For A Moderate - Life is funny. A year ago Barack Obama thought that he had a mandate to rule - not govern, but rule - as a totalitarian dictator. Now, it turns out the only mandate he can count on is dinner and a movie with Representative Bawney Fwank.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. In the days leading up to Scott Brown’s amazing victory in Massachusetts, Obama, Pelosi, Reid, and the rest of their misbegotten ilk were publicly stating how they would ram socialized healthcare through Congress regardless of the election’s outcome. In the immediate hours following Brown’s sweep, they persisted in their tirades, following the arrogant path they have walked since January 20, 2010.

Among Other Things - So let me get this straight. Barack Obama wants to tax fifty banks, each with more than fifty billion dollars in assets, in order to make up for a shortfall in the 700 billion dollar bailout (Troubled Asset Relief Program . . . aka: TARP) authorized by George Bush? This, despite the fact that the majority of banks which received an infusion of TARP funds have already paid back the money, with interest?

Wow, he's a financial genius.

The fact of the matter, if anyone cares to look into this and acknowledge the truth, is that the vast majority of the 117 billion dollar shortfall that Obama claims he wants to recover for "The American People," is not owed by the banks.

I woke up this morning and stretched my aching limbs. You see, I’ve been running the chain saw quite a lot recently, bringing in the wood that will keep me from freezing during what promises to be a cold and wet Ozark winter. I engage in this task not just for myself, and not just for the benefit of Boris, my blind and ancient Alaskan malamute. Hardly . . . I am imbued with a much greater purpose, an overwhelming sense of global obligation.

Despite the pain of stiff muscles, I was filled with a sense of joy. You see, as I do every morning, I quickly punched in a few numbers on my official, wind-powered, Obama-brand, stimulus calculator. I realized that by the act of slicing up trees I had saved or created countless jobs. What’s more, my trusty Husqvarna chain saw – named Dexter – had furthered this process due to his razor-sharp chain and 46cc engine. Such largesse, the boon to humanity that has come with embracing the mathematical equation for survival bestowed upon us by the anointed Obama (may his feet be clad in slippers of armadillo fur) made me smile.

Is it just me, or is Nancy Pelosi starting to look more and more like Marty Feldman? Every time I hear that grating voice it seems as if she has ventured further into the world of cartoon and satire, as if someone hooked Smurfette up to a thorazine drip. Those leviathan eyes grow in size with each passing hour, bugging out two feet in front of her body, like somebody dropped a toaster in the water while Nancy’s thyroid was taking a bath.

I could handle the appearance of this most odious of politicians with tact and grace, if such were the only thing wrong with her. We all have our physical imperfections, and far be it from me to judge another upon their looks, or lack thereof. Lord knows, coming from the Ozarks I know plenty of people whose family trees don’t fork. I hardly bat an eye at webbed fingers, antennae, a few missing teeth, a few extra chromosomes, or hooks. On more than one occasion I’ve even had people suggest that, in reality, I might be my own grandpa. That’s just part of life.

I'm all for doctors. To me, there is no more valuable service on this earth than the professional care administered by a qualified practitioner of the medicinal arts. I don't particularly enjoy going to the doctor (they always lecture me about smoking) however I can't think of too many things more comforting than the knowledge that an experienced doc is close at hand should I get a treble hook in my eye, shoot myself in the thigh, or get my foot stuck in mouth.

Being from the Missouri Ozarks, I grew up with a lot of "untraditional" home medical practices. We always figured that there was no need to waste the doc's time if you could fix it yourself - kinda' the same theory as changing your own oil on the family Chevy. It’s not that tough a job and the pros have more important stuff on their minds.

Having worked in, on, and around newspapers for over two decades, I can say with some authority that the vast majority of reporters, editors, and publishers are about as sharp as a pound of wet leather. The general consensus amongst their fraternity is, quite simply, that readers are too addle-brained to know what is good for them. The conventional wisdom within the hallowed swamps of journalism is that your garden variety reader doesn’t know what is important, that they are a wrong-thinking lot who put on their shoes and socks in that order. Journalists, as a rule, feel that the unwashed masses should be force-fed “the truth,” that they require some sort of Kubrickian, Clockwork Orange procedure in order to get their minds right.