Kicking The Dead Horse

It seems I have been kicking the Dead Horse of American Liberty pretty hard lately; Jesus didn't kick Lazarus, but then Lazarus didn't stinketh so much.
 
I thought I'd just run a riff today, twang my banjo and see if any toes start a-tapping.  Also, I have been asked to talk about abortion, so I will.
 
News services cover a broad plateau, and my own I.C. News is no exception.
 
Lacking in freedoms of press or speech, however,  I.C. News' making a profit is not easy; so unlike CNN and the other boys in the club I cannot hire a correspondent in Moscow, either Russia or Idaho, and I have to rely on unpaid Angel stringers.
 
Sure, I have a bureau on the dark side of the Moon, and Angels enjoy my morning report as far away as the Horse Head Nebula, but it's lonely here out front in the news game, and I never get invited to the Press Club for a drink.
 
Those were the good old days, working the overnight trick in Tokyo, my UPI boss keeping a bottle of whisky in his desk drawer and I having reasonable access to it.  I didn't have freedom of the press then either; what I had, what American journalists in general still have today, was a very pleasant illusion of freedom.
 
Vietnam busted up that illusion for me.
 
It was one thing to have every word I wrote in Tokyo subject to change by half-baked, hot-shot desk boys in New York City who wouldn't know the truth about Asia if it bit them on the ass, because after working my newsman self all night long in the UPI Tokyo bureau I had my Yokohama Mama waiting with coffee and kisses when I got home.  That is, perks fill the gaps the lack of freedom leaves.
 
In Vietnam, however, the value of the truth and keeping that truth in the story all the way to the reader was hammered home to me with machine-gun staccato.
 
Understand, it was impossible, utterly impossible, to get a UPI story from the battlefield to the newspaper looking at all like it did when it was written.  Along the way were a dozen little minds with license to change it.
 
The changes were almost always pathetic and stupid; and it always made me feel sick to my stomach to have my good name in bold face type over those changes.
 
Fellow journalists thought I was as stick in the mud about this, they hummed the tune "that is the way things are", but check out this one example of many, perhaps you will see what I mean.
 
There had been an American Army company three-quarters wiped out a day's walk from their base camp at Dak To.  It was one of those stories that sting to report.  The enemy lost three dead at most, but the American company commander boasted he had killed 450. The enemy had controlled the battlefield for hours after the fight, had gone around shooting the wounded and taking food and cigarettes from the bodies, but leaving the M-16s behind because they were better armed with their AK-47s.
 
So after that story was filed, yelled into ears in Saigon over a static-filled phone line, I was walking around picking up pieces of that terrible story that lay around like crumbs from Satan's birthday cake, and I saw a Roman Catholic priest saying mass for about six survivors; and I walked a little further and came to a big-tent hospital outside of which was a pile of bloody uniforms and boots and bandages, residue of the constant slaughter.
 
So I wrote about that...here the priest saying mass for survivors, there the pile of bloody debris...but when the story came out in the newspaper, when the folks back home read it, the priest, now called "padre",  was depicted as kneeling in front of the bloody debris praying for the dead, and the survivors had been deleted.
 
This might mean nothing to you, but I had risked my life to get that little bit of truth; and anyway, a priest would not do that..
 
Of course I was told  when I complained that was how the system works; but I knew then and I still know now, that is why the system does not work.  Little people messing with big events.
 
You have few free journalists serving you.  They are bought and paid for, and more easily replaced than broken cups; and they know it, and they kiss ass accordingly.
 
That said as I pass time while building up enough energy to kick that dead horse again, I will write about what I was asked by God to write about today:  Abortion.
 
I rarely speak to this subject because the lines are as deeply drawn as First World War trenches, and although I have new information to bring to the subject neither side wants to hear it.
 
On the cartoonish level which this most profound of debates is being carried out, the Liberal Pro-Abortion people seem to object the killing of all human beings except human beings in the womb; and the Conservative Anti-Abortion people seem willing to kill all people except people in the womb.
 
There is, however, a remarkable point of agreement between these two warring factions in that both agree that my children, Virgil Kret's children, have no right to be born.
 
The Liberals and Conservatives, the Democrats and Republicans, the Christians and the Jews, the Good Guys and the Bad Guys, all support the torture-enslavement of God's One True Telepath, and part of that torture-enslavement, part of the fun of that torture-enslavement, is preventing the conception of my children.
 
This fact colors my view of those people, but not my view of abortion.  I suggest to you mass abortion is one of the great tragedies and errors of human history; you might all of you have drunk poison Kool-Aid.
 
According to what I know, the solving of any problem by killing human beings is never a solution to the problem.  "Thou shalt not kill" means Thou shalt not kill, and you think you can edit this and change that, you can kneel the priest of it in front of the bloody pile of it; but I say you in fact cannot; and the aborting those of human beings will bring the future to punch you in the nose and the past to bite your ass.
 
There is yet another layer to my view of abortion, that is that the human being is a reincarnating-evolving being, and that each succeeding generation is equipped to deal with the world as it finds it.
 
So, when you abort millions of members of a generation you create a hole within the divine genius of that generation, you kill off the Einsteins, you kill off the Buddhas, you kill of the Jesuses, you kill off the Mozarts, the Beethovens; the Babe Ruths and the Bob Hopes...and further, and this is a terribly important point, you shell-shock the ones you let through.
 
I do not know if you are really ready to know what the human race is, so I am going to hold off on this subject for a time and see if there are any toes a-tapping to this banjo-strumming, hold off and see if anyone, pro or con, wants to know just how important each human fetus is.  Otherwise I am just kicking a dead human race.