Yesterday I wrote about my wife and her experiences with Technology.
I felt bad.
Now I do not feel bad anymore, after experiencing another bout of my wife vs technology.
Let me explain.
Cleaning the house, she wishes to listen to Christmas music. She asks what kind i have on my computer. Now I'm not the holiday kinda guy who likes to listen to Jingle Bells and The First Noel ad nauseum. So I don't have much. This offended her sensibilities. So what does my wonderful wife do? She gets on my computer (I'm in the kitchen, cleaning the kitchen, which I have been at this time trained to do....more on that later) and brings up Yahoo Messenger thinking to use the plug-in to play Christmas music.
I then hear, and no I am not making this up: "DANGIT! How do you get this thing to play? There's no SOUND coming out! HONEY!"
I'm up to my armpits in soap suds scrubbing. I yell back "Is the volume up?" What she replied to me with cannot be repeated in polite company.
So she's at my computer, trying to get music going. Suddenly I hear 90's pop followed by electronica followed by ghetto blaster followed by classical followed by Christian followed by God knows what but I think they killed a cat making it. All the while I hear "DANGIT! DANGIT! DANGIT! DANGIT!" as each snippet plays. At this time I am no longer up to my armpits in suds, but attempting to stifle the laughter that I feel bubbling up from deep inside me. Because, you see, I am a trained husband.
Now for those of you males who read this and don't understand is that if you have a monther, a girlfriend, or a wife you are being trained. Since all of us males have one or more of these (Good God I hope you don't have a girlfriend and a wife......you're a dead man) I figured I should explain for you younger folks how the training works, and how to realize that you are being trained.
In my case it's simple.
Today after I woke up my wife came in and said to me very sweetly: "Do you want to get the dishes done today?"
Without thinking about it, I said YES.
Now let me explain to you about me and dishes. It's like a cat and a shower. The two do NOT mix. Yet after nearly 11 years of marriage I replied YES to the question and for a moment actually BELIEVED that I wanted to get the dishes done!
This is TRAINING FOLKS.
Here's a few other instances
You know you are a trained male when: Your wife says that she is cold at 3:30am and you wake up, get out of the warm bed, and go on the Search for the Holy Blanket to keep your wife warm. Forget turning up the thermostat, you need to find a BLANKET. And if you don't, she'll take yours.
You know you're a trained male when: (This one is more for me) Your wife comes to bed at midnight, shakes you awake, and says "It's too quiet, could you please turn the stereo (which is on the other side of the room) on?" And you do it!!
You know you're a trained male when: Your son forgets to put the toilet seat up when peeing. This puts you into a complete panic because you're afraid that your wife will find out!
You know you're a trained male when: Your wife wakes up in the middle of the night with an itch, and you ITCH IT TO THE POINT YOU'RE AWAKE!
You know you're a trained male when: You know what the sound effect "WHAP!" both sounds and feels like.
Now whap is a sound effect of being hit by a female woman who is as ticked off as a wet cat. The sound does NOT give the *WHAP* justice. The *WHAP* is done BACKHAND so it hurts more. The *WHAP* is always done in the same place. And the *WHAP* follows with........."Don't be a baby." after you're massaging the forming bruise.
I cleaned the kitchen.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
My wife and Technology and the color purple
My wife and technology do not get along.
Now don't get me wrong, I love my wife with all my heart. But she has problems with technology that rival some teams problems with getting into the Superbowl. We're talking about a woman who just has to look at a computer in order for it to start running slower than the Lion's front offensive line.
For instance: I can be on my computer. Writing this blog. My computer runs awesomely when I'm on it. It's fast enough, I can pull up a web page no problem, and I can type into the input box to bore you to death with my stories.
Later on that evening, my wife can get on my computer. Now I don't know how it happens, but I do believe that my computer (like our toaster oven) can sense when my wife is at the keyboard. What then happens I did not believe until I saw it with my own eyes. She tried to open up a web page. Just a single page. Facebook I think it was. And it took five minutes to load. All the while my wife is there snarking and cussing at the inanimate object like some people cuss at the Packer's when they have a bad play. I look at the status bar, the start bar, and every other bar on my computer to see if there's any programs eating up all the RAM.
There's not.
She finally gets frustrated enough to stand up, walk away, and go crochet or cuss at the toaster oven for not turning on. (Is it plugged in honey? OF COURSE IT IS! Check again. OOPS.) I then walk over to the computer, and attempt to log into my facebook account. Somehow sensing that I am back behind the keyboard, the page comes up. SHOOP! Loaded.
When my wife finally is finished arguing with a toaster oven, she comes back over to see me playing one of my video games flawlessly with great frame rate and no slowdown of the computer whatsoever.
Wife: *WHAP!*
Me: What'd I do to deserve that?
Wife: Your computer hates me.
Me: Don't take it personally, all technology hates you, you know this.
Wife: *KATHUMP*
Me: Cough Cough. It's the truth, and could you please hand me my spleen?
One thing that I have realized though through marriage is that God has granted me with both a brain and the mens version of sexual reproduction equipment. But only enough blood to use one at a time. How did I come to this piece of knowledge? Through experimentation with the medications that I am on, along with knowledge gleaned by watching my parents (Both my Dad and my Step-Dad, and no they're not married or together......) age.
You see, when we men are young we appreciate the pulchritude in the world around us. As teenagers when the weather begins to warm up and women begin to show their ankles (I live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, which is basically like the North Pole Lite) we teenaged boys are then able to direct traffic without using our hands. If we're extremely unlucky, then we're able to point north. The geese returning from the southern climates just watch us males to see which direction we rotate as the women walk by flashing some ankle, and if we're lucky some calf muscle at us.
Now most women feel that men at this age are stupid. That we only think with our willy wonka's. This is only APPRENTLY true due to the fact of the blood flow being redirected into our southern most regions. As men age, they appear to grow more intelligent. Once again this is only APPARENTLY true. As our willy nilly's begin to age, they don't function as well as they used to. This frees up vital blood that until this time (called pre-30's for those of you keeping track) has been directed south of the border, and our expanding gut line.
As our brains receive more blood, we're able to think more intelligently. And none moreso than my 70 year old Father. Now old Dad (compared to my late 40's Young Dad who is my Step Dad) had a heart attack that affected many bodily systems. Including the weather report in his south pole. Now instead of being frigid and at attention, it waves as limply as the flag on the moon. So he's depressed.
No need to be depressed Dad! Now that you're willy-vanilli is broken, you can be a complete and utter GENIUS with all that new blood flow! At the age of 70 you can pontificate on the color purple for hours on end! You could be the new Thomas Edison (you knew him didn't you? Or was that the Allosaurus?) or Albert Einstein! Or......you could follow in the footsteps of ole Nikky Tesla and marry your pigeon!
I'm 32 years old and on medications that make the playing style of the Cincinnati Bengals seem tough in comparison to my wife-wooer. As a result I've noticed a decided increase in my intelligence and stamina. I can now walk backwards without falling on my face! I can now sit for hours with my legs uncrossed as my wife bends over in front of me cleaning house! I can think for hours on the facts of life, and why exactly a nine year olds conversation seems to be more intelligent at times than most sports announcers!
And if I wish, I could call up my dear old Dad and talk about the color purple.
Now don't get me wrong, I love my wife with all my heart. But she has problems with technology that rival some teams problems with getting into the Superbowl. We're talking about a woman who just has to look at a computer in order for it to start running slower than the Lion's front offensive line.
For instance: I can be on my computer. Writing this blog. My computer runs awesomely when I'm on it. It's fast enough, I can pull up a web page no problem, and I can type into the input box to bore you to death with my stories.
Later on that evening, my wife can get on my computer. Now I don't know how it happens, but I do believe that my computer (like our toaster oven) can sense when my wife is at the keyboard. What then happens I did not believe until I saw it with my own eyes. She tried to open up a web page. Just a single page. Facebook I think it was. And it took five minutes to load. All the while my wife is there snarking and cussing at the inanimate object like some people cuss at the Packer's when they have a bad play. I look at the status bar, the start bar, and every other bar on my computer to see if there's any programs eating up all the RAM.
There's not.
She finally gets frustrated enough to stand up, walk away, and go crochet or cuss at the toaster oven for not turning on. (Is it plugged in honey? OF COURSE IT IS! Check again. OOPS.) I then walk over to the computer, and attempt to log into my facebook account. Somehow sensing that I am back behind the keyboard, the page comes up. SHOOP! Loaded.
When my wife finally is finished arguing with a toaster oven, she comes back over to see me playing one of my video games flawlessly with great frame rate and no slowdown of the computer whatsoever.
Wife: *WHAP!*
Me: What'd I do to deserve that?
Wife: Your computer hates me.
Me: Don't take it personally, all technology hates you, you know this.
Wife: *KATHUMP*
Me: Cough Cough. It's the truth, and could you please hand me my spleen?
One thing that I have realized though through marriage is that God has granted me with both a brain and the mens version of sexual reproduction equipment. But only enough blood to use one at a time. How did I come to this piece of knowledge? Through experimentation with the medications that I am on, along with knowledge gleaned by watching my parents (Both my Dad and my Step-Dad, and no they're not married or together......) age.
You see, when we men are young we appreciate the pulchritude in the world around us. As teenagers when the weather begins to warm up and women begin to show their ankles (I live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, which is basically like the North Pole Lite) we teenaged boys are then able to direct traffic without using our hands. If we're extremely unlucky, then we're able to point north. The geese returning from the southern climates just watch us males to see which direction we rotate as the women walk by flashing some ankle, and if we're lucky some calf muscle at us.
Now most women feel that men at this age are stupid. That we only think with our willy wonka's. This is only APPRENTLY true due to the fact of the blood flow being redirected into our southern most regions. As men age, they appear to grow more intelligent. Once again this is only APPARENTLY true. As our willy nilly's begin to age, they don't function as well as they used to. This frees up vital blood that until this time (called pre-30's for those of you keeping track) has been directed south of the border, and our expanding gut line.
As our brains receive more blood, we're able to think more intelligently. And none moreso than my 70 year old Father. Now old Dad (compared to my late 40's Young Dad who is my Step Dad) had a heart attack that affected many bodily systems. Including the weather report in his south pole. Now instead of being frigid and at attention, it waves as limply as the flag on the moon. So he's depressed.
No need to be depressed Dad! Now that you're willy-vanilli is broken, you can be a complete and utter GENIUS with all that new blood flow! At the age of 70 you can pontificate on the color purple for hours on end! You could be the new Thomas Edison (you knew him didn't you? Or was that the Allosaurus?) or Albert Einstein! Or......you could follow in the footsteps of ole Nikky Tesla and marry your pigeon!
I'm 32 years old and on medications that make the playing style of the Cincinnati Bengals seem tough in comparison to my wife-wooer. As a result I've noticed a decided increase in my intelligence and stamina. I can now walk backwards without falling on my face! I can now sit for hours with my legs uncrossed as my wife bends over in front of me cleaning house! I can think for hours on the facts of life, and why exactly a nine year olds conversation seems to be more intelligent at times than most sports announcers!
And if I wish, I could call up my dear old Dad and talk about the color purple.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Random Thoughts on a Monday........
It really feels like what I wrote yesterday was prophetic in a way. While my wife was gone to feed horses, haul firewood, and have "adult conversation" (see yesterday for the actual definition of this); I was stuck at home with my nine year old son. Now Legend of Zelda's been around for years and years. I remember playing it as a ten year old kid and going nuts when I finally beat Ganon. Yet.....memories are different than current reality.
Nine Year Old Son (hereafter called Son, because well, he is my son) is addicted to these games. When he's not playing them, he's watching walkthroughs on Youtube done by a guy called Chugga A. Conroy. On my computer. So now whenever I log into youtube, I get a ton of video suggestions based on walkthroughs and Mr Conroy as well as my own suggestions, which tend towards comedy, idiocy, music videos, and movie trailers.
Now I wasn't going to talk more about video games, but I ended up doing that anyways. What I really wanted to talk about was kid conversation. For example:
Son: Dad, what does a dog smell like?
Me: A dog.
Son: NNNRNT (annoying buzzing sound meaning wrong answer, or that he's constipated. Not sure.) Incorrect answer! (Wow! I was partially right! It meant wrong answer!)
Me: A dog smells like a dog.
Son: A dog smells like DOG FOOD.
Me: No, it smells like a dog.
Son: Well her breath smells like Dog Food at least. (Yes, he actually talks in complete, and mostly grammar correct sentences, unlike his old man.)
Me: Maybe it's because she just ate.
Son: What's a chicken smell like?
Me: A chicken.
Son: NNNRNT! (Again I had a choice, negative or constipated) Wrong answer! (Darn! I was wrong this time! The face he made......) Care to try again?
Me: Barnyard! Farm! (At this point I was beginning to lose it. A chicken smells like a chicken darnit!)
Son: NNNNRNT!
Me: *sighs*
Son: Want to know what Chicken smells like?
Me: *facepalm* Okay son, what does chicken smell like?
Son: DINNER!
This is just one particular conversation out of many that we had yesterday. It's most memorable because as we had this particular piece of words, I was attempting to finish the dishes which had stacked up due to me being on strike until I learned that well, being on strike doesn't work with my wife.
She has more patience than I do. And a louder yell. And a shrill voice when upset.
But I love my wife, she's been a rock in my life for over a decade now. Yet there's one thing that my wife (here after known as my wife) struggles with constantly: Technology and losing things.
Recently my wife lost her wallet, which had her ID and other stuff in it. When I say recently, I mean in the last 60 days. It was an amusing time during which we tore apart our house looking for it. Then I put it back together to have it torn apart again because I didn't put it back together right. Finally, a couple days ago, it was discovered hiding in a friends apartment, where I believed it to be all the time. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
Other things lost that I have found: Her glasses. (at least in the triple digits), The Cell Phone (Heading to triple digits), Money (I don't tell her I found it, I just keep it until she raids my wallet). Clothing items (being married has exposed me to the wonderful world of womens undergarments, and the fact that they enjoy hiding from the women that are wearing them), and our Son.
But losing things doesn't amount to a hill a beans in comparison to my wife's worst foe: TECHNOLOGY!
(to be continued.....if she doesn't make me remove it)
Nine Year Old Son (hereafter called Son, because well, he is my son) is addicted to these games. When he's not playing them, he's watching walkthroughs on Youtube done by a guy called Chugga A. Conroy. On my computer. So now whenever I log into youtube, I get a ton of video suggestions based on walkthroughs and Mr Conroy as well as my own suggestions, which tend towards comedy, idiocy, music videos, and movie trailers.
Now I wasn't going to talk more about video games, but I ended up doing that anyways. What I really wanted to talk about was kid conversation. For example:
Son: Dad, what does a dog smell like?
Me: A dog.
Son: NNNRNT (annoying buzzing sound meaning wrong answer, or that he's constipated. Not sure.) Incorrect answer! (Wow! I was partially right! It meant wrong answer!)
Me: A dog smells like a dog.
Son: A dog smells like DOG FOOD.
Me: No, it smells like a dog.
Son: Well her breath smells like Dog Food at least. (Yes, he actually talks in complete, and mostly grammar correct sentences, unlike his old man.)
Me: Maybe it's because she just ate.
Son: What's a chicken smell like?
Me: A chicken.
Son: NNNRNT! (Again I had a choice, negative or constipated) Wrong answer! (Darn! I was wrong this time! The face he made......) Care to try again?
Me: Barnyard! Farm! (At this point I was beginning to lose it. A chicken smells like a chicken darnit!)
Son: NNNNRNT!
Me: *sighs*
Son: Want to know what Chicken smells like?
Me: *facepalm* Okay son, what does chicken smell like?
Son: DINNER!
This is just one particular conversation out of many that we had yesterday. It's most memorable because as we had this particular piece of words, I was attempting to finish the dishes which had stacked up due to me being on strike until I learned that well, being on strike doesn't work with my wife.
She has more patience than I do. And a louder yell. And a shrill voice when upset.
But I love my wife, she's been a rock in my life for over a decade now. Yet there's one thing that my wife (here after known as my wife) struggles with constantly: Technology and losing things.
Recently my wife lost her wallet, which had her ID and other stuff in it. When I say recently, I mean in the last 60 days. It was an amusing time during which we tore apart our house looking for it. Then I put it back together to have it torn apart again because I didn't put it back together right. Finally, a couple days ago, it was discovered hiding in a friends apartment, where I believed it to be all the time. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
Other things lost that I have found: Her glasses. (at least in the triple digits), The Cell Phone (Heading to triple digits), Money (I don't tell her I found it, I just keep it until she raids my wallet). Clothing items (being married has exposed me to the wonderful world of womens undergarments, and the fact that they enjoy hiding from the women that are wearing them), and our Son.
But losing things doesn't amount to a hill a beans in comparison to my wife's worst foe: TECHNOLOGY!
(to be continued.....if she doesn't make me remove it)
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Random thoughts on a Sunday afternoon....
Over the past couple of weeks I've learned to enjoy adult conversation once again. Now adult conversation is not what you non-parents might think it is. It's not overtly sexual or pornographic in nature. It's not using the F-bomb every two seconds. What adult conversation is to a parent is simply this: Conversing with another adult.
I've got a wonderful Nine year old son who is wise beyond his years, but one fact remains, he is not an adult. I so often find myself listening to him talk to his video games, or else find myself conversing about whether or not our dog is truly a dog in the full sense of the word. Or whether a panda bear is cuter than a koala. Or whether or not I'm going to take a nap on a particular day so that he can glom onto my computer and play some of the online flash games that he seems drawn to. (And their sometimes virus laden content, which takes up about 12 hours of the day after trying to remove the virus, the rootkit, it's cousins, uncles, and aunts.)
Now I'm not complaining about being a father that stays at home most of the time. Never think that. Okay, maybe I am, but good naturedly. I love my son, and I think that the time we spend together is very special. I love the fact that he likes to talk to me about Legend of Zelda Windwaker ad naseum and that he really digs Legend of Zelda Majora's Mask and that he thinks that Adolfa is the coolest villain in any Legend of Zelda video game. (Do you get the feeling he likes Legend of Zelda? I do.) Then there are the times that we talk about other things. For about five minutes.
But oh, adult conversation I miss thee. I find myself in conversation with a friend of mine talking like a nine year old. If the friend isn't a parent, they generally think that I've flipped my lid until I explain the fact that probably 99% of my conversation is with or about children.
During this month of December it's awesome. My wife is home more as the restaurant where she lives....I mean works....is reducing the hours. While money might be a bit tighter, I can once again converse with another adult........except when she's over at our friends Mom's house helping to haul firewood and helping to take care of three horses. Like today, when I'm writing this. I woke up just as she was leaving and with a hearty wave and a wink (and perhaps a snicker) she was off to hang out with adults and play with horses. I looked and saw my son on the Nintendo Wii playing what? Legend of Zelda. I then understood the wave, wink, and snicker. Another day of hearing the tunes of command in the game and my son talking to the video screen like he was a Lion's fan and upset with the interception that good ole whatsisname just threw.
And most days I can't escape. I go to bed late at night so I have a few hours of peace and quiet to myself. I enjoy this time, I covet this time, and I guard this time......Except when I don't. Some nights I go to bed around the same time as my son (9pm for those of you keeping track of me. Darn spies) and have a "nightly talk" in which we discuss random events in life and the animal kingdom for roughly a half an hour until my medications kick in. Depending on the night I have my "meds kick in" faster than usual because of the tone of the conversation.
A couple of nights ago was wonderful. I went to bed with my wife, talked with her, enjoyed her company. Our son had already passed out---in his nest on my side of the bed. But that's a whole different story for another time.
I thank God my for my son each and every night. I thank God that's he's healthy, intelligent, good natured, not shy, and a boon to my life.
But I also thank God for the days I can converse with another adult......and sound like a nine year old.
I've got a wonderful Nine year old son who is wise beyond his years, but one fact remains, he is not an adult. I so often find myself listening to him talk to his video games, or else find myself conversing about whether or not our dog is truly a dog in the full sense of the word. Or whether a panda bear is cuter than a koala. Or whether or not I'm going to take a nap on a particular day so that he can glom onto my computer and play some of the online flash games that he seems drawn to. (And their sometimes virus laden content, which takes up about 12 hours of the day after trying to remove the virus, the rootkit, it's cousins, uncles, and aunts.)
Now I'm not complaining about being a father that stays at home most of the time. Never think that. Okay, maybe I am, but good naturedly. I love my son, and I think that the time we spend together is very special. I love the fact that he likes to talk to me about Legend of Zelda Windwaker ad naseum and that he really digs Legend of Zelda Majora's Mask and that he thinks that Adolfa is the coolest villain in any Legend of Zelda video game. (Do you get the feeling he likes Legend of Zelda? I do.) Then there are the times that we talk about other things. For about five minutes.
But oh, adult conversation I miss thee. I find myself in conversation with a friend of mine talking like a nine year old. If the friend isn't a parent, they generally think that I've flipped my lid until I explain the fact that probably 99% of my conversation is with or about children.
During this month of December it's awesome. My wife is home more as the restaurant where she lives....I mean works....is reducing the hours. While money might be a bit tighter, I can once again converse with another adult........except when she's over at our friends Mom's house helping to haul firewood and helping to take care of three horses. Like today, when I'm writing this. I woke up just as she was leaving and with a hearty wave and a wink (and perhaps a snicker) she was off to hang out with adults and play with horses. I looked and saw my son on the Nintendo Wii playing what? Legend of Zelda. I then understood the wave, wink, and snicker. Another day of hearing the tunes of command in the game and my son talking to the video screen like he was a Lion's fan and upset with the interception that good ole whatsisname just threw.
And most days I can't escape. I go to bed late at night so I have a few hours of peace and quiet to myself. I enjoy this time, I covet this time, and I guard this time......Except when I don't. Some nights I go to bed around the same time as my son (9pm for those of you keeping track of me. Darn spies) and have a "nightly talk" in which we discuss random events in life and the animal kingdom for roughly a half an hour until my medications kick in. Depending on the night I have my "meds kick in" faster than usual because of the tone of the conversation.
A couple of nights ago was wonderful. I went to bed with my wife, talked with her, enjoyed her company. Our son had already passed out---in his nest on my side of the bed. But that's a whole different story for another time.
I thank God my for my son each and every night. I thank God that's he's healthy, intelligent, good natured, not shy, and a boon to my life.
But I also thank God for the days I can converse with another adult......and sound like a nine year old.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Max on Life (Max Lucado): A review
While it has been a few weeks since I finished this book, I wanted some time to digest what it contained before writing my review.
Max Lucado is a well known author and speaker, and very entertaining........usually.
In Max on Life he's billed to answer some of the difficult life questions. In my opinion he has not. In the parlance of Biblical speaking, Mr Lucado gave a lot of milk for newborn Christians, but not a lot of meat for the mature in Christ. All in all, I found this book to be dry and difficult to get through. The questions asked many of us already know the answers to, because they are found in the bible.
If there's anything positive I can say about this book of milk, it's that the answers are completely biblical without stopping. I approve of that completely, as a minister myself, yet find that the way that the book itself was written is without much value except to, as I stated before, Newborns in Christ.
Max Lucado is a well known author and speaker, and very entertaining........usually.
In Max on Life he's billed to answer some of the difficult life questions. In my opinion he has not. In the parlance of Biblical speaking, Mr Lucado gave a lot of milk for newborn Christians, but not a lot of meat for the mature in Christ. All in all, I found this book to be dry and difficult to get through. The questions asked many of us already know the answers to, because they are found in the bible.
If there's anything positive I can say about this book of milk, it's that the answers are completely biblical without stopping. I approve of that completely, as a minister myself, yet find that the way that the book itself was written is without much value except to, as I stated before, Newborns in Christ.
No He Can't (Kevin McCullogh): A review
Going into an election year, it's probably the most important duty that we as americans have: To decide where to cast our vote. Kevin McCullogh understands that, and in his book "No He Can't: How Barack Obama is dismantling hope and change" he brings to the forefront the double minded nature of our current Commander in Chief.
To really understand what issues are at stake, we need to read books that clear state, such as this one did, what a particular candidate stands for. From the skyrocketing jobless rates (at and over 10% quite everywhere at the writing of this book), to the hidden taxes inherent in cap and trade, as well as the increasing debt that we have through Obamacare, this book shows it all in a factual and entertaining manner.
I wasn't prepared for the witty way that Mr McCullogh brings everything to our attention. I personally thought that I was going to be reading a very dry white paper. But through wit and the moments of clarity, this book will keep you entertained while at the same time entertaining you and educating you on our President.
To really understand what issues are at stake, we need to read books that clear state, such as this one did, what a particular candidate stands for. From the skyrocketing jobless rates (at and over 10% quite everywhere at the writing of this book), to the hidden taxes inherent in cap and trade, as well as the increasing debt that we have through Obamacare, this book shows it all in a factual and entertaining manner.
I wasn't prepared for the witty way that Mr McCullogh brings everything to our attention. I personally thought that I was going to be reading a very dry white paper. But through wit and the moments of clarity, this book will keep you entertained while at the same time entertaining you and educating you on our President.
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