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The First Monopoly Presodent.

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      It took 240 years, but Americans have elected their first monopoly president and now, Americans and America seem to have become monopoly as well.

      In the famous board game, all of the people who play the game know before hand that the transactions that take place during the game are not real. So, people just do not go straight to jail.

      Any five-year old knows that the events that are carried out on the monopoly board are just for entertainment. The monopoly man in the White House seems to lack the faculty of being able to tell the difference between what is factual and what is fantasy.

      Today, there is a "man" in the White House that we have to ask if he is the original monopoly banker. Somehow, in spite the overwhelming evidence that we are living in a real country and a real world, the monopoly man in the White House seems to be oblivious to that fact.

      The fact that there are millions of Americans who need a government to at least recognize that they are real people, with the natural needs that maintain life. Instead, we have a monopoly man in the White House who seem to think that nothing is real except the infantile and ignorant notions that he spouts.

      I must also say that Americans have to blame themselves for the wounding of Americans and America. For what no foreign military could do, the American people have, in a state of lunacy, elected a "man" who is clearly living on Park Place. And in the process, America's place in the world, though damaged by Bush, has been permanently damaged by taking into itself, the seed of its own demise.

      Perhaps, we are witnessing the seminal mark of the decline of America. And we must remember that all that we have seen so far is only after one month of the monopoly man's reign. The next four years is at least scary for most people in America and regrettably, for millions of people in the rest of the world.

      I am hoping that in four years time, if the monopoly man is still there, that the American people regain some measure of sanity and vote for a republican or a democrat, but vote for someone who is fully conscious that America and Americans are real and that the rest of the world is also a real place.

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      WARNING TO YABBERZ USERS

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          Mike HortonMelissa Nguyen Horton

          Dr. Oz Found dead

          If you see this notice on your screen do not open it.

          It will freeze and lock up your computer

          If you do

          Use, "Force quit " and restart

          george

          Note: alltheworldsastage suggested a Hard Shutdown.

          Hit the power button ASAP.

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          Black History Month...Barak Obama

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              This was in my Memories on Facebook...In HONOR of Black History Month...I give you 106 year old woman...Meets the Obama's...

              Speaking of the Obama's...

              Black History Month takes me to recognize the man, who dealt with INSURMOUNTABLY UGLY racism and obstruction...because he is Black. We are so PROUD of our Obama's...Twice we honored them with electing, with majorities, them to lead this country. And LEAD they did. Michelle also a Rock Star.

              Below you will enjoy a cute little woman, meeting her Dream Team.

              Moving down to video number two...


              Our President Obama at the Canadian House of Parliament..first a photo to capture this moment...



              Now the video to warm the cockles of your heart...

              A little History to the big moment...



              The look on his face at the end of this video...Says it all. He is/was one of the GREATEST President's.was in office...

              So PROUD I was alive when he Guided us to HOPE. It takes an amazing man to give hope when you were facing such racism...POWERFUL.

              After Obama received the,'Four more Years' chant...more speakers were presented. Their words sum up how we feel about this MAN.

              What a difference a DAY makes...hey?



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              There Was No Good Old Days

              People want to suggest that pre-Obamacare was good, but that is a lie. Every year when employer's insurance enrollment came up for renewal, premium went up and the employee saw another benefit was eliminated. High school students upon graduation had the choice of enrolling in college in order to remain on their parent's insurance or having no insurance. People with pre-exist condition was being denied insurance. Those with chronic illness like M.S. or Type I diabetes were exposed to having no insurance due to the double blow of a pre-existing condition and reach the million dollar limit. Reaching that million dollar limit was not an impossible feat due to the ever rising cost of treatment and medication. The health insurance in pre-Obama was like car or house insurance, you buy it and hope that you never need it, because if you use it, you are toast. However we are not a car or a house, you can't trade your body for a new body or sell your house. You have only one body and sometime through no fault of you, it get ill or a condition develop. This is what the Affordable Care Act, tries to address. The concept that we are human. This is what is lacking with this administration, they have no humanity.

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              New

              If You Lost Your Father In Your Teen Years: This May Interest You

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                  When Your Father Left Too Soon by Frosty Wooldridge

                  This request offers you an opportunity to express yourself concerning your father’s death when you were a young man or young lady. Or share this request with someone you know who experienced this event.

                  If you lost your father to an early death when you were between the ages of 8 and 18, you and I possess much in common. Or you may have lost him through divorce or he abandoned your family. My 46-year-old father died instantly of a heart attack when I was 17. His death changed my life and my brothers’ and my sister’s, radically, from happy kids, kids who played sports with their dad, kids who loved their dad, kids who enjoyed the love of their dad—to instantly “no dad” ever again in our lives. I remember that day when my father’s best friend came up to me in the parking lot to tell me the news. He leaned into the car window, “Frosty I don’t know how to tell you this, but your father died while umpiring the Albany High School game today.”

                  From that point on, our lives changed from normal to not normal. From happy to vacant. From our dad being proud of us when we hit a homer or scored a basket to no dad to be proud of us anymore. No more movies and popcorn with dad. Life and circumstances ripped our father out of our lives. It changed the way we thought, acted and lived our lives. It changed my sister’s life dramatically from a happy girl to withdrawn, overweight from eating food for comfort and socially out of sorts. One of my brothers became angry at everything and lost his sense of balance in the world.

                  Over the years, I have wished I could talk to my dad as a man, bicycle with him one day for a chat or sit by a campfire. Always something in the back of my mind. Millions of other men and women have lost their fathers, too, at a young age. They may feel the same way. Each of us who lost a father shares a heartbreaking fate that only we can feel and only we can share.

                  You’re invited to write an essay of 1,000, or 2,000, or 3,000, or 5,000 words describing your feelings, your pains, your triumphs or your sadness of losing your dad between the ages of 8 and 18. That’s when the most impact hit you because you were close to him and he was around the house and your connection was deepest and most profound. Write about the moment when you learned of his death. Write about your shock. Write about how you felt and what it meant to you then, and what it means to you today. Write about how it has affected you over the years. Write about your feelings. Write about how you coped. Write about how you didn’t or haven’t coped. Write about how you reacted to drugs, depression, booze, aberrant behavior, etc. Write about what it did to your life path. Write whether you liked him or not. Got along with him or not. Write his good and bad points. How did it affect you spiritually and how did it affect your concept of God? Fairness?

                  I am writing this book by weaving your story along with other men and women, and connect the dots. We intertwine our lives with the death of our fathers. We share a common bond of pain, of anguish and loss of the most important man in our lives. Millions of men and women lost their fathers to an early death. Your story will give them comfort, hope and ideas on how to deal with their pain. Show how you healed, dealt with your pain or how you haven’t.

                  Once it publishes, you will receive a copy of the book. You may leave your name out of it for your own privacy or I will only use your first name only or your full name if you like. You can write this essay or I can interview you with a tape recorder to get every detail of your story. If you know of other men or women who would like to share their story, please forward this request to them. They can be any age. I can email this request, too.

                  Thank you for making this book possible: When Your Father Left Too Soon.

                  Life and light,

                  Frosty Wooldridge, Golden, CO, frostyw@juno.com

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                  I'm Proud Of My Nephew

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                      https://www.facebook.com/noahdre.murphy

                      He has schizophrenia, but he takes his meds and he hasn't let his disability stop him from getting and keeping a job, living on his own, and making his own financial decisions. Millions of Americans struggle with mental illness and many of them are making useful contributions to society.

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                      The Sledgehammer Of Mortality

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                          If you ever watched the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral it starts off perfectly for the kind of post this is, a personal one. One that starts off with a series of rapidly repeating screams of the F word, in this case with a lot of 911 kind of prayers, and that wields a sledgehammer of mortality along with it.

                          I have long admitted that these are selfish writings I do, therapy for the ailing mind of a creative nitwit. So when I get these WTF moments in life I sometimes feel the need to share to just get them out and get through them. Some do their therapy through politics and ideals, I have no filters, so I can do them right out in the open, I can shower and wash my clothes in the middle of the street and scoff at the laughter because I am at least clean.

                          Now I know that everybody and their brother goes through this, I am not sure if it all goes the same though. At points in my life it seems as if a big culling of friends happens by the big guy upstairs. At one point in 08' I had 14 friends in my circle of people pass within 9 months of each other, family, friends and just a crazy assortment of people that meant the world to me. This last month I had another four, and the telltale hands of time and rumors says that I may not be done with this any time soon. Like I said though, everyone goes through it and grief is a baffling condition. This is about friends though and some thoughts I had about my own demise that were framed in a way I can't turn away from.

                          Last night I get a call from my oldest friend in the world, we have known each other since we were two. One of my earliest memories is a ginger headed kid grabbing my ankle and dragging me back down the stairs I had just crawled up. So he calls at five-thirty, this is the kind of friend that you don't hear from for months and years and pick up again like it is just air. He said I wouldn't like the news and I immediately went to his legal and other battles with the law. Nope, my mistake, it was about our other friend, our other hiking buddy, the Porthos to our Musketeers. They were going to remove his life support at 9pm, there is nothing they can do for him anymore. At 9pm they did just that, soon after he saw his mother and sister again. It was peaceful and humbling, it was also a sledgehammer of four hours that I am still working through.

                          Neighborhoods are like small town unto themselves and these were the guys from my hood. These were the guys who made fun of me, fought me, respected me because I had gone through what they had and lived to tell a story about it or two. We were the kids on the bikes, the kids doing lawns, and the ones that played in parks and forts and created a magical environment to grow up and speak about. The ones who lost the same friends along the way and whose lives were shaped by the same forces. The Pony-boy's and the Little Rascals, the Dennis the Menace's and the Red and Rovers.

                          We pulled up under the bridge at about 7:30pm, a light was on in the little RV in front of us. We had to pick up another friend of ours, the same as me a childhood friend that was always just there, I remember he and his sister at my fourth birthday party and the playing of pin the tail on the donkey. His brother couldn't go because he had a bloody nose that day and he took him a slice of cake when he went home afterwards. He was there with his girlfriend who has some health issues as well and hearing about his heart attack and diabetes just got my head spinning. Now here we are three guys and my oldest friends wife who selflessly drove despite her husbands objections. We had not seen each other in years really, the replay of the memory recall just clicks on and we were all home again in a weird way. We were all in our 50's and at the same time we were 12 again and 16 and all of those ages in between. We were sad, and we were scared, a sledgehammer was taken out last night and it started swinging. We looked at each other at one time and I could almost tell that we all were asking ourselves who is next? Not that we wanted to go there really, but inside I am sure bets were being made with our bookies of morbidity.

                          Foundations of life and belief are started with those friends of my youth. A core group of hangers on kept together, kept in touch. We moved around and eventually came back home to roost in a sense. Not too far from that home of our childhoods, the RV was parked about two miles away from the old streets, you live what you know. We were the Boy Scouts who grew up and hiked still together, the 40 somethings who wheezed and whined their way up the mountain early in Spring, and raced by mid July. Who at one time carried more weight in alcohol and ammunition than anything else and ended up bringing none when it all caught up with us.

                          He had no Family left here in the states, his German cousins will get the estate, he had neighbors and friends there and all that he held close anymore. He had kept this all very quiet for a number of months and did not call me to let me know. I was furious at my buddy number one for keeping this from me, but I had to respect it, I had to honor his wishes. He was just looking out for us again the only way he could, save us the grief and suffering, he was going to be free and with his family again. He had found and known a loving God and he was at peace. His face was gaunt and his eye sockets shallow, the waxy skin something too familiar to me and it just took me back to see him like this. I superimposed a living memory of a face on him and took his arm. I said my piece and peace, I held him for a moment and said I loved him and thanked him for being in my life. Within the hour he was gone from the outside and just living on the inside of me and so many more. I have many tales to write of and many stories to pass along, I had better take care of myself, I have an important job to do. We don't deserve to be forgotten, we are worthy of our own story and it shall be done somehow.

                          We are all worthy of our stories, of our lives and in writing that part of my own I asked my wife to do the same, keep it quiet if it happens. No memorial or anything, just get it done and pour me out somewhere. As this was happening and I am looking at the people that he loved and cared about, I may have to look on my position on that. I would have loved to have gotten the opportunity to thank him better, to forgive and be forgiven, and to have loved him a little more than I showed in life. I hugged my friends, the ones living and deceased last night. My oldest friends in the world and they hugged me back. We may not be together again like this and we know that much is true. It is as familiar as rain, and it makes everything glisten when the opportunity arises for good times. It is a sad commentary that we love each other too much to trouble each other, too much to talk to each other more, and to simply love on each other more. As time marches on and this thing we call being human gives way to that next chapter, the sledgehammer of mortality swings mightily. I hope that when it does come my friends and family can at least write a decent obit, and let folks know I liked words, and sharing my story. I have one to work on now for a friend, this is who we are... worthy.


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                          Trump: Parallels In Real Life.

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                              Once upon a time, a woman, who was brilliant and who earned an MBA from a famous east coast university, decided she needed a diversion, so she took up knitting. At 35 years of age, she had never picked up a set of knitting needles in her entire life, but she decided to give it a go. She reasoned that she was highly educated, very successful and able to assimilate new ideas quickly, so she should have no problems becoming a great knitter

                              Her very first project was not a scarf or blanket; it was a sweater for her father. It was quite elaborate in its design and, from a distance, looked good; not great, but good.

                              Upon closer inspection, however, it was quite amateurish. Stitches were dropped, one sleeve was longer than the other and the button holes did not line up. The ends of several threads were exposed. Generally, her father appreciated the effort, but he knew he could not wear it in public as it would be an embarrassment for his daughter and himself.

                              When asked why she didn't practice on something simpler, she said that she did it for herself and that anything less than an elaborate sweater would not prove to herself that she could do it.

                              Out of respect, one day the dad wore the sweater to a family gathering. At one point, his granddaughter hopped off his lap, snagging one of the loose threads, and ran across the room. Soon the sweater had unraveled until it was nothing more than a tangled mess of yarn on the floor.

                              Why am I telling that story? I see that this is the perfect allegory for the current occupant of the White House.

                              Donald Trump looked at all the people who were running for office, and asked himself, "How hard can it be? I am smarter than all of them." He wanted to prove to the world that he could do whatever he set out to do, so instead of practicing by being 1 of 435 Representatives, or 1 of 100 Senators, or even one of 50 state governors, he opted for the big prize.

                              From a distance, Trump's plans looked good to some, especially those who knew nothing of knitting governing. But on closer examination, the end-product was full of holes and dropped stitches. As soon as someone starts pulling on the loose thread of Michael Flynn, or Trump's involvement with Putin, or the antics of Steve Bannon, and runs with it, the Trump Sweater will deteriorate into a pile of worthless actions with no similarity to the ideas that spawned them.

                              The daughter found out that being smart and wanting something is very different than being able to do it. She could not blame old yarn and bad knitting needles for the defects in her project, just as Trump cannot blame the media and internal leaks his unraveling administration. The truth is that whether one is knitting sweaters or being the Commander in Chief practice and experience is better than learning on the job.

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