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I confess, I confess it all!
Yes, Mike, all my contributions, at length, from my book reviews, to my movie and CSPAN2 suggestions, to breaking news, to my several part essays, to being willing to take the unpopular side of a debate where my detractors get 3 icons for a five word post of insults in response to my hours of work was always motivated by an invidious hope to...to do what now?
My opinion of this thread was stated in my first post here, and it stands. All further posts by me were merely in response to others' questions or objections. The quote, the graffito and the time stamps speak for themselves. If I was wrong, George could have easily set me straight. This post was a painting with a mustache scribbled on it. I did not shoot George or call him names and refuse to engage him in debate. If I am goring sacred cows, either make hamburger or send me the bill. Your affection for Hong and George is touching. Even I have been able to sanction and enjoy some of their work, and I wonder at their silence now. Have they nothing to say on any other matter? Have I silenced them or banished them to Dissent? (In case you doubt my good faith - look at the note I sent to MSK in dissent.) It is not like I have a vendetta. If they post something of value they will still get my sanction. I belong to no faction here, save perhaps my own. I somehow doubt she and George are such wilting flowers that my challenges could harm such people of real accomplishment. People of real accomplishment add value and take unearned insults as compliments, if anything.
Finally, I am impressed by the subtlety of your powers of analysis, Mike. I would never have figured that it was actually I who is symbolized by the Kilroy graffitist.
Frankly, I see myself rather as a stream of bat's piss.
:)
Ted Keer
(Edited by Ted Keer
on 6/21, 11:03am)
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They could not see the world beyond the mountains, there was only a void of darkness and rock … But far in the distance, on the edge of the earth, a small flame was waving in the wind, the defiantly stubborn flame of Wyatt’s torch, twisting, being torn and regaining its hold, not to be uprooted or extinguished. It seemed to be calling and waiting for the words John Galt was now to pronounce. “The road is cleared,” said Galt. “We are going back to the world.” 
