Earl Aagaard’s opinions about everything that interests him. Og also enjoys gardening, travel, reading, woodbutchery, and lots of other stuff.
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If you haven’t ever read the blog over at IOWAHAWK, then you have a treat in store…..he writes a LOT of incredibly inventive political satire. In addition, some of his posting is family-oriented, and he’s a major fan of vintage autos and hot-rods…......
On my birthday, October 17, Iowahawk posted an entry (non-satirical) he called I AM JOE, dealing with what happened to “Joe the Plumber”, the guy who asked the question that elicited Obama’s statement that he wanted to tax Joe more, if he were to buy the business as he planned, in order to “spread the wealth around”..... It ended up:
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Are you a Joe? Say it proud. Leave it on every goddamn newspaper comment section and online forum. Let these pressroom and online thugs know you won’t stay silent when they try to destroy the life of a private citizen for speaking his mind—because for every one of them, there are a million Joe Wurzelbachers. And for that we should all be thankful.
Apparently, that brought in some criticism from readers who thought that since Iowahawk is defending Joe the Plumber, he ought to defend Bill Ayers against the ruthless attacks of Rupert Murdoch. And so, our man Iowahawk has risen to the occasion. On October 24, he penned a post that illustrates his genius, in a post he called ![]()
I AM BILL. I am the everyday forgotten little guy in your neighborhood, the quiet anarcho-syndicalist family man who gets up early and punches the clock at the local state university, writing the manifestos and polemics and grant proposals that keep America humming. I’m just doing my job, and all I ask in return is a little respect. And tenure. And Chicago Citizen of the Year awards. And two graduate assistants to grade exams for Practicum in Imperialist Racist Hegemony 311, because I’m teaching two sections this semester. Also, a sabbatical to Italy next summer would be nice.
I AM BILL. I grew up in a simple little gated community just like yours, with white picket fences and where all the aux pairs and gardeners know your name. When my dad came home from a hard day’s work as a CEO, he was never too tired to help me with my homework or tousle my hair for winning the Lake Forest Academy essay contest on Hegelian Dialectics. Yes, he was a simpleminded bourgeois technocrat of the capitalist war machine, but he made sure I got the tuition and tutors and sailing lessons and allowance I needed to make it on my own. I wish he was still alive so I could tell him how much I really planned to kill him last.
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