Vaughn “I’m Gay AND Important” Walker

August 6th, 2010

Federal judge Vaughn Walker’s decision to overturn Proposition 8 is the latest example of a judge overstepping his authority in order to unconstitutionally overrule the people.  I’m going to explain why, without even getting into the topics of morals and God, so as not to confuse liberals.

The Tenth Amendment to the Constitution says, essentially, that the states and people retain all powers not granted the national government in the Constitution.  This amendment (as well as the first nine) were put in the Constitution to ensure that the federal government would not become too powerful and that individual states would retain their right to self-rule, thus maintaining a nation of individual states, as opposed to an oppressive all-powerful government like the one our forefathers had just fought a war to escape from.  Nowhere in the Constitution was the federal government given the power decide what was best for any individual state, and the concept of equal rights for all was not really even addressed directly.  The Founding Fathers were wary of too much power in the hands of a centralized government.  They wanted the vast majority of legal decisions to be local ones, in the hands of the people.  There was, however, one obvious weakness here: the principle of “majority rules” is not always good.  What if the majority of people passed a law that infringed on the rights of a smaller group of people?

This was finally addressed almost a century later with the 14th Amendment, the one opponents of Prop 8 cite as to why the measure is unconstitutional.  Let’s look at it.  It says that states cannot “deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”  In other words, we can’t have a special set of rules or rights for one person or group of people and not another.  For example, there can be no law that says guys named Steve have to pay taxes but nobody else does, or blacks have to pay more for a loaf of bread than whites, or the Amish don’t have to buy health insurance but everyone else does beginning in 2014 (oops), etc.

This is what opponents of Prop 8 are using in their argument, but there is one colossal problem: Prop 8 doesn’t discriminate or give rights to any particular group of people, nor does it deny anyone any rights enjoyed by somebody else.  NOBODY is allowed to marry someone of the same sex.  I’m not, you’re not, your straight friend’s not, your gay friend’s not.  Prop 8 merely defines marriage as between one man and one woman.  It is about the definition of the institution of marriage, not about gays or straights or the Amish or any other group of people.

By the way, the reason for the 14th Amendment was to give blacks equal protection under the law right after the Civil War.  Slavery had been outlawed, but that was not going to stop some states from passing laws to prevent blacks from owning property or testifying against whites, among other things.  This is not to say that the principle therein does not apply to anything other than these particular issues, but it should be noted that when the 14th Amendment became part of the Constitution in the 1860s, it did not give blacks (or anyone else) the right to marry someone of the same sex, nor did anyone claim it did.  This is because NOBODY had that “right.”  Even women’s right to vote did not apply, as individual states still had the authority to pass suffrage laws on their own.

So for those keeping score, the people of each state have the right to decide what is legal or illegal in their state, unless their decision denies someone a right given to somebody else (or is in violation with some other part of the Constitution).  This is not the case with Prop 8. Why, then, did one federal judge have the power to step in and overrule the decision of the people of California on an issue not addressed at all in the Constitution?  Well, he didn’t.  And that’s the problem.  A federal judge has stepped in and decided that the will of the people in California doesn’t matter, even though all they did was confirmed that the definition of marriage should be what it has always been in virtually all societies all over the world for thousands of years, and even though he had literally no jurisdiction.  This is akin to the Governor of North Dakota vetoing a bill passed by the California legislature.

To illustrate what kind of “judge” this is, in his decision he wrote that “Proposition 8 fails to advance any rational basis for singling out gay men and lesbians for denial of a marriage license.”  Go back and read that again.  I did not make that up.  First of all, gays and lesbians aren’t singled out.  It applies to marrying your dog, cat, bird, or even taking a second wife.  And on the topic of what is “rational,” I guess the way he sees it, sure, seven million voters voted that way, and that’s the way it’s been since the beginning of time, and there is nothing in the Constitution that indicates it should not be the case, and this particular definition happens to be the system on which almost every civilization in history has been based, but on the other hand, seriously, marriage between a man and a woman?  Let’s be “rational,” folks.

The fact is, whether you were for or against Prop 8, Justice Walker (who just happens to be gay) had no legal right or jurisdiction to overrule the voters of California.  Judges are supposed to enforce the law and protect the rights of the people, not “find” new rights in the Constitution or, when that doesn’t suffice, make them up out of thin air.  Instead of serving the people, this clown has decided to impose his opinion on them, namely the opinion that the core institution of the greatest nation on earth has no rational basis.  Somewhere right now James Madison, Father of the Constitution, is crapping his proverbial pants.

Lesson Learned

February 25th, 2010

Today I went in the school library to study because I’m a nerd. That place is always completely silent, on accounta it’s a library, so I checked my phone to make sure it was on silent mode and then rechecked it a couple more times because I have OCD. Anyhoo, then I had to fart, and due to my constant checking of my phone I had “silent mode” on my brain so, feeling confident that I, like my phone, was on silent mode, I did what any true American would do; I let it fly. Much to my chagrin, I immediately discovered that I was, in fact, NOT on silent mode. Not even close. In fact, not only was my volume at its max, but due to the wooden chair I was sitting on it quickly became apparent that I was also on vibrate mode. Instinctively I turned my head to give the person next to me a dirty look, but there was nobody there. There was nobody within 15 feet of me to blame it on, though sadly the blast radius was much larger than 15 feet. In short, there was no confusion as to who the perpetrator was. So I will now be known to anyone who witnessed the event as the guy who sits all by himself in the library and farts, then can’t stop laughing for the next 15 minutes. Let it be known that just because your phone is on silent mode, that doesn’t mean you are. It could have been worse though; at least my battery didn’t leak.

Cheap Shots

November 4th, 2009

Today in my math class the teacher was trying to make an analogy between numbers and politics.  He asked, talking about possible answers to the math problem we were working on, “So what do you do when the candidate you’ve decided on is actually not qualified for the office he’s running for?”  I said “We elect Obama anyway.”  A few people laughed heartily, and a few people grunted in disgust.  Good times.

Secrets About Balls

June 4th, 2009

Today at the elementary school I was working at, three 1st graders were off in the corner behind the dumpster looking all secretive.  I went over and asked what they were doing, and one of them replied “Telling secrets about balls.”  Intrigued, and hoping to learn something new, I pressed them for more information, and finally persuaded one of them to tell me one of these little-known facts about balls.  He complained “Sometimes they come out of nowhere and hit you in the face.”  That kid doesn’t know how lucky he is, I usually have to pay for that sort of thing.

Retarded Kids, Handball, and My Hair

June 3rd, 2009

Today I worked at Wildomar Elementary.  It was fun kicking the crap out of the retarded class in handball, dismantling them one by one.  I’m not sure that is in my job description, but I try to step up and do whatever is needed.  On another note though, throughout the day at least four different kids, all running at or near full capacity mentally, came up to me and told me that I have “cool hair.”  I’m not sure what to feel about that…

Blacks on Barack

January 22nd, 2009

Today I subbed at Withrow Elementary as a campus aide, you know, the dude who tells kids to stop fighting on the playground.  During lunch this little black girl came up to me, fighting back tears, and asked me “Is Arack Obama dead?”  I responded with “No, but thanks to him, capitalism soon will be.”  This only seemed to confuse her, so I reassured her that “Arack” Obama was, in fact, alive, and the little black boy who told her that was just messing with her.  Why must my negro friends treat each other this way?

Christmas Fun

December 29th, 2008

Christmas was really good this year, if you base your opinion of Christmas on the quality of gifts you receive, which I do.  Everyone except Laura made it this year, although it was a close call with Eric.  First his flight got canceled because of snow in Portland, but he was able to get another flight on the morning of Christmas Eve, thankfully.  He was not at all pleased when he found out his first flight was canceled, making him think he would miss Christmas.  He wrote about it at http://www.ericdsnider.com/blog/2008/12/22/an-open-letter-to-mother-nature/  It is definitely worth a read.

But he made it in the end, and we all had a great time.  I would like to transcribe a conversation Eric, Lane and I had at Del Taco on Christmas Eve though.  A couple days earlier we had been flipping channels and noticed there were a bunch of Jewish-type movies on, such as Fiddler on the Roof and some others.  Somehow at Del Taco Hanukkah got brought up, and the following ensued:

Eric: When does Hanukkah start, anway?

Me: I think it started a couple days ago, we noticed that there were a bunch of Jewish movies on.

Lane: And I noticed we were all eating Lentil.

Me: And we were all circumcising our penises.

Lane: Is that what we were doing? I was just whittling.

Anyway, I’m not going to give a play-by-play of the whole week, I figured I would just post a bunch of pictures instead.  Oh, except on Christmas evening a piece of one of my front teeth broke off again, a recurring injury.  Up mine.

Emily and Lindsay had so much fun together!

Emily and Lindsay had so much fun together!

Emily with Uncle Eric.

Emily with Uncle Eric.

Finally, a liberal who says what he really believes.

Finally, a liberal who says what he really believes.

Yep, I look fatter than him.

Yep, I look fatter than him.

Joy.

Joy.

The kids on Christmas morning.

The kids on Christmas morning.

Strangely, Lane didn't even know I was taking a picture.

Strangely, Lane didn't even know I was taking a picture.

Lane was stoned, and I was aroused by the camera.

Lane was stoned, and I was aroused by the camera.

Lindsay and me.

Lindsay and me.

Logan doing his famous "crazy eyes."

Logan doing his famous "crazy eyes."

Logan and his favorite uncle.

Logan and his favorite uncle.

I think I look sexy throwing a football.

I think I look sexy throwing a football.

The old folks on Christmas morning.

The old folks on Christmas morning.

The most racist book ever written.

The most racist book ever written.

Unshaven and with a chipped front tooth. So hot.

Unshaven and with a chipped front tooth. So hot.

Thanksgiving Festivities

November 30th, 2008

It’s been well over a month since I blogged, but shut up, I’m too busy spending time with chicks.

The whole family was in Utah for Thanksgiving, including Emily. Roni was nice enough to let her go with us for the week, and we all had a good time, even me. We got up there Tuesday evening, and Lane showed up with pizza a few minutes later. I only mention this because I really like food, and more specifically, pizza.

The next morning I decided it would be fun to take Emily and Lindsay to the park. There was some other chick there with her kids. Oddly, she didn’t immediately tell her kids to stay away from me. Seeing as how this was uncharted territory for me, I didn’t know how to react, but we struck up a conversation. As we conversed it turned out she is a fan of Eric’s. She used to read his junk in whatever newspaper he wrote for, and she knew who Jeff was too, on accounta they live near each other. After playing for a while, Emily told me she was thirsty. There wasn’t a drinking fountain there, which is a bunch of poo, and I didn’t feel like walking back yet. So I did the fatherly thing, and tried to help her by throwing a wood chip at her to distract her from her thirst. She threw it back (quite accurately, I can proudly say) and it turned into a little fight. The mom there (we’ll call her Paula, since that was her name) was nice enough to let me throw stuff at her kids, too, so that was cool. I would have done it anyway, don’t get me wrong, but still. So I threw a wood chip at one of them too, and before I knew it it had become a war, which I dominated. When I started getting tired, and losing, I declared the fight over and we went back to Jeff’s house. I did take a picture of Emily and Lindsay at the top of the slide first, though.

Later that day, all of us who were there already except Jeff went to Salt Lake to see Temple Square. It was really cool to see the Salt Lake Temple and the Tabernacle (which was much smaller than I expected) and all the neat stuff in the Visitor’s Center. I love historical stuff like that, and everyone had a good time. I took some pictures, including one on the way up there of a car with a Utah license plate, but with Obama stickers on the bumper. What the crap?

My hair and I both look awesome in this picture.

My hair and I both look awesome in this picture.

The next day was Thanksgiving, a day of football and food. That morning Jeff and I went to play in the Turkey Bowl. I scored two touchdowns, but I think I could have scored more if a: Jeff could throw, or b: I didn’t have to rest for 3 out of every 4 plays. Man, I’m fat. We won though, and towards the beginning of the game I took the other team’s best player out by accidentally ripping his shorts off of him while grabbing for his flag. Let this be a lesson: good things ALWAYS happen when you try to grab another man’s flag. Laura and Joy arrived later that morning, and some people made food while I sat there and didn’t. When it was time to eat, I discovered that the food was superb. Good job, Mom and Jeff! As I was eating, though, I realized that I had forgotten to take my Don’t Crap My Pants pill that morning. Right when I realized it, I think my brain sent a signal to my bowels, telling it to punish me. I spent most of the rest of dinner paying for my crimes in a small room consisting only of a toilet and a sink.

The next day was my birthday. I got up in the morning and went for a leisurely walk around the neighborhood, which was quite pleasant. When I decided to come back, I realized that I was kinda far away and didn’t want to walk back. I quickly made a wish that the fool in the Obama car would come by and give me a ride, but nobody did. Up mine, and happy birthday. That night we had a birthday party for Emily and me, and by “party” I mean we opened some presents and ate Clarence Thomas cake (chocolate on the outside, white on the inside). It was quite tasty.

The next morning we came home. We left at around 8:00, but hit traffic off and on all the way from Vegas, turning a 9-plus hour trip into an 11-plus hour trip. I’m getting tired of writing, so I’ll just say it was a good week and Emily had lots of fun, spending nearly every minute with Lindsay, both awake and asleep, and now I’ll put a couple more pictures up. Up yours, specifically.

Uppity chicks

Uppity chicks

Don’t Help Others

October 26th, 2008

Almost 2 weeks ago at my softball game I learned a very important lesson: don’t help others, because you will only end up hurting your wrist.  The other team was up, and some fool was on first.  The batter hit a single to left, and the guy who had been on first rounded second, then came back.  By then my shortstop had taken the throw back in, and he saw the runner wasn’t quite back to the bag yet and he unloaded it to me.  He has a very good arm, and I think he threw it as hard as he could.  Only it was coming straight at the runner’s head, and the runner was between the ball and me.  I yelled at him to get down, but he was choosing not to obey.  I wished I was Satan so I could make him obey, as was Satan’s plan, but alas I am not, I don’t care what that freaking judge said.  Anywho, I desperately tried to reach around they guy’s head to make the catch, and possibly save his life, but because his fat head was between me and the ball I completely lost sight of it and I wound up taking it directly in the wrist, no glove at all.  It hit with a smack, and everyone could hear it had hit flesh and bone and they groaned in sympathy pain.  But for some reason I didn’t feel it immediately.  I asked him if he was OK, and he replied casually that it didn’t touch him.  Using the process of elimination (which I usually do in my pants), I realized it had hit ME, and that was why my wrist was suddenly in a great deal of pain.

 

This was in the third inning, and we typically play seven.  We were already short one player, so I couldn’t come out of the game or we would surely lose.  Cousin Nathan taped me up and told me to just be a man, which seemed like a pretty tall order, but he looks a lot like Satan, so I felt compelled to do so.  As the game went on, the pain worsened.  Before my next at-bat, I realized I couldn’t swing, so I decided to try to take a walk.  Fortunately, that plan worked the first time.  Unfortunately, though, we wound up tied at the end of the seventh, and also at the end of the eighth, so we ended up playing 9 innings.  I wound up having 5 plate appearances after I got hurt.  Even though I couldn’t swing properly, I did manage the walk and 2 singles as I would wince and grunt in pain as I just flicked the bat at the ball and was able to dink a couple over the first-baseman’s head.  Thank goodness I have a good bat, because what I was doing couldn’t even be called a swing.  We wound up winning in the ninth inning, and I claimed all the glory for myself, as was Satan’s plan.

 

That night I didn’t get any sleep because my wrist was throbbing, and the next morning I went to the illegal alien doctor down the street (the doctor isn’t an illegal alien himself, but it’s the place for those without insurance, meaning illegal aliens and me).  Some chick doctor (yeah, a female doctor, like I said I have no insurance) looked at it and said she didn’t think it was broken because of how much I was able to move it still (not much, but a little), but she said they don’t have an x-ray machine there and she recommended I go to the illegal alien doctor in Riverside because they have one.  I recommended that I don’t, and after listening to both arguments carefully and weighing both sides, I wound up following my own advice.

 

I went to the CVS across the street and bought some Motrin and a brace for my wrist, and that was that.  Well, I couldn’t work the next 2 days, and here we are 12 days later and it’s still not completely better, and we lost the following week because I was only about 50%, and I had to miss my Friday game entirely, but at least I didn’t do what some girl-doctor thought I should do, right?  As I said, that was that.

What the Crap, Angel Fans?

September 14th, 2008

Last night Lane and I went to the Angel game, thanks to Barry’s season tickets that he couldn’t use. We had the good fortune of seeing Francisco Rodriguez break the single-season saves record, saving his 58th. But what the crap, Angel fans? When the top of the ninth inning ended and Rodriguez emerged from the bullpen and sprinted to the mound, the stadium was a little more than half-full. The remaining crowd stood up and roared, as should be expected, but how could the stadium not be full for a first-place team on a Saturday night when a record could potentially be set? And did I mention that the game had officially been a sellout?

 

I don’t care about the Angels at all, or Rodriguez, for that matter, but it was really cool to be there and feel the excitement in the air, and of course I stood as well. But as soon as he started warming up on the mound, I realized that everyone else had sat back down, and it was only Lane and I still standing. I hadn’t been aware that I was the only real baseball fan in the stadium, but when I realized it I suddenly felt honored. Somewhat puzzled, we sat back down with everyone else, as though we were merely loser Angel fans ourselves. I then realized that the standing ovation was merely the same ovation virtually every closer in the league gets when he comes in, and nothing more. Again I say what the crap, Angel fans?

 

Rodriguez had his usual scary inning, giving up a hit and a walk to make it interesting, despite having a 3-run lead. At one point Seattle had runners on first and third with one out, meaning a ground ball could easily turn into a double-play, hence ending the game and setting the record. Any pitch could be the last. Yet nobody stood. It seemed like it was any other game. I thought back to when the Dodgers had Eric Gagne, and Gagne was the most dominant closer in the game. The entire crowd at Dodger stadium would stand and cheer every pitch for the entire inning, and that was just on any ordinary night, not one where a record was about to be set. What the crap, Angel fans?

 

Eventually the second out was made, and then the crowd finally stood again. But that happens in any ballpark, in any game, whenever the last out is about to be made. When Raul Ibanez swung and missed at strike three to end the game, the remaining crowd did erupt and cheer, as the Angel dugout and bullpen emptied and all of Rodriguez’s teammates sprinted toward him to celebrate. I then got the impression that a good portion of the fans there did at least know what was going on. But to them I say, what the crap? Where were you the rest of the inning? Granted, it’s not home run number 62 (without steroids) or home run number 756 (without steroids) or any other sacred record like that. But it’s still a record that had stood for almost two decades, and will likely stand for some time after this season is over. And what about the many people in the crowd who I can only assume DIDN’T know what was going on? As I said, I don’t even care about the Angels, but I think I was more excited to be there than most of the people there with their little red Angel shirts and hats. I’ve been to many Angel games in recent years, and I have concluded that the fans there just don’t get it. I’m so proud to bleed Dodger blue. What the crap, Angel fans? Except you, Barry! You’re the man! Keep taking me to games! My sincere apologies to you, please wipe your memory of this blog!