Is Barack Obama a Fagin?

This is just meant to be a laugh, so please calm yourself. I am not democrat, republican, or independent. I am codependant.

Today, a man forced himself into your children’s classrooms and attempted to touch their…hearts. Who is this man? Who is vying for the attention and affection of your children while you are working for your hard earned American dollars? The man is someone called Barack Obama. Where were the teachers and school administration during this molestation of your children’s minds? They were acting the part of the Artful Dodger to Obama’s Fagin. Obama is like Fagin. Look at the facts.

Fagin corrupted the minds of youths by convincing them it was alright to steal from hard working Ameri…Englishmen. The money was then given to Fagin so he could redistribute the wealth. In other words, Fagin was a socialist just like Obama.

Don’t let your innocent children be swept up into Obama’s army of urchins. You have to act now because Obama is very well spoken and we all know the lure of the hip hop culture. Rappers have been known for their “ability” to change the meaning of words. Just remember how the word “bad” came to mean “good” because of people like Michael Jackson. Obama, like rappers, has this gift, so you should read his speech with a discerning eye to find the code words.

Let’s begin with the overall message of responsibility and trying hard. This is obviously enlisting your children into the socialist party. He is saying that you will be rewarded for your hard work by your government. He is replacing parents with government. Government will tuck you in at night and read you a story. Government will pack your lunch for school. Government knows what is best for you. Government will always love you. Do you want your children raised by the government? Picture a bright Orwellian day when your child turns you in because you say something disrespectful about the government. It could happen tomorrow.

Next, let’s look at the role model children that Obama gave as examples. Jazmin Perez couldn’t speak English when she started school. Now she is on her way to being Dr. Jazmin Perez. Try to read between the lines. First of all, Jazmin is an illegal alien. Second, her becoming a doctor means she is taking that job away from honest Americans. Third, she is in graduate school studying public health which means she is getting ready to work in the new Obama Care system. Sounds like she knew something before the rest of us? Yeah, well you missed the information because it probably wasn’t said in English.

Andoni Schultz and Shantell Steve are examples because they sound exotic. This is real trickery on his part. Don’t let the example of these two overcoming obstacles such as cancer and gangs persuade you to be a socialist. Be vigilant.

Towards the end, Obama attempted to reach the youth by invoking the name of J.K. Rowling. Don’t think that this was just an attempt to share a story of overcoming obstacles. Instead be aware of the blatant attempt at dark magic. Everyone knows J.K. Rowling’s books are about kids and witchcraft. Don’t let your children be swept up by this American, non magic, black Dumbledore. Let your schools know that we will not tolerate witchcraft in American schools.

What was missing from Obama’s story of perseverance is all of the white men that made this country great. Why didn’t he mention just one of them? Perhaps it is because he is a socialist.

I ask that each of you do the right thing. In response to Obama’s speech, you should take your children out of school the next time he decides to give one of his speeches. No test or class is so important that your children should have to hear his socialist rants. I had rather they fail. You are responsible for your children. It is not up to the president to inspire your children. Inspiring your children is your job. Inspiring other people’s children is typical socialist behavior. Remember, it is better to prevent other people’s opinions infecting your children rather than arming them with the ability to decide for themselves. Anything else is socialism.



“Men who look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right; but the somber colours are reflections from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision.” Charles Dickens

The Unlikely Triathlete

When I was in both the seventh and eighth grades, I was on the basketball C-team. I made the team for three reasons. One, I out hustled the rest. Two, I was a decent 3 point shooter. Three, only two people got cut that actually tried out.

It is a treasured memory. For all my awkwardness, I felt like it was something I was pretty good at. I spent countless hours practicing. I was selected by the coach to go scout games with the older kids. It was great.

Due to financial reasons, my basketball career ended abruptly and my work career began. Kirsten never knew me as a basketball player, but I swore to her that I could play. My chance to prove it to her came in my senior year with the highly anticipated senior/junior basketball game. As class president, I put myself on the starting team.

I was tripped in warm-up and fell. Not knowing I had fractured my elbow, I tried to play through the pain. Kirsten, not knowing that I had fractured my elbow, thought I was the worst player ever. I was embarassed. Although, I had the sling to prove it, Kirsten thinks I would have sucked anyway.

So, when I decided that I was going to enter a triathalon, she scoffed. She has some good reasons to doubt me. First, I swim like a brick. Second, I don't currently run anywhere. I would move to the third, but I just covered two thirds of the race.

Despite my athletic short comings, I will enter and finish a triathalon. I have to enter into training to mold this body into that of a triathelete. It may take me a while since apparently the triathalon season is almost over. I still plan to make it my goal to be ready by next year's races.

If I fail, I will say my arm still hurts.

Something real special at Lake Merriweather

I know this is two posts about bike trips in a row, but please bare with me. Until last week, I really had not ridden a bike in, let's say, 14 years. On Memorial Day, the young adults of our church had the opportunity to go to the coast. We took a boat ride to Black Beard Island. I think that is the right name. If that is not its name, it should be. On that trip, I trekked into the island and around its paths. I know other people have been there (it was a path after all), but I still felt a little closer to nature and peace with myself.

While riding back from the library today, I saw a dirt road and took it. In just a short while I knew I was on to something special. The path split into several different paths. Paths that I will be going back to try later. For now, I stayed on the main course.

The path opened up onto a big man made pond. I would say bar pit, but this is the nicest bar pit I have ever seen. The area becomes very hilly (real word) and rises in some areas to create mini cliffs above the water. There are paths all around the bar pit and it looks like a dirt bike trail with big hills were sculpted out as well.

Due to articles of clothing, beer bottles, and abandoned coolers, I know this place is no secret from the kids and the party people. Somehow my brain has held on to the idea of discovery and the dream that something could be new. In other words, my heart felt like I had discovered the place regardless of how many people had been there before. In your mind, hear the kid opening his presents in "Christmas Story." A big hill, "oh boy, that's mine." An old bridge, "oh boy, that's mine."

The trip was eventually tainted by a couple of young ladies who apparently drove out there for some under age drinking/smoking. I continued on my path with a little bit of resentment. They were proof that this place did not belong to me exclusively.

Still, I invite you all to my new secluded get away in the heart of Pooler. I have dubbed it Lake Merriweather.

Bicycle Diaries

Today I decided to ride my bike for an actual trip as opposed to my unusual (unusual because it is far from normal) ride for exercise. Kirsten left me with the task of getting stamps. So, I decided I would ride my bike to the post office. This is not a short distance, but I remember when I used to ride my bike as a kid to the tune of 10 miles to go to the country store. I quickly realized that I am not a kid anymore, and I am not in shape. I had to take a few walking breaks along the way. Here is some of the adventure.

I passed over a canal that I have driven over a million times. This time I stopped to look at it. It is surprisingly beautiful if you take away the litter left by irresponsible people. I saw a turtle jump in the water.

While riding, I saw a beautiful yard that had grass that was too high for a yard that had been so sculpted. I thought to myself that this seemed odd (my marathon runs of House have taught me to look for clues everywhere), so I thought it was old couple that was feeling sick that lived there. When I rode back by on the way home an old man was riding the lawnmower. I think he sensed my lack of approval and took action.

On the way to the Post Office, I noticed a cross and some flowers in front of a tree that had some debris around it. I wondered what happened. On the way back, I crossed the street and ended up walking and talking to a either a person that works for Western Sizzlin, or is an ex employee that still loves to wear the shirt. He explained to me that it had been a motorcycle accident. The driver died on the spot. Then we talked about a hit and run involving a little boy last night. One of his friends called out to him and he left me.

I was passed by a fire truck responding to a call. On the back of their rig was the Tasmanian devil. I thought to myself that is exactly want I want in a fire crew. I want the Tasmanian devil coming in to save me. Fire be damned.

I stopped for a water at the gas/washer&dryer/hair salon/convenience store. I was standing next to my bike when a child came up to me and asked "who are you?" I laughed and said, "I am Jonathan, who are you?" The boy's grandmother threatened the boy with a beating for "botherin" me.

On the way home, a group of school girls commented that they liked my sunglasses as I rode by. Aside from making me uncomfortable I find that funny because they are Liz Claiborne sunglasses that Kirsten got free with purchase like 10 years ago. Durable and still stylish.

Finally, a school guard stopped traffic for me. She was a little old lady. I told her that I wasn't quite a schoolboy, but thank you. She just smiled and said, "that's alright."

Quite a trip. It may seem boring, but I enjoyed myself. I believe I will have to go on more bike rides.

Before I was nine

Before I was nine I was a preacher, ninja, magician, disc jockey, leader of a rebellion group, and all around hero.

Daddy sang bass, mama sang tenor, and a young Jonathan Mullis took the message to Frasier Street. As a young one I learned about Revelations. I was convinced that I was to be one of the two in the end time that would be preaching the return of Jesus and would probably, ultimately, give my life for the work. It was with this knowing that I dressed in my Sunday's best outfit that included a vest that would make a banker envious, picked up my Bible, and began to walk the streets of my neighborhood. How many souls were saved? How many baptized? It is hard to get an accurate number because I didn't really talk to anyone. I, instead, just walked up and down the streets holding my Bible and thinking good thoughts. I don't know how many adults I worried into a frenzy over the fear that I might knock on their door.

My dad took me to see David Copperfield. David Copperfield wore black. I decided that David Copperfield, in addition to being a highly skilled magician, was a ninja as well. I decided that I would be too. I dressed in black jeans, my David Copperfield t-shirt, and a bandanna that I wore like Karate Kid. Once I was dressed in a manner that would make it easy for me to disappear, I practiced moving around the neighborhood without being detected. I went through the neighborhood, running from tree to tree and pressing myself against walls. I did this in broad daylight. Impressed?

Z-102 was THE radio station growing up. I had a Z card. Inspired by my sister who was a teen in the 80s, I learned all of the DJs names and wanted to be them. I gathered a couple of the kids in my neighborhood and we formed a radio station in my room. The radio station was a keyboard that often just played the dog barking when you pressed the keys, a microphone that didn't hook to anything, a guitar, a harmonica, a ham radio, and the best item which was a radio/cassette/vinyl/eight track. Our show times were not consistent, but it can be argued that it was some of the best stuff on the waves at the time.

Kirsten's favorite story of that time was when I led a small platoon in the legendary battle of Frasier Forrest. My platoon consisted of myself, my friend Trey, and his little brother. We were constantly under attack from a boy named J.R. and his over sized friend. We decided to stand up for ourselves and prepared for battle. I was inspired by a combination of Rambo, Macgyver, Tour of Duty, and GI Joe. There was a small wooded area that we planned to lure our enemy into and then, by leading them through a series of booby traps, defeat them completely. We began well. They chased us on their BMX bikes. We led them into the woods through the spot of where the first trap was supposed to work. It was pretty simple. It was a line tied to a tree. Trey's little brother was hiding at the other end. He would wait for us to pass and then pull the line up on the angry youth chasing us. For reasons unforeseeable, Trey's brother being too small, our enemy rode right over the line. The following traps did not work so well either. The swinging "battering rams", objects tied by rope to the trees, swung wildly off mark. The final trap was a young sapling tied to the ground that was supposed to fly up and unseat our following foe. Our calculations failed to consider two points. One, the sapling's spirit was broken by it's incarceration resulting in its half hearted flight upwards. Two, the tree wasn't close enough to the path, so it would have missed even if it had flown with the vigor we had imagined.

When I think back on those times, I remember my mind feeling completely comfortable and completely unaware of the absurdity of my actions. It is the glory of childhood.

Eighth Grade O.G.

Eighth grade was an interesting time in my life. In eighth grade I found Snoop Dog, Warren G, TLC, Dr. Dre, Eazy E, Bone Thugz N Harmony, and many more. In eighth grade I was convinced I had soul. I even changed my friend circle to include a nice mixture of folks that although ashamed to admit, I felt were my gang. Yes, I was a young gangster in a rural southern community. Next to a paper plant and a military base, agriculture was still the main job source. Yet, hip hop found me. I was uncomfortable in my skin, so I adopted a new persona. Never even able to fake being a bad boy I was basically the same old me but with drooping tapered leg jeans. I also added as much athletic clothing to my wardrobe as possible. My homies, as they were, included Fred (Black), Fred (White), Jared, Andre, Juan, and Demetrius. We were a fear invoking crew to be sure.

I don't know how this all came about, and I don't remember it being a real decision. One day I was with the friends I had grown up with and I was sitting with these guys the next. None of us had ever been involved in anything gang related regardless of the claims we made that were not even close to being true. We rarely ever called each other on the blatant errors in our stories. Jared, for example, claimed to have been shot. He had moved here, so it was hard to verify his story other than the fact that he lacked a gun shot wound.

It is painful to even think about. I was such a dork, but it would have took some convincing for me to see it that way back then. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a pretty fly white guy with tapered jeans pulled low (I actually didn't get straight leg jeans until my 9th grade year), a Tarheels jersey (Tshirt underneath as to not show skin), and some Nikes. I think the Nikes were the high top Force. I would also have worn a hat. The hat would have been either a Tarheels hat, or the very popular Miami Hurricanes.

I rapped lyrics about smoking chronic and acting like I could relate, but I never did. I never have. I don't think any of them had, yet, either. I also liked TLC's "Red Light Special" without having had any experience in that department either. I couldn't function well around the ladies. I had several crushes on black girls because they seemed to be somewhat nicer to me, not sure why, although I never had the courage to ask any of them out or make what could be deemed as a "move" on them. Looking back, I think it was pity on their part. Special call out to my old school shorties.

Surprisingly, I don't think any of my family knew that this was even going on. I was able to slip between my respectful country boy accent to the misunderstood gangsta from Compton during the long bus ride to and fro.


My gang life was short lived. I realized that it would lead down a pretty bad road. That precedent was set for me by "Boyz in the Hood" which was my favorite movie at the time. But for a short time at least, I was eighth grade original gangsta.

Anger and Outrage!

What is the one thing that causes you to flip and act like a complete lunatic? I mean mommy dearest, no wire hangers, kind of angry. I often get a little nutty when fast food establishments are mean with an extra side of rude. I consider it personal and fully believe it was intentional. I have driven the ten minute ride back to the restaurant for my missing burger or fries. True story, ask Kirsten.

I have witnessed my father become a screaming, red-faced, madman stomping and throwing his hat when Sam's failed to open the extra line. I have witnessed Kirsten...I have never witnessed Kirsten do anything but show kindness and constraint.

Tell me a time when you lost it and showed your ugly side. You kind of have to respond to this or it looks like I don't have any friends, and that really tees me off.