevent one person from harming another." There were 10 AOs.

1. There shall be no throwing of duck eggs, rotten or otherwise.
2. There shall be no placing of banana peels on any surface meant for walking.
3. The use of stilts must be limited to areas meant for walking.
4. There shall be no walking on stilts taller than 3 feet while eating anything, but especially sausages.
5. When someone is walking on stilts, one mustn't bring food of any kind within 10 feet of said person walking on stilts.
6. There shall be no throwing of anything at anyone, but especially someone walking on stilts, and especially if those stilts are over 3 feet high.
7. All stilts must be carved from a single piece of wood, as stilts fastened with nails have been known to break in some circumstances.
8. If duck eggs have been thrown, in violation of AO #1, the thrower must retrieve and discard thrown duck eggs before they spoil and begin to smell really bad, especially if they are on the roof of a cottage.
9. The wearing of green togas is prohibited while walking on stilts, especially togas with tassels. Cowboy hats are also discouraged.
   
10. Pet rabbits are to be kept in cages or rabbit pens at all times.
    

As far as we knew, no one had ever violated any of the Acorn Ordinances. They were written many generations ago, and no one remembers why. For example, walking on stilts was not something anyone did in Acorn Row. But, these ten rules were honored and respected. The Acorn Ordinances were a source of pride for all the good, law-abiding citizens of Acorn Row.

Well, the Acorn Council met in the mornings. And, on one particular morning, as Nate, Aaron, Barney, and Charlie were working way up in the fields, I walked into Oak Hall, sat down at in my chair, and began munching on Stiglers from a bowl that sat in the middle of the big round table. There were always fresh Stiglers to eat at our meetings during harvest time. I considered these meetings a nice break from the hot furnace of my horseshoe shop, even though I had plenty of work to do. Anyway, as the 6 members of the council enjoyed Stiglers, we would usually discuss the current goings-on of the Acorn Row area. At this time, naturally, the industrious Nate and his Stigler production was a regular topic of discussion. Most of the talk was complimentary; "These Stiglers are sure delicious," or "Nate sure knows how to grow a carrot." But, not all the members of the council were equally flattered. Ferdinand, the youngest of the members, had spoken with Nate, and had some concerns about his operations. What was usually a sleepy meeting suddenly grew animated and uncomfortable...

"Gentlemen, I have spoken with Nate, and he has informed me that he rewards his three workers differently for their work in the Stigler fields. Charlie is compensated 1-1/2 baskets of carrots a day for his work, and Barney is compensated only 1 full basket."

"Well," replied Andrew, a farmer himself, "I am sure Nate is paying his workers according to their production. He is a fair and honorable man, and besides, all work in Nate's field is voluntary. He does not force anyone to pick carrots."

"Yes, but Andrew, one of Nate's workers is paid an extremely low wage indeed," replied Ferdinand. "You see, Aaron, his youngest worker, is compensated only 1/2 basket of carrots a day. We can all agree that 1/2 basket is hardly enough to support a man. It certainly does not allow him more than the bare minimum needed for survival."

Andrew was quick to respond. "Ferdinand, if you remember, last week Aaron was begging on the street corner for apple cores and bread crumbs. Now, he is earning a living in Nate's fields. And, he is learning the valuable skill of Stigler farming."

"What kind of living is that!?" cried Ferdinand. "Last week Aaron was certainly earning more by begging than he is earning now, but now, he is working very long, hard days. It is obvious that Nate is exploiting Aaron by forcing him to work, and, with respect, that, gentlemen, is in violation of our Acorn Ordinances, which states quite clearly: "Ordinances should be written to prevent one person from harming another."

All six members grew still and morose, munching quietly on their Stiglers. I didn't like this kind of talk. But, it was clear that Ferdinand had pointed out some difficult facts to ponder. It was true that 1/2 basket was barely enough to live on. Even so, it seemed as though Aaron should be allowed to work instead of beg. But, there was also no doubt that this was difficult and dangerous work. Finally, after several minutes of silence, Ingrid, the eldest member of the council, suggested we invite Aaron to the next meeting to resolve this problem for good.

Several days later, the council arranged for a special evening session. All were stoic around the large wooden table in Oak Hall. Aaron was seated at the table, and Ingrid would be asking the questions. Andrew and Ferdinand had expressed opposing opinions on the matter, and those opinions, regardless of whether they were plausible, were attached to each man's reputation. The council agreed that the questions should be asked by someone who had not yet formed an opinion on the matter. Ingrid, being of an age so old to have spoken with the great grandchildren of one of the original authors of the Acorn Ordinances, was elected to ask Aaron the questions. Her voice was slow and steady...

"Aaron, thank you for meeting with us. It looks like you have worked very hard today."

"Yes, Ingrid, I have."

"That is what we have heard. We have a few questions to ask you regarding that. Please answer them as honestly as you can..."

"Yes, ma'am. I am not many things, but I am honest."

"Very well. Will you tell us how many hours you work every day in Nate's fields?"

"I work from dawn to noon, which is about 6 hours. Then, I work from one o'clock until about three hauling the carrots to the marketplace. Then, I sell carrots from three until five, but that is on my own time. I work for Nate a total of 8 hours a day."

"And how much does Nate pay you for your work?"

"Nate allows me to keep one-half of everything I pick."

"And, how many carrots is that?"

"I am able to pick about one basket a day. I give half of that to Nate and I keep half."

"So, Nate pays you one-half basket for 8 hours of work?"

"Yes, I suppose you could say that. I have tried to pick more, honestly, but picking these carrots requires a lot of care. You can't bruise them or anything or they go bad. So, I am very careful. Besides, I want to be sure Nate continues to allow me to pick his carrots."

"But, it is true that 1/2 basket is a very small amount."

"Yes, ma'am, it is."

"And, it is barely enough to live on."

"I suppose I agree it is."

"Now, we have a law in Acorn Row which states: 'Ordinances should be written to prevent one person from harming another.' Would you say that your very difficult work could be considered 'harm?'"

"I am exhausted every night, but I am just learning how to do it. I am improving. I am learning to pick faster with the same amount of care."

"Aaron, I am asking you a yes or no question. I see you are covered in dirt. It is obvious you are under a lot of strain. Would you consider working on Nate's farm "harmful?"

"Well, I did scrape myself yesterday. It is very hard work."

"Yes or no, Aaron."

"Well, then, I guess I'd have to say yes. Hard work is harmful. It just, well, is."

Everyone sitting at the table gasped.

"Thank you, Aaron, you may go now."

Aaron stood up, nodded, and walked out the door and down the stairs. A vote was cast, and the council decided unanimously that Aaron was indeed being harmed. Since this was decided to be the case, there was no question that Nate's farm was where Aaron was being harmed, and there was no question that Nate was the owner of the farm and the employer of Aaron. But, it was not entirely clear whether Nate was actually harming Aaron. After all, Aaron had chosen this work. But, it was questionable whether a self-respecting person would harm himself willfully. And, it was apparent that Aaron was an honorable and self-respecting man. Therefore, it seemed clear that Aaron was being harmed by someone, and that someone must be Nate.

A final vote was taken: "Considering what we have learned about Nate's employment of Aaron, is Nate harming Aaron?"

They passed little slips of paper around and each placed their piece of paper into a hat. Ingrid counted the votes:

Aaron IS NOT being harmed by Nate = 3
Aaron IS being harmed by Nate = 4

Acorn Council had made its decision. Nate was harming Aaron. This was very disturbing. An ordinance was now required to prevent Nate from harming Aaron. But, what was to be done? The council couldn't simply demand that Aaron stop going to the fields. Aaron would simply return to the street corner and beg as he did prior to his work in Nate's fields.

Therefore, after much debate, the 11th Acorn Ordinance was finally passed:

11. All Stigler carrot pickers must receive at least one basket of carrots for one day of work.

The writing was etched to the goatskin document and all in the vicinity of Acorn Row were informed that the 11th Acorn Ordinance had been passed. It was met with general approval among the public, who certainly believed that one basket of carrots was the least amount suitable for 8 hours of hard labor. This ordinance was known far and wide as the "Minimum Carrot Ordinance."

Nate and Aaron were informed of the Minimum Carrot Ordinance that evening. Then, the next day, while Nate, Charlie, and Barney walked to the fields, Aaron instead walked to the street corner to beg for apple cores and bread crumbs as he had done a few weeks before. Nate was a law-abiding citizen of the Acorn Row area, and would certainly not break Ordinance 11. He informed Aaron that the ordinance was clear that "All Stigler Carrot pickers must receive at least one basket of carrots for one day of work." Since that was the total amount of carrots Aaron could pick, Nate decided to hire Darron instead, who was capable of picking a full two baskets a day. Darron was not as careful with the carrots as Aaron, and Nate would have rather continued to employ Aaron, but he was definitely not going to break the law.

That day, Ingrid was walking to Oak Hall when she noticed Aaron begging on the street corner with tears in his eyes.

"Aaron, why aren't you out in the carrot fields? We just passed Ordinance 11, which means you are to be paid one basket of carrots for each day's work."

"Nate did not ask me back to work today, Ingrid. Everyone knows that I can only pick one basket a day. I know it too. So, Nate hired Darron, who is sort of clumsy, and tends to bruise the Stiglers, but is capable of picking two baskets a day."

"Ordinance 11 was passed so that you would not be harmed by Nate. It was not passed to harm you!"

"Ingrid, if I may say, while working on Nate's farm was one kind of harm, I prefer that kind to this kind. I am quite ashamed to be sitting here in public begging again. But, I certainly would not break the law."

Ingrid assured Aaron that something would be done to resolve this. That evening, she addressed the Acorn Council, and invited Nate, who was willing to attend.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it appears that we, ourselves, have broken the primary purpose of the Acorn Ordinances. Our decision to force payment of one basket a day has resulted in greater harm than was being caused in the first place. Not only has Aaron been put back onto the street to beg, Nate has hired a less-desirable employee to replace him. Yes, it is true that Darron can pick two baskets a day, but two baskets a day was more than Nate needed anyway. All he needed was one basket a day picked with care."

Andrew was quick to respond: "This was a predictable result of passing this ordinance, which is why it must be removed."

Ferdinand was quick to rebut: "It was not our intention for Nate to replace Aaron. This does not change the fact that 1/2 basket of carrots is too little for anyone to live on. We must pass an additional ordinance to compensate for this small oversight."

The room suddenly erupted with shouting and banging of chairs. Ingrid stood and banged her gavel hard on the thick wood table. The room quickly went silent.

"We will have order in this room! Nate, please tell us why you replaced Aaron."

"Yes, of course. It is my intention to harvest as many of my extra carrots as possible and let the fewest number go to waste."

"And why do you desire to pick the extra carrots in your fields?"

"Because people want to buy them."

"And what do you plan on doing with the extra money you will make?"

"Well, I hope to build another room onto my hut."

Ferdinand quickly interrupted...

"And what are your reasons for needing another room!"

Ingrid banged her gavel forcefully against the table. "Sir, you are out of order. Nate, please continue."

"Yes, of course. Well, I have my own reasons for wanting to build another room, and they are personal, and I'd rather not say at this time. But, in order to build it, I need to harvest as many carrots this season as possible. I cannot pick them all myself, so I have asked some friends to help. They have offered to help in exchange for keeping a portion of the carrots they pick."

"Thank you, Nate. Can you tell us how you intend to harvest those extra carrots?"

"Certainly. Charlie picks three baskets a day and keeps 1-1/2 baskets. Barney picks 2 baskets, so he keeps one basket. With those two workers, I would have been able to pick nearly all the carrots. But, to pick the few remaining, I hired young Aaron who was slow, but careful, and could perhaps learn to pick faster with the experience he was getting. With his help, all the carrots would have been picked without any waste."

"But, you couldn't afford to pay him one full basket?"

"I could not. One basket is, as you know, equal to the amount he picks. I am a generous and charitable man, but I simply cannot permit Aaron to pick carrots for free. There are many reasons for this, but, most importantly, everyone in Acorn Row would be delighted to pick their own carrots for free, even if they are not qualified to pick them. Remember, if they are treated improperly, they taste like rotten cabbage and vinegar. And, there are other undesirable things that can happen if Stiglers are picked carelessly."

"Tell me why you chose to hire Darron in Aaron's place."

"Yes. Darron, in accordance with the law, can earn 1 basket a day. He picks 2 baskets total and keeps 1/2 of the total just like everyone else. With him working, we will finish several days earlier than we would have with Aaron. But, Darron tends to be clumsy. He bumps and bruises many of the carrots he picks. As a result, one half of the carrots in every basket he picks are bruised and need to be discarded. So, the result is that while two baskets are officially picked each day, one of those baskets is waste."

"Why don't you hire someone who can pick two baskets without bruising any carrots?"

Nate looked at Ingrid with shock and confusion. Of course, the shortage of qualified pickers was a problem Nate had spent many weeks, months, if not years pondering. He finally responded...

"Ingrid, I have searched this town for qualified workers my whole life. If there was anyone more qualified for this specific task than Aaron, I would have hired that person instead. And, if there were any worker who could pick two baskets a day better than Darron, I assure you, that person would be hired."

There were several moments of silence. Ferdinand finally spoke...

"So, Nate, you are saying that 1/2 of Darron's 2 baskets is wasted every day."

"Yes, that is correct."

"So, you are getting the same one-half basket of good carrots each day from Darron?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"But, the overall number of good carrots you would have otherwise acquired by the end of the harvest would be greater with Aaron?"

"Yes, that's right."

"So, basically, Darron is receiving the same number of good carrots a day as Aaron was? And, this ordinance simply forces you to waste a bunch of carrots?"

"Yes, that is exactly right."

"Well, couldn't you give Aaron, say, 3/4s of every basket he picks?"

"I suppose I would get the same number of carrots by paying Aaron 3/4s of a basket as I am paying Darron 1/2. But, that is irrelevant. Hiring Darron is legal and hiring Aaron is not."

"But, if the Acorn Ordinance had said, instead, that each carrot picker is entitled at least 3/4s of a basket every day, you would have simply given Aaron 3/4s of a basket a day?"

"I guess I would. I haven't thought about that. But, to be clear, in that case it is plain to see that he would still have only earned 1/2 of that basket. The other 1/4 basket per day would not have been earned, but would have actually been confiscated from me and given to Aaron on your, Acorn Council's, behalf. Perhaps we can ask Aaron if he thinks this would be fair."

Ingrid smashed her gavel against the table. "I will be asking the questions. Aaron, do you think 3/4 basket is fair pay for your 8 hours of work a day?"

Aaron snapped up in his chair...

"Um, well, I don't know if that is fair. I mean, I didn't know Nate would have agreed to pay me 3/4s of a basket. I mean, I didn't know how many others would have also worked for what I was being paid. I guess I could have asked. I'm curious, Nate, if I would have asked for 3/4s of a basket per day, would you have paid me that amount?"

Nate was thoughtful.

"Whether or not I would have paid you 3/4s of a basket is something neither of us can know. I hadn't thought about it at the time. If I were lucky, I might have been able to find someone else with your qualifications who would work for 1/2 basket a day. There is no way to know. You hadn't asked so I hadn't given it thought."

Ingrid looked at Nate with confusion...

"Nate, are you saying it is possible that you withheld 1/4 basket for yourself when you could have afforded to pay Aaron that amount extra?"

"Whether I could have afforded it is not a proper question. If Aaron had quit, and no other qualified person agreed to pick for 1/2 basket a day, all of the carrots Aaron would have picked would have gone to waste. Instead of letting them all go to waste, I might have considered letting Aaron keep 3/4 of the carrots he picked and kept 1/4 myself. This way, I would have lost only 3/4 of those carrots to Aaron instead of letting all of those rot away in the fields. But, now that I think about it, there are other factors. The other workers only earn half of what they pick, so the decision to pay Aaron a greater portion for his lesser work would have been irresponsible. It would have given incentive to the others to work less. Remember, Barney now picks 2 full baskets in order to keep 1. I am sure he would be delighted to pick only 1 basket, which is half the work, to keep 3/4ths! How would I possibly explain to Barney why he cannot earn 3/4ths basket for 1 picked when Aaron can? This would be a disaster! No, now that I think about it, I would have chosen to let Aaron's share go entirely to waste if no one else was available to work for 1/2 basket a day. That is simply the only fair and proper way to handle such a situation."

Ingrid wrinkled her brow. She had a very serious expression, and looked at Nate with concern, even scorn. She barked...

"Are you telling me you would be willing to kick Aaron out onto the street and let all those good carrots go completely to waste!?"

"Yes, Ingrid, it seems a bit unfortunate, but that is the best way to save the most carrots. Remember, half as many carrots are wasted now because of the Minimum Carrot Ordinance and Aaron has been kicked to the streets. If you are interested in allowing Aaron to work and me to not waste carrots, I suggest you simply repeal this ordinance."

"I am interested in upholding the Acorn Ordinances, and that means assuring Aaron is not harmed."

"But," replied Nate, "when you confiscate carrots from me and give them to Aaron, you are harming me."

"Yes, but the harm to you is only the loss of extra carrots and an extra bedroom. The harm to Aaron is the loss of his basic needs."

"Yes, but his basic needs can be provided from my extra carrots, or, those extra carrots can be wasted and he can beg. These are simply the facts. Besides, Aaron, would you approve of allowing the Acorn Council to confiscate my carrots and give them to you? Do you think that is a fair use of the Acorn Ordinances?"

"Of course not! I don't want to confiscate anything from anyone! I just want to earn a living!"

Ingrid pounded her gavel on the table and shouted. "This is all very confusing and we must keep the ordinances very simple so that everyone can understand. Aaron, the council has already voted and decided that we cannot allow Nate to harm you by permitting you to work on his farm."

This was very disturbing to Aaron, who, despite his slow picking, worked every bit as hard as the other workers. He responded:

"Since you say it like that, I approve of what you define as "harm." I contend that it isn't harm at all. I want to pull my weight and earn a fair living. I understand why Nate must not pay more than 1/2 of what is picked. I will have it no other way. He has always been honest with me."

Ingrid smashed the gavel hard into the table.

"Enough! Enough of this nonsense! Aaron, you are obviously distraught because you are a slow and ineffective carrot picker. You have caused enough trouble already! And, now, you are speaking against yourself, which I cannot allow. You are saying you desire to be harmed, which is something that no one, it seems, in their right minds, would ever say. WE know what you are worth, not Nate, and WE, the ACORN COUNCIL, will look out for you and your interests, because you are obviously not capable of looking out for your own."

There was chatter and shouting from all around the table as Ingrid smashed her gavel against the table several more times. This was all very troubling to me.

"That will be all! The Ordinance will stand. Nate, Aaron, you are excused while the Council will stay to resolve this."

Ingrid was incensed. Her face was red and she grasped her gavel tightly as Aaron and Nate walked out of the room and down the stairs. Munching on Stiglers feverishly, she stood and delivered a short speech to the Council. She said...

"We have seen here today the cause of our problems. It is GREED and EXPLOITATION of the most sinister kind perpetuated against the poorest, most feeble member of our population. Nate has just revealed that he could have afforded to allow Aaron to keep 3/4s of one basket per day and did not. This is a crime against humanity and it must be stopped."

Andrew interrupted.

"Ingrid, I'm sorry, but Nate explained why he cannot afford to let Aaron keep 3/4 basket a day. Besides, he may very well have found someone else to work for half of one basket! We cannot know."

"Even if he did find another, Nate would have been exploiting that picker. These poor workers are simply too stupid to care for themselves. Someone must be willing to help people like Aaron get on their feet."

Andrew shouted angrily...

"We were the ones who's actions caused Aaron to be removed from the carrot fields. Ingrid, it is you who are too feeble-minded to realize that we should never have meddled in Nate's business in the first place!"

Ingrid shouted back "It is not my fault that Nate refuses to pay Aaron what he deserves!"

I had never, in all my years, witnessed such offensive language coming from anyone on the Acorn Council. It seemed plainly obvious to me that the council had no business either confiscating carrots from Nate to give to Aaron or demanding that any worker be compensated any specific amount. The majority of the council seemed to have forgotten that Nate has the option of letting half his crop go completely to waste. Nate could decide to farm only what he himself needs, and if he had chosen to do that, Barney, Charlie, and Darron might be in the same place as Aaron, begging on the corner. But, what I found most disturbing was the fact that I knew Aaron, because of the good condition of his carrots, was in fact earning more from his 1/2 basket than Barney was from his full basket. I could not prove this, so it was not something I could even suggest to the council. All of this was absurd. I reclined and lifted a curiously small Stigler to my lips, enjoying its delicious crunch. The Stiglers were more luscious than ever...

I suddenly, for some reason, pondered whether there was possibly some justification for this Minimum Carrot Ordinance...any justification at all...

[crunch, crunch]

After all, it had passed the council on a vote of 4 to 3...

[crunch, crunch]

If the council passed it, there must be some justification for it...

At this point, Ingrid spoke while ingesting one Stigler after another...

"Council, it is obvious that we now bear some responsibility for poor Aaron. Tomorrow, Aaron will be seated on the corner collecting handouts from those of us generous enough to contribute to his livelihood. It seems fair to me that those who have the most to spare should be the ones contributing to our poor Aaron. Does anyone disagree? Does anyone think the common folks have less to spare than the rich ones? Of course not. Thus, we will vote on another Acorn Ordinance..."

12. All carrot pickers who pick 3 baskets of carrots a day must deliver 1/2 basket to the most impoverished person in Acorn Row.

There was a frightening look in Ingrid's eyes. She was standing, and pushed a little Stigler into her mouth while chomping in a machine-like fashion. The ballots were passed around the table. I was horrified. This meant we would confiscate 1/2 basket of carrots from Charlie every day. We sat around the table in silence as Ingrid finished the last of the little Stiglers.

"We will call it the "Carrot Basket Welfare Ordinance." Remember, if you vote against this, you are voting to deprive Aaron of what he needs for just his basic welfare."

After a long while, the votes were placed into the hat. It was my turn to count the votes, and I feared what I saw.

AGAINST the "Carrot Basket Welfare Ordinance" = 3
FOR the "Carrot Basket Welfare Ordinance" = 4

Nate, Charlie, Barney and Darron were immediately informed of the Carrot Basket Welfare Ordinance. The next day, when Nate, Darron, Charlie, and Barney returned from the fields, Ingrid met them at the marketplace.

Charlie had picked 3 baskets of carrots, and handed 1/2 basket to Ingrid. Then, surprisingly, Darron had also picked 3 baskets. He also handed her 1/2 basket of carrots. Both were pleased to continue to be law-abiding villagers, and walked to the market to sell their remaining carrots.

Ingrid thanked them, and took 1/2 basket to Aaron, who began eating them. He winced, as they tasted quite strongly of rotten cabbage and vinegar.

She brought the other 1/2 basket back to Oak Hall. This happened to be the basket containing the more desirable of the Stiglers. She hadn't expected to receive the extra carrots. She ate what she could, and poured the extra carrots into the dumpster behind the building.

Barney, who had been picking two baskets a day, saw Ingrid dumping Darron's half-basket into the dump. For him, that was one quarter-day's work! He knew about the Minimum Carrot Basket Law. He also knew about the General Welfare Carrot Basket Law...

Well, Barney must have been feeling rather lazy the next day, because he only picked one basket. When he approached Nate, Barney said: "I'm sorry, Nate, I guess I just can't pick carrots like I used to." Nate said: "Barney, I'm sorry, but this means you are no longer allowed to pick carrots. It is against the law!" Nate informed the Acorn Council that Barney would not be allowed to pick carrots in Nate's field any longer.

The next day, Barney approached the Acorn Council and said that because of the Minimum Carrot Basket Law, he was prohibited from picking carrots. And, because of the General Welfare Carrot Basket Law, he should be given Darron's half-basket. Ingrid was delighted, because she didn't like throwing out perfectly good carrots. "Yes, this is the perfect solution," the Acorn Council agreed. "Our laws are working." They gave the remaining extra carrots to Barney. Barney was relieved, because he didn't like to see good carrots going to waste either. But, what Barney also liked was that he now got carrots without having to do anything at all.

Nate noticed that because of Aaron and Barney's absence, not enough carrots were being picked. Neither Charlie nor Darron could pick more than three baskets a day, and they were not happy giving away that valuable half-basket. Also, more people who 'could not pick one basket a day' were approaching the Town Council. Edgar and Feldon could not pick any carrots either. So, the Town Council changed the General Welfare Carrot Basket Law. Now...

12. All pickers who picked three baskets a day would give one whole basket to the town council to give to those in need.

The next day, Nate delivered two whole baskets, one from Charlie and one from Darron, to the Town Council. They gave one-half basket each to Aaron, Barney, Edgar, and Feldon.

The day after that, Charlie and Darron only picked one basket of carrots. Nate told them they were no longer allowed to pick carrots according to the Minimum Carrot Basket Law.

Nate continued to pick as many baskets as he could, but he was falling behind. The number of qualified workers had completely vanished. It was looking like Nate might not be able to build that extra room onto his hut.

After Charlie and Darron left Nate's farm, Aaron, Barney, Edgar and Feldon suddenly found that they were not receiving very many carrots. There were not enough carrots available to match what they had been promised according to the Acorn Ordinances. They had been promised 1/2 basket a day according to the General Welfare Carrot Basket Law and yet received hardly any because no one was picking them. This was very disturbing, because Stiglers were much tastier than bread crumbs and apple cores, and even the ones that tasted of rotten cabbage and vinegar were nourishing. Aaron and Barney considered returning to the fields, but feared Charlie and Darron would be angry if they knew that Aaron and Barney had actually only pretended to be lame in order to be approved by the Acorn Council for free carrots. Anyway, the council would confiscate so many carrots from any picker that picking carrots was simply less desirable than begging. So, Aaron and Barney decided they would not return to the fields. Edgar and Feldon made the same decision.

Seeing four gentlemen begging on the street, Ingrid called a special meeting. She invited Nate, the four beggars, and the six members of the council, including myself. The agenda included a mandate to correct the disturbing increase of beggars in Acorn Row. She banged her gavel into the table, calling the meeting to order...

"Ladies and gentlemen, we now have four poor beggars on the street of Acorn Row. Yet, there are perfectly fine Stigler carrots sitting in Nate's fields ready to be picked. This is completely unacceptable. Something simply must be done."

Ferdinand pounded his fist against the table and stood.

"This is an OUTRAGE. We have a moral duty to protect those least fortunate among us. Letting those Stiglers go to waste rather than using them to feed the poor would be a catastrophe. We must not adjourn this meeting until we decide how to feed these innocent, unfortunate souls."

Andrew was seated at the opposite side of the table and also stood as he sharply pounded his fists against the table.

"I'm afraid it has been demonstrated that we, Acorn Council, have made two grave mistakes. When we passed the Minimum Carrot Ordinance, we assumed 1/2 basket was not a living wage. But, this was a false assumption, as Aaron admits he earned nearly as much for his smaller number of fine carrots than Barney did for a whole basket. Aaron, is this correct?"

Aaron nodded. "Yes, it is..."

Andrew lifted his finger, pointing it around the table...

"Because of our ordinance, Nate, being an honorable, law-abiding citizen, was forced to fire Aaron, relegating him to the street to beg. We all object to stealing, and therefore would never propose an ordinance to steal Nate's carrots in order to give them to Aaron. Yet, we approved the General Welfare Carrot Basket Law, which did steal 1/2 basket per-day of the carrots Charlie earned. Is that not theft all the same? We would never propose that we ought to be running Nate's farm instead of Nate, yet, our ordinances prohibit Nate from running his farm as he believes he should. I will say it again. We must repeal these ordinances and allow Aaron to work and Nate to operate his farm."

"Nonsense!" Ferdinand scowled. "Why do you have sympathy for Nate? He has nothing to lose in any of this. He can take care of himself with all his land and enormous crop of Stiglers. Is it Nate that we have been elected to represent, or is it the many average workers in our community that need our help? I think we can all agree Nate is doing just fine without our protection. We simply must do what we can to support the least-well-off."

Ingrid's gavel smashed against the wood...

"Ladies and gentleman, I am proposing another ordinance. Ordinance #13 shall resolve these problems. It shall read as follows..."

13. The Acorn Council shall occupy and appoint workers to farm all land containing Stigler carrots that would otherwise go to waste.

"We shall call it the Great Stigler Enterprise, and we shall begin by appointing Aaron, Barney, Feldon, Edgar, Charlie, and Darron to work the extra portions of Nate's fields until they have all been picked. All of these carrots will be placed in a bin at the end of every day and split seven ways–one part for each of you, and one part for the Acorn Council. After all, we are the ones who are offering you this work in the first place."

Nate stood suddenly, and was uncharacteristically agitated.

"Ingrid. Council. I'm afraid I object to this decision. Stigler farming requires great care and skill. It is very easy to bruise the Stiglers, making them taste like rotten cabbage and vinegar, and there can be other dangerous consequences if Stiglers are not picked properly."

"Hmm..." Ingrid hummed. "Is that so?"

Nate nodded respectfully.

"Well, then, Nate, I suppose you better tell us what these other consequences might be..."

Nate looked at Ingrid and then the council. He was quite aware that unripened Stiglers would cause one to act strangely and perhaps even go mad. As a small boy he had witnessed a young man develop the habit of eating young Stiglers. This man soon began bruising more Stiglers than usual and not long after that he could hardly tell a ripe Stigler from a unripened one. All of their green, bushy plumage looked the same to him–as if he had never picked Stiglers before.

This moment standing in front of the council only lasted only a few seconds, but to Nate, it felt like hours. If he were to explain that Stiglers caused madness, he would be asked to explain his evidence for this. After all, no one in Acorn Row had ever seen such a manifestation. It had only been a rumor. Certainly, his testimony remembered from childhood, many many years ago, would not be sufficient. He would need something more in order to be convincing, and he had it. It was a dark secret Nate held very close to his chest. It was one that would shock and horrify his audience, and shame him for eternity as a miscreant of Acorn Row. In those few seconds he deeply pondered telling them all the truth...that he had eaten unripened Stiglers, and that he had personally gone quite mad doing so. The rumors about Stiglers were all true. Yes, Stiglers caused insanity. They were especially sweet, and tangy, and he knew this because of his own week-long frenzy of binging on unripened Stiglers. The event had left him so weak, depraved, and paranoid, he was determined to ensure a young Stigler was never picked again. Ever since, for decades, Nate had taken great care to train his workers in the art of proper Stigler picking. He had done such an excellent job at this that no unripened Stigler had not been picked as long as anyone could remember.

He wished he could simply explain the ill effects. He wished he could just tell them all of the dangers of allowing inexperienced pickers into the Stigler fields. But, by confessing to the council of his former Stigler experience, he would completely ruin his case. All of those in the room believed that once a man had eaten a young Stigler, he was insane for the rest of his life. While this was simply not true, there was no possible way to prove otherwise. He straightened up, and was stiff as a board.

"Council, I have farmed Stiglers my whole life. I assure you there are risks to picking Stiglers, and I do not advise passing this ordinance. I advise repealing the other two ordinances."

Ingrid was quick to respond. "Well, Nate, if there are dangers, I hope you would explain what they are. Are you going to tell us that some Stiglers can cause insanity? Are the rumors true?"

"I was a young child when I saw a man go insane."

"How old were you?"

"I was five."

"Hmppr, " Ingrid snorted, "is this governing council going to allow justice to be prevented by the witness of a five year old many decades ago? Tell us, Nate, would you like to share any other knowledge you have on the subject?"

Nate was beginning to sweat. He knew he could not reveal his secret. Doing so would not only invalidate the testimony regarding young Stiglers, but would also call into question everything he had said and done up until this point. He knew he could not confess...

"No, I have said my peace..."

"Very well, council, now we will vote."

Ingrid, who had been continually munching on Stiglers, passed around the ballots. They read...

FOR AO #13 to save Nate's carrots and support the poor
AGAINST AO #13 to let Nate's carrots go to waste and let the poor starve

The ballots were, again, handed to me. It just so happened I also knew the dangers of the Stigler, and I very much had hoped the rest of the council did also. I was saddened by what I saw...

FOR = 4
AGAINST = 3

Ingrid smashed her gavel and smiled. "The motion passes! YIIPPEEE!"

Some around the table flinched, surprised by Ingrid's uncharacteristic exuberance.

The rest of the evening was spent negotiating with the six workers and discussing work times, distribution details, and carrot picking safety.

The next day, the six workers entered the fields, led by Ingrid. By this time in the harvest season, Nate was picking the carrots near his hut, spending long days preparing for his own winter supply. He simply did not have time to properly train the less-experienced workers, especially Feldon and Edgar, who had never picked on Nate's field before.

By the end of the first day, the six hauled their carrots back to Acorn Row and dumped them into a bin. Ingrid carefully split up the carrots seven ways and distributed them; one for each worker and one for the Acorn Council. Each was left with 1/3 basket of carrots, and most of them tasted of rotten cabbage and vinegar. Although, some of the carrots, it is said, did taste especially sweet...

After several days of picking carrots all day and eating only 1/3 basket, the six workers were tired and hungry. They decided that rather than give a portion of their carrots to Acorn Row, they would sneak into Nate's fields in the wee hours of the morning and pick carrots for themselves–as many as they could pick. But, there was a problem...

In the wee hours of the morning–until about dusk–a thick fog always rested heavy against the countryside. It was so think that you could not see your hand in front of your face, even with a lantern, and anyone who ventured out of town in this was bound to get lost in the thick woods. The only way to approach Nate's fields was to somehow rise above the fog and use the moonlight to navigate using the tops of familiar trees. In order to do this, the six knew what was required. They needed stilts.

"Stilts!" Proclaimed Edgar. "That is against Acorn Ordinance #3!"

Charlie responded. "We have no choice, Edgar. Would you rather starve?"

All of the others were in agreement that stilts would be required, and each gentleman built his own. None were skilled woodworkers, and all also violated Acorn Ordinance #7, which stated that all stilts must be carved from one piece of wood. But, they were already breaking the ordinances by building tall stilts in the first place, so breaking more ordinances was not as much of a concern. Besides, there simply was no time. They were hungry, and needed to get to Nate's fields that night. By now they had grown very impatient.

When all of the stilts had been built, the six waited until the wee hours of the morning and then began quietly walking out to the fields, their heads poking just enough out of the thick fog to see where they were going. There was a full moon that night, and they could indeed navigate by the tops of familiar trees. They crept out of Acorn Row, splashed across the creek, meandered through some woods, and then finally entered Nate's fields.

The night was quiet, and the troop proceeded slowly and carefully so as not to disturb Nate, in case he was also working his fields by night. But, as they neared the rows of ripe Stiglers they, head some rustling in the distance. It seemed as thought they were not alone. The noises came from way off beneath the giant willow, and all six were concerned, because if they were seen walking on stilts over 3 feet high on ground not meant for walking they would be arrested in violation of the Acorn Ordinances. So, they remained calm, and waited. Whispering to each other, they decided it was probably a fox, and that it would soon scurry away.

But, the rustling continued for several minutes. The six leaned together on their stilts in wait. Finally Aaron, whose stilts were tallest, noticed something long and narrow leaning against the trunk of the great willow. Soon after, among the rustling they began to hear very strange noises, like cackling and snorting and crunching. They broke their huddle and slowly began advancing toward the willow. Had someone else beat them to the fields on their own stilts? Indeed, as they neared the tree, that is exactly what they were!

Suddenly, the six all heard the noises grow more pronounced. There was rustling, squealing, and grunting and crunching, and bits of dirt could be seen flung up just above the top of the fog. Whatever was beneath the willow was strange indeed, and the six proceeded cautiously.

Aaron led the way as they slowly approached the strange cackling. Seeing that the noises originated from generally the same place, they decided to investigate. They descended their stilts, leaned them up against the willow tree, lit a lantern, and began to carefully approach the snorting.

It was Aaron who led with his lantern, and it was not long before the noises were directly in front of them. Their curiosity overcame them and all leaned down at the same time to see its source.

All at once they were shocked to see a hideous creature writhing in the dirt, frothing at the mouth, and gorging on tiny, unripened Stiglers one after another with a horrid efficiency. A mane of long gnarled hair was caked with muddy dirt and limbs seized and shook in awful convulsions. It was dressed in a green toga with long colorful tassels and wore a large cowboy hats. The creature began pounding its fists against the dirt, screaming "YIIPPEEE!" in a familiar tone, between the violent bouts of crunching.

All at once, the six knew who they had encountered, and gasped.

"Ingrid!" shouted Aaron, in confused desperation. Then, like lightning, Ingrid snapped her bloodshot eyes open in a psychotic, terrified gaze. It was hard to imagine what they were looking at was human, but it was most definitely her, cheeks stuffed with great balls of shredded, half-chewed Stiglers.

Instantly, she was rampaging around them and screaming "Ferdie! Ferdie!" muffled by her orange stuffing. A few feet away, she seemed to be dragging something and grunting hysterically.

The six were frightened and shocked, but also amazed and curious. What was happening? Ingrid? Out here? Binging on young Stiglers? Could it be? They whispered these things to each other in startled astonishment. They had never seen anything like it. They walked toward the noises and found Ferdinand slouched in great pile of carrot greens, moaning and gurgling while being slapped and shook by Ingrid ferociously. He was adorned, also, in a green toga, complete with tassels and an over-sized cowboy hat.

Aaron brought the lantern up close and the six saw Ferdinand suddenly snap his eyes open. He was a depraved sight indeed, his face bright orange and his eyes wild. Like Ingrid, he jumped up and began galloping around in the fog like a wildebeest. The two seemed to be running in circles, but then it became clear that they were running in a spiral, observing their former footsteps, in order to find the tree trunk to ascend their stilts, apparently to escape.

All six saw detestable sight. While the six had broken the Acorn Ordinances in order to acquire food for plain sustenance, it appeared Ingrid and Ferdinand had violated a great number more of the Acorn Ordinances in order to indulge in something much different–some crazed, unripened Stigler binge. This was the chairwoman of the Acorn Council and a member! They were making a sad mockery of what small amount of governance existed in Acorn Row. The Stiglers were far too young, and it was obvious the two were intoxicated. They had gone completely mad on Stiglers, gorging themselves with dozens upon dozens of them as bits of the orange vegetable flung from their jaws during savage and voracious chomping.

As they heard Ingrid and Ferdinand ascend their stilts, the six yelled almost in unison...

"LET'S GET 'EM!"

They had been discovered. They were on the run. Ingrid and Ferdinand lifted their great stilts, one in front of the other, in giant strides. The six followed closely behind. The chase was chaotic, and winded through the woods and over the creek, and finally all the way back into Acorn Row. It was early in the morning, but some folks from town had awoken from the commotion and stood in the street as the two stilted creatures cackled hysterically into town. It was immediately apparent to all who saw them that Ingrid and Ferdinand had violated just about every Acorn Ordinance. There was an instant outrage, and soon many other people had awakened to find these two pillars of the community flagrantly breaking the very ordinances they had sworn to uphold.

The sight of Ingrid on stilts, made of multiple pieces of wood, wearing a green toga with tassels and cowboy hat invoked such rage, many in the community decided to respond by breaking the other Acorn Ordinances. Suddenly duck eggs began flying from all directions, rotten and otherwise, some landing on roofs of cottages. No one in town had any stilts, but one young gentleman opened up the gates on his neighbor's rabbit pen, breaking AO #10. The insanity intensified as men and women constructed rudimentary togas out of bed sheets and danced in the town square among the terrified rabbits while hurling volley upon volley of duck eggs, which began to blanket the windows and rootops.

Finally, Charlie, who had become incensed, committed an audacious crime when he tossed a banana peel into the street. Ingrid and Ferdinand both slipped on the banana peel and completed their rampage by tumbling into the marketplace, breaking a structural beam bringing down the entire structure. By the time the dust had settled, every Acorn Ordinance had been violated, everyone in Acorn Row had violated at least one of them, and everyone had paid dearly for the offenses.

And, that was how it happened way back when. After that, Stiglers weren't so popular. Nate left town, and no one else would dare farm them even if the AOs had allowed it. Ingrid moved in to Nate's hut and, in the meetings, she began to propose many more Acorn Ordinances. Few would vote against her proposals after that. Her unripened Stigler carrot habit had grown rather out-of-control, and she would begin frothing at the mouth at the first sign of disagreement. Here were the next few AOs...

14. No one but the Acorn Council is to farm Stigler carrots. Ever.

15. Acorn Council hereby owns all property in Acorn Row and the surrounding area.

16. No one works for anyone but the Acorn Council.

The six Carrot pickers worked on Ingrid's farm and harvested a constant supply of young Stigler Sweets. At least that's what they say. No one in Acorn Row ever saw any of them after that.

So, to this day, we call the event "The Great Carrot Caper," but, it was really the day the Acorn Council took ownership of our property and our lives. Earlier, when I said that no one knows for sure how we lost the Stigler, I meant that no one truly knows why the Acorn Council's judgment proved to be so poor. No one knows why folks voted for the Minimum Carrot Basket Law after it proved absurd and unjust. No one knows why folks would vote for the Carrot Basket Welfare Ordinance even after it had, in fact, caused more harm than good. We only know that Ingrid was able to use these ordinances to acquire everything we have. As you know, these days, everything we grow or make is property of the Acorn Council, and, whatever Ingrid cannot use (whatever is 'waste') is returned to us as a handout. It is perhaps the treatment we deserve for the poor judgment of those elected to represent us here in Acorn Row. But, all of that is in the past.

Today, we persist, thankful for our lives and what we are given; especially for the arsenal of stilts we are hoarding in our basements, carved from single pieces of wood–regulation, of course. And, for the walking paths we are building all around town and, yes, into Ingrid's Stigler fields. And, for the many thousands of turquoise togas we have quietly sewn–no tassels, only flaps and ornaments. And, for the many ostriches we have acquired, and their extremely large eggs. Yes, we are grateful for what we have been given, and hope and expect we can find the most efficient use for our formidable bounty, so that perhaps one day fresh, fully ripe Stigler Sweets might again appear on the tables of Acorn Row.

The End.