Fri. Jun 14th, 2024

Political Science for Dummies

By karlsie Nov 10, 2008

by Kevin Todd

Autor’s disclaimer: I finally found a site that helped me explain what I’ve learned about political science in plain words. My definitions are my own, but spoken from the same, practical understanding of cows.

you have two cows, your neighbor has none.
You feel guilty about it. You petition for legislation, and possible higher taxes, so the Government can make it easier for every one to have a cow

you have two cows, your neighbor has none.
So what., get a better job and get your own cow.
Hire an expensive corporate lobbyist to sell the idea of buying up all the cows and charging your neighbor inflated prices for the milk.

you have two cows, your neighbor has none.
the Government comes and takes one cow and gives it to the neighbor, then forms a cooperative and tells you how to manage your cow.

you have two cows.
the Government comes and seizes both cows.
you wait in line for hours to get two quarts of milk and its sour.

you have two cows,..
you sell one and buy a bull and build a herd of cows.

you have two cows. one may be sick.
Under the new farm program, the Government tells you to shoot one cow, milk the other, and pour the milk down the drain.

you have two cows. You sell one and then lease it back to yourself.
You force the cows to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when one drops dead. You spin an announcement to the analysts stating you have downsized and are reducing expenses. Your stock goes up.

You have two cows. you go on strike cause you want three.
You take a break for lunch and drink wine.
life is good.

You have two cows..
You redesign them at the genetic level so they are one tenth the size of an ordinary cow, produce three times the milk, and are at the top of their class in cow school.

you have two cows. they’re all blond and drink lots of beer, give excellent milk and run a hundred miles an hour. Unfortunately the all demand 13 weeks of vacation a year.

You have two cows but you don’t know where they are.
You put a hit on a rival corporation for stealing your cows.
You break for lunch and drink wine.
life is good.

You have two cows and a case of vodka.
You count them and come up with five cows.
To celebrate you have more vodka, and count them again and boast about your herd of cows. The Mafia shows up and takes the number of cows you really have

You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which are two.
You cannot milk them because you can’t touch any creatures’ private parts.
You get a 40 million dollar grant form the US. Government to find alternatives to milk production and buy weapons with the money.

your two cows are in hiding sending recordings of their mooing.

you have two bulls.
Employee’s are regularly maimed and kicked trying to milk them.

You only have one cow but its schizophrenic.
Some days the cow thinks its French, some days its Flemish
The Flemish cow won’t share with the French cow.
The French cow wants control of the Flemish cow’s milk.
The cow cuts itself in half and dies happy.

You have a black cow and a brown cow.
Everyone votes for the best looking one.
Some who like the black cow best accidentally vote for the brown cow
Some people vote for both. Some vote for neither.
Some can’t figure out how to vote at all.
A bunch of guys from out of state tell you which one you think is the best looking cow.

You have millions of cows
the make a lot of real California cheese, but only a hundred or so speak English
Only a few of them are legal US cows
Arnold likes the ones with big udders.

By karlsie

Some great perversity of nature decided to give me a tune completely out of keeping with the general symphony; possibly from the moment of conception. I learned to read and speak almost simultaneously. The blurred and muffled world I heard through my first five years of random nerve loss deafness suddenly came alive with the clarity of how those words sounded on paper. I had been liberated for communications. I decided there was nothing more wonderful than writing. It was easier to write than carefully modulate my speech for correct pronunciation, and it was easier to read than patiently follow the movements of people’s lips to learn what they were saying. It was during that dawning time period, while I slowly made the connection that there weren’t that many other people who heard the way I did, halfway between sound and music, half in deafness, that I began to understand that the tune I was following wasn’t quite the same as that of my classmates. I was just a little different. General education taught me not only was I just a little isolated from my classmates, my home was just a little isolated from the outside world. I was born in Alaska, making me part of one of the smallest, quietest minorities on earth. I decided I could live with this. What I couldn’t live with was discovering a few years later, in the opening up of the pipeline, which coincided with my first year of junior college, that there were entire communities of people; more than I could possibly imagine; living impossibly one on top of another in vast cities. It wasn’t even the magnitude of this vision that inspired me so much as the visitors who came from these populous regions and seemed to possess a knowledge so great and secretive I could never learn it in any book. I became at once, very conscious of how rural I was and how little I knew beyond the scope of my environment. I decided it was time to travel. The rest is history; or at least, the content of my stories. I traveled... often to college campuses, dropping in and out of school until one fine day by chance I’d fashioned a bachelor of arts degree in psychology. I’ve worked a couple of newspapers, had a few poems and stories tossed around in various small presses, never receiving a great deal of money, which I’m assured is the norm for a writer. I spent ten years in Mexico, watching the peso crash. There is some obscure reason why I did this, tightening up my belt and facing hunger, but I believe at the time I said it was for love. Here I am, back home, in my beloved Alaska. I’ve learned somewhat of a worldly viewpoint; at least I like to flatter myself that way. I’ve also learned my rural roots aren’t so bad after all. I work in a small, country store. Every day I greet the same group of local customers, but make no mistake. My store isn’t a scene out of Andy Griffith. The people who enter the establishment, which also includes showers, laundry and movie rentals, are miners, oil workers, truck drivers, construction engineers, dog sled racers and carpenters. Sometimes, on the liquor side, the conversations became adult only in vocabulary. It’s a good thing, on the opposite side of the store is a candy aisle filled with the most astonishing collection, it will keep a kid occupied with just wishing for hours. If you tell your kids they can have just one, you have an instant baby sitter; better than television; as they agonize over their choice while you catch up on the gossip with your neighbor. We also receive a lot of tourists, a lot of foreign visitors. They are usually amazed at this first sign of Alaskan rural life style beyond the insulating hub of the Anchorage bowl. Many of them like to hang around and chat. They gawk at our thieves wanted posters. They laugh at our jokes and camaraderie with our customers. I’ve learned another lesson while working there. You don’t have to go out and find the world. If you wait long enough, it comes to you.

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