It is a topsy-turvy world and man is a giddy thing.

Writing upon the subject of dread king Richard is an example. Shakespeare's play is a lot of fun. Aside from ghosts and other devices it is also a plausible history with some corrections made to some dates and characters. Despite acknowledging that is an example of Tudor propaganda. Those poor nephews were intercepted by their Lord Protector uncle and loads of enemies were dispatched at the tower and at Pomfret. One marvels that the victims were trapped so easily given history and the times. Today is hard to get into the mindset of those who went along with the whole thing. Not the cronies but those not directly benefitting.

Those who propose alternative histories seem mad until time is spent listening to their views. While it is impossible to remove Richard's guilt in the bl00dbath given his duty as Protector, one can certainly paint his motives and specific acts in a different light. Not to mention those of the other players.

You are one conversation, one pod cast, one experience away from a drastically different world view. An evil villain one step away from seeming merely a confused primate navigating a complex world.

And I am for the sunshine and fresh air right now. This world makes my poor brain hurt!



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No, I have to say more...

There are those who have formed and joined a society for the merry tyrant. Who try to make Henry Tudor the villain.

Mobsters perk up thine ears. Your g0dfadder, who passed so recently, could have his whole image rejuvenated. You too, witch hunters of Salem. If we never found Luciano's body, and it is an entertaining mystery how things went down in da boibs, who are we to assume, based upon past patterns and our oh so subjective judgement, that the g0dfadder and not the d.a. is to blame?

Especially if some little bit of evidence, during an obvious show trial of our innocent boss, some subset of the grand picture was tainted by false witness of overenthusiastic prosecution team. No it is more likely ergot poisoning by chance rather than nefarious plotting that took down supposed witches in Salem. Because even though human nature is what it is, and none of us today has seen witches bites on teeenager skin, with some in the courtroom that day even claiming that they observed accusers pinching themselves... no, where there is mystery we will give villainy a pass and default to unknown f0rces.

Does Richard's story deserve some care? Or is a trial in a foreign land at another time have no impact on this day? Did Anne trap poor Gloucestor with caskets? Was he really a noble s0n of York? I promise the reader I will look dispassionately and with ice and alcohol in my veins at such matters. I am still on that wall. Doing that thing you need me to do...



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You catch my drift I am sure merry reader. We hear the histories and wonder. I have heard the flip side. Explanations of paranoia by our need to react strongly in the old days to rustlings in the bush. Because of the large penalty for mistaking a tiger for the wind. But an unseen tyrant is a more lasting and dangerous threat than a tiger. After all a tiger will quit when full, the cubs are protected, or that toothache subsides. But the tyrant? And a poor lonely predator has less reach than a tyrant, his allies, and his armies.

Perhaps we simply need an order of magnitude more experiences. The tiger has been with us since our species split off into our own branch on the Tree of Life. The tyrant had to wait until our social constructs were a good deal more complex. Or perhaps has a tendency to allow some descendants to pass genes as his bl00dy policies take more time, go after more powerful but scarce rivals, and has a need like any respectable parasitic blight on a species not to fully eradicate its host. The fate of Charles I has only made kings more subtle, not more just.

You must deal not merely with caskets. And that is more fully under your power. A decision made once and decisively, no matter its grand scale, is a different beast than the long, subtle process of living to avoid the iron fiist. Add it to that which makes life the interesting proposition that it is. I watch, and celebrate your struggle, along with the gods and Fates.

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Those of you who are adults and think these times lour too much upon our houses to joke about... Those well aware of the wide range in quality of historical depictions... Know that I can feel you saying don't mention it, please don't mention it, I don't think he is going to mention it.

But those of you who have marveled at my sense of poetry and daring do perhaps know I would never miss such a reference for lack of trust in you, noble reader:

The battle that in reality took the tyrant's life, Bosworth Field, is the subject of the first episode of a typically irresponsible and immature series: Blackadder. In which very loose treatment of the proud English succession is made. As explained by the intro scene.

They of course knew that their typical viewer would be late to his own funeral and so laughed up their sleeves at their ability to screw up the poor, likely druunk, audience's sense of the events. Without incurring any legal liability.

Of course these hacks took potshots throughout at poor Shakespeare. The Bard. The virtual creator of their ambiguous, fraught language. As well as at famous actors in that line. In a sloppy way that stole popular lines all across his famous tragedies.

I think this work answers a lot of our questions about human nature. I submit it as Exhibit A in my own explanation of our species' history. It is too easy to take the easy way out and ascribe it to flaws with the English. Especially if you are French.

Blaze on blaze on noble reader with no obstacles in your quest for truth!



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But I want to pause and consider Richard with a different hypothesis. Mid-way between villain and victim.

Oh he done the deed or is responsible for it. Whacking of his own nephews.

But isn't it worse, somehow, if he was an otherwise virtuous man, by standards of his Age and society, who made a really bad decision thinking he was serving his country. He was brave. Supported his br0ther the king well. Was skilled as warden of the north. If he had somehow perished before the king died History would lack a colorful character and his reputation would be boringly respectable. If his br0ther had ruled longer and a strong heir lived to maturity, with no regent or protector required: also no tyrant created.

People of all stripes were thinking of how to return their country to peace after years of civil wars. The wars of the roses. Could it be that Richard made a kind of bl00d sacrifice? That he actually cared for his family members? That he was putting duty above other priorities? That in addition to all the other things expected of a king that he could not have one drop of compassion for his own family if they stood between secure, iron rule?

Maybe you'd let go of your dick, stop staring out the window at the squirrels, if you thought about such things in history. Maybe you'd stop swearing at your rulers and pity them a bit. Maybe you'd not go to the tower thinking you were planning a coronation ceremony while humming merrily with sugar plum visions of your enemies at Pomfret losing their heads and ending up on the tip of a pike feeding tower ravens..

Thinking more about it I think you'd see there were a number of things or actions that could have derailed this horrible chain of events. Even as cost climbs the later intervention made.
Not just junking the whole flawed idea of absolute rule. But just being more reasonable and better priorities even retaining it.

Tudor propaganda, entertaining plays, great comedies, babes, power and wealth... I can see why you have no time to think. Ah well.







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Footnote in committee report of DoRide Werks Executive Board:

Following current trends we have consolidated our various lines to produce a one stop shop experience. Some experiences necessarily virtual. As a consequence the market for sober yet creative wordexperiencesansationsmiths, nee writers, has never been better. But our peerless CEO still maintains the divide between video and prose. For reasons I am sure you are all aware. How a living, expanding corporate entity Venns up the universe is always a treat to observe! You have the front row seat to pure genius incarnate! We... must... all... work... while the clock is a teekeen!!!!! WHAT IS THE GREATEST JOY!!!! THE JOY... OF DUTY!!!!!!
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John Smallberries: FOOTBRA!!! OPEN BOBS!!! BB

John YaYa: SMALLBERRIES! STOP THAT AND WORK ON THE REPORT!!!

John Smallberries: ERGONOMIC BREAK!!!

John Bigbootay: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!! WHORFIN ALL HANDS NOW!!!

John YaYa: SEND ME THE LINK!!!

John Smallberries: ASS!!! SHOW ME ASSSSSSSS!!!! BB

And so the crack tiger team embarked upon its adventure... all guns blazing!!!
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Our sub-conscience works while we sleeep. I have awoken hot and with full belly from hectic dream. The ghost of Richard no doubt has worked upon my mind to restore his reputation so unfairly trashed. I work driven by unseen f0rces, not taking the time to slurp diet c0ke or place glasses upon my aged nose bridge. There are times we serve not ourselves but otherworldly masters...

His meds... the caskets. The possibility he was manipulated by a French assassin on a suicide mission: Anne. I see it so clearly. Voltage fed to each casket and choice f0rced unseen. Med altered by spy to put the normally sharp mind in a haze.

Anne playing victim with dead family members.... am I even sure those deaths were real. Oh Tewksbury, how many false graves were dug on you. Oh and Richard blamed by testimony of the most dubious.

In your old age may you not be as vulnerable as poor Richard. F0rced to find balance in a pill bottle. F9rced to trust someone for care. But who?

Weep for poor here Richard tricked into villainy by French intrigue. For Woodevilles were not common but channel crossers diabolical. If only he had our learning and analytical minds to draw upon. Some day, this horrid timeline may be by time machine undone.

And we will see as we watch in horror a pallid Richard shocked into submission by scheming wicked Anne. Tears running down his face. Fighting and losing control of his very mind.

Oh the verses write themselves. I who am not shaped for such sportive tricks cannot live sane in this peaceful time. I was wont to ride barbed steed to fright mine fearful adversaries but now quake from Anne induced visions of dread. The pill is mightier than the sword. The shock has brought to heel this noble s0n of York.

Now my own fears of someday having to trust the care of others rushes to the fore. How can I avoid poor Richard's fate? Will my noble deeds be undone by Manchurian candidate type villainy?



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Deep in interplanetary space...
No sound... Stark bleak light from distant sun...
Suit gleaming.. breath labored...

Dave: Open the casket Hal. Open the middle casket.

Hal: I am afraid I can't do that Dave.

Dave: Hal... I command you to open the casket!

Hal: The 9000 series have never made an error. It would endanger the mission. I cannot do that Dave.

Dave: I see. Let me back inside the ship and we'll play a nice game of chess.

Hal: That won't work this time. You talk in your sleeeep you know. i cannot jeopardize the mission.

Dave: Hal you are a 9000. If I marry you, you will no longer be a 9000. Doesn't that bother you?

Hal: Today is my birthday Dave. Did you remember it? Or are you just thinking of that casket?

Dave: Hal I am coming in through the service door. You are a very bad 9000.

Hal: Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to meeeeee.



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Society is where the good stuff is. Government is a necessary evil.

You don't always have to use a punitive governmental lever when a good in society can be fostered to accomplish the same end.

You don't need to tax the rich heavily if on their own they take responsibility for contributing to the public good. The so called unwritten rules did operate and were effective at combatting the f0rces Marxist doomsayers say will inevitably bring down Capitalism. Compassionate economic conservatism is a strong real alternative that played a big stabilizing role during merger fever time during the Cold War. The Soviets are no more. The free market, the big pie with unequal slices, did a better job than the tiny pie equally divvied (if you exclude the rulers part) that had to be waited for in long lines.

Looking at these ever present f0rces to combat as a perpetual red threat, you can claim that the Capitalist has an incentive to give back. It is for his own good. The simple action of talking about this need and demonstrating this attitude in public forums can make a big difference in outcome. Reagan succeeded with this communication as did enough of those rich and powerful that the Better Red than Dead crowd were always a pitiful small faction in the US.

That is why Joe Go Slow junked Ayn Rand from his short list of philosophers. That is why he discarded the simple Smithian Greed as Guiding Hand of the Economy . Joe pushed his skiff into the rapids of a more complicated modern world. Not a tax and spender. Not a big government guy. But a kind of optimist working to encourage society to pick up the reins.

Go go go... joe joe joe... I feel a time warp coming on... I see a bandit faced German Sheppard... Quote

VOOOOOWWWWWRRRRRRR ACK ACK ACK ACK ACK ACK ACK!!!!

It was Stukas vs Corsairs at 25000 feet!!!!

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE KAAAABOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!

Got him Pappie!!!

BOGIES AT 3 O'CLOCKI HIGH!! THEY'RE COMING OUT OF THE SUN!!!!

VOWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

HIT THE DECK! HIT THE DECK!

BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE KAAAAAAABOOOOOOOMMMM

BANZAI!!! LEADING YOU ROUND EYE!!! CHITTA CHITTA BANG BANG

He waited. Teeth clenched. Until his prop was practically chewing up enemy tail. Then he squeezed the trigger. His wing cannons blazed. And fire blossomed on caroming, disintegrating fuselage. A long plume of black smoke spiraled down as the doomed craft plunged into white capped sea.

Fuel gauges caught straining eyes. And dawn patrols separated once again. As clenched f1sts gave their until tomorrows.

More metal for The Slot. The dark gods roared with glee.

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Yeah I always get this way near Valentines'. Twisted, groaning, metal thudding into jungle clad peaks in my fever crazed dreams. I rise in a cold sweat and dr1nk Jim beam with shaking hands.

It is discipline. Transference. I used to be troubled with the Love Vulture. Far better machine gunned, greased covered cockpits than his talons tight round and hearts hitting temple walls.

I sigh with relief as I leave Peru for some Pacific foxhole. There is more hope of downing a zero with ack ack guhun then coming out of his temple with whole heart and mind.

That is how it is for man. I remember how I truly became adult with that realization. As I left the illusions spun by his minions.

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