You are quick to testify that America was a transcendental idea in the 1776 world of totalitarian dictatorships. The Founders were brilliant. Their homage to individual liberty was divine afflatus. The separation of powers was bedrock common sense, designed to prohibit villainy and infidelity. But these great men miscalculated.  Thinking that time and experience could only elevate knowledge and wisdom, they couldn’t envision the unthinkable – that 230 years later ignorance would sweep the fruited plain like the Mexican drug parade into Arizona. And even worse, that corruption would erode the foundations of America’s virtue like bionic termites with an attitude. You know the Founders weren’t naive. Painstakingly, they drafted checks and balances to protect the people from tyranny.  They called on Congress to behave as part-time public servants “of the people, by the people and for the people.” So much for best-laid plans.  Today, the road to Congress is paved with gold and lifetime wealth.  “Public service” is a lucrative career. Congress and its supporting bureaucracy are Masters. The People are servants. The Founders didn’t conceive the rise of this malignancy – a protracted Congressional incumbency. Too bad. Now you’re stuck with it. You witness the malignancy at work. It’s there, in the open, arrogantly going about its business, ruthless. But only today did you realize how incumbency eviscerates The Constitution and basic principles of liberty. Look at one notable example. The people of the Massachusetts’s 4th congressional district have elected Newton’s Barney Frank to inhabit the halls of Congress since 1981 – for those mathematically challenged, about 30 years. Three decades. Time enough to have godlike power, because you see, incumbency is everything. In Frankie’s case, in 2007, he became chairman of the House Financial Services Committee. Big Kahuna. Lord of securities, insurance, banking, and housing. Undeniably, one of the most powerful members of Congress. Bow. Scrape. Only this is the cretin who, with Chuck Schumer, brought down Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac to unleash the now infamous housing tsunami and eventual financial meltdown. Nice job, Frankie. Your financial malfeasance and duplicity fits right in with your practice of accepting and not reporting personal gifts and perks, and fixing parking tickets for a male prostitute who was running a brothel out of your Dupont Circle condominium.  This tale of incompetence and immorality can have only one outcome. You guessed it, Matilda. The people of the 4th district – American citizens – elected him to yet another term. Good show, citizens. Give yourselves a gold star for blind loyalty, and take solace that you have many comrades in many other congressional districts who, like you, continuously exercise their superior intellect. Yes, dear hearts, the Founders overestimated the Balance of Powers. They could not comprehend that one congressman from one district could impact, on the most personal level, the lives of millions of Americans. And herein lies the evil of incumbency – a “few” people in one district – with their particular prejudice and self interest – control, not only the lives of millions of souls, but also the state of the nation itself. Unrestricted incumbency is a virulent cancer. Chemo won’t work. Time to cut it out.  But don’t hold your breath. One of the surgeons is Frankie.

You’ve been thinking about Gangs. Surely you’re a member of at least one. You’ve heard of the famous ones. The Huns had a good run for the better part of a century. Who can forget the Mongols, tribes that massacred their way into one massive dynasty, eventually holding sway over 100 million souls? All manner of kings and nobility, with their stable of henchmen, kept the vermin-ridden rabble in line. They still do, by the way. In the 1400’s, Spain’s Tomas de Torquemada was a fan of various forms of torture including foot roasting, garrucha (also known as strappado) and suffocation. Ivan The Terrible earned his reputation the good old fashioned way. Tamerlane (Timur) massacred huge populations without mercy, and built city structures using the skulls of his victims. You might say he at least was a resourceful thug. Throughout recorded history, Gangs were in charge at the point of an arrow, blade, gun or switchblade; and the rank and file accepted their subjugation as the natural order of things. Then in one shining moment, along came a group of men who changed the course of that ignominious history forever by audaciously advancing a decidedly absurd proposition: individual human life is sacred. All at once, a civilized society resolved that the basic individual rights of life, liberty and property transcended the capricious whim of a ruling axis. As noble as that proposition was, it was even more practical, unleashing a tsunami of individual achievement that turned the world on its ear. Innovation flourished. Civilization soared. But now you must confess something: that American miracle – The Gift that swept the world — has lost its luster. Inconceivably, we Americans, despite our alleged devotion to self-reliance, have allowed The Gift to rust and fall into disrepair. Wait, you assert, the decline isn’t your doing. No way. Your resolve is to be independent; you claim to march to your own drum; you swear that you believe in the sanctity of individual liberty and individual accountability. Sorry, but the evidence proves that you routinely hunger for refuge under the aegis of The Gang. It’s in your genes. You want to follow leaders, however corrupt; to have the approval of your peers and reap the benefits of membership. Look at your behavior. You zealously solicit membership in churches, country clubs, trade unions, civic clubs, chambers of commerce, Sierra Club, NRA, PACS, AARP, NAACP, NOW, ACORN – organizations euphemistically called special interest groups — all with agendas to accomplish one purpose – to collect your money. And because you’re totally sympathetic to The Gang, you also support and sustain two of the most powerful – the Democrat and Republican Parties – each modeled after the Gangs of yesteryear, as well as those of today that inhabit penal institutions and city streets, like the Mafia, Aryan Brotherhood, Black Guerillas and hundreds of others.  You think the comparison is bogus. Sure you do. But the facts prove otherwise. The Boss of each party tells the soldiers how to vote. The Boss has Lieutenants who run the committees. The Lieutenants dole out responsibilities. Informers inform. Enforcers enforce. With few exceptions, the soldiers follow their leaders or risk political exile. With even rarer exception, one rule guides every soldier – put your job security before anything else. Like opposing teams on the field of play, the parties have an absolute adversarial relationship that includes the key tactics of warfare. Bitterly divided, the rivals agree to lay down their “weapons” and unite behind only one common purpose – to vote themselves financial security and all manner of perks at the expense of their impotent employers.  As you contemplate the treachery of Gang rule, you also can’t help indulging a fantasy.  Political parties suddenly become obsolete. 535 lawmakers are unaffiliated. Each has a term limit. Each is beholden only to the electorate. Each casts every vote based on personal conviction, not party pressure. The Founders risked their “lives, fortunes and sacred honor” to advance the righteous cause of individual liberty. You must ask: What does this generation of lawmakers risk?  Well, let’s see. Life is good, all the way in first class. Fortunes are secure, all the way to the bank. And honor, for goodness sake, is relative, isn’t it? Like honesty, integrity and morality. No, the risk today is far more foreboding – excommunication, Gang-style. Poor babies.

You hate the Ab Roller. What’s to like? In the days of The Inquisition, sadists passing themselves off as clergy invented devices like this to promote and spread the misery index among people already ravaged by every conceivable pestilence. But it’s a New Year, and you’re keenly aware that whatever quality of life you ever hope to enjoy rests squarely on the quality of your physiology. You have absolutely no control over anything outside of your own skin – certainly not the countless injustices and inequities that prove God miscalculated grievously and misaligned a screw here or there when He invented the human being. Nonetheless, being human, you lie back, put aside judgmental thinking and begin the monotonous core strengthening ritual, accompanied by the Gladiator soundtrack filling your senses with visions of suffering and heroism. Directly above, a 2×3 skylight frames a wintry sky through the skeletal remains of a massive oak that only two months earlier flaunted the greenest of canopies in the prime of life. Now, the naked branches, somehow gawky and awkward, wander skyward, shivering noticeably against a northeasterly draft. Hypnotically, with the image of Maximus Decimus Meridius throttling Commodus, you begin your own torment.  First, it’s 20 reps of rectus abdominus, segueing even more painfully into transversus abdominus. You roll up agonizingly for the first external oblique rep when you see it – there — tucked high at the tip of a scrawny twig – a rusty oak leaf, the last of its habitat, unyielding, refusing to throw in the towel in the face of all odds. This skimpy slip of life has endured it all  – drought, gale, torrent, ice and old age – and still it persists, like people you’ve known. The comparison of plant life to mortal beings isn’t all that far-fetched. A mighty oak is a planet of sorts, home to its own population. Like you and me, each leaf has a life expectancy. Some die in infancy. As adolescents, some fall victim to violence, ripped away from their neighbors. Mysteriously, others fall ill in their prime, then wither and perish before their time. The majority manages to hang in just as expected. But how then do you account for this solitary character challenging death? Could this one leaf be more physically fit? Silly question. Maybe even a bit deranged, son. Blame it on your internal obliques that by now are begging you to quit this foolishness. Delusional thinking and philosophical mumbo jumbo can never mask the harsh reality of grinding pain dished out by your friendly Ab Roller. Finally, gratefully, your back comes to rest, abdominal cavity at peace. Deep breath. Sweet relief.  Eyes closed, you see Maximus float through Heaven’s Gate to join his loved ones. And, yeah, your weary friend is still up there – like the last man standing at the Alamo. Eventually, of course, like Jim Bowie, this lone survivor will also fall and new life will follow. And make no mistake – solid abs or not — the same thing will happen to you. Bummer.