According to a new analysis by the Tax Policy Center, a joint project of the Urban Institute and the Brookings Institution, Democrat Barack Obama and Republican John McCain are both proposing tax plans that would result in cuts for most American families. Obama’s plan gives the biggest cuts to those who make the least, while McCain would give the largest cuts to the very wealthy. For the approximately 147,000 families that make up the top 0.1 percent of the income scale, the difference between the two plans is stark. While McCain offers a $269,364 tax cut, Obama would raise their taxes, on average, by $701,885 – a difference of nearly $1 million.

Source of study is non-partisan tax policy center.( www.taxpolicycenter.org/)
Source of little article summary before image is Washington post.

I have been watching this presidential democratic race since the beginning now, and I am really getting sick of these fuckers called “super delegates”. Can they just make up their precious minds and pick a side for fuck sake. What else do they need to know about these candidates? Pick a candidate, and let this circus end! Do we really have to wait until they feel like they have enough info? Is there anything more to know about Hilary or Obama at this point, or do these “super delegates” waiting for some kind of a scandal to break out, so they can pick opposing side? Everything there is to know about each candidate is known by now, and the only thing everyone is waiting is for these fuckers to show some god damn respect for their own party by picking a candidate and let this charade end, otherwise republicans will eat them up for lunch in November, and those precious “super fuckers” will be responsible for biggest crime since the native Indian genocide. So make up your god damn mind and choose. You’re not THAT important!

It’s truly sad to find out after almost 8 years of W’s rule, not one good thing he accomplished in his “presidency”. Not one! I have really tried, but the best republicans and conservatives can do is: Banned partial birth abortion, signed no child left behind bill and cut taxes. All of those three turned out disastrous, and republicans should hide under the fucking rock every time any of those disasters are mentioned.

This… “walking disaster” we call president, did more to fuck up this country, than all of the republican presidents combined (ok so I’ m biased against republicans. I consider it to be the healthiest thing citizen can do, so sue me for caring). He actually fucked up this country (and some of the others as well) so much, that the next president will actually have an easy job unfucking it. Yes, an easy job! Everyone is saying how the next president will have a tough job, will have to really be on his/hers game, will have to work overtime, bla bla bla, but I really don’t see how’s that possible. The fact is, things cannot get more fucked up than there are now; no matter who’s in the office. It really does not matter who you vote for next year. We’re at the bottom right now, and the only way to go is up. On the fuck scale, this is fuckup of tantric proportions.

As a matter of fact, qualifications for the next president should only be that he’s a human being, and maybe that he can wipe himself with no external help, and conditions in this country would surely improve. You can even put a fucking chipmunk in the oval office, and things would definitely be less fucked up, so whoever is the next president can look forward to a walk in the fucking park.

Note: If you’re easily offended by the use of the word “fuck” in this article.. Fuck off!

BTW: Here’s a uhm… satiric look at Bush’s resume.

Here’s the excerpt from todays’ CNN article:

Just 31 percent of Americans approve of how President Bush is handling his job, according to a poll released Wednesday, the fifth anniversary of the start of the Iraq war.
A new poll out Wednesday finds that 67 percent of those surveyed disapprove of President Bush.

Full article here: Poll: Bush’s approval hits new low
There’s something terribly wrong here. If you don’t know what that is, I will tell you. It’s that number 31% that it’s bothering me. Article says ONLY 31% support president. ONLY?! Are you fucking kidding me? I would’ve guessed much, much lower. The real questions is not the other 67% who don’t support the president, but I am wondering who are those 31% of mongoloids that do. In any normal and healthy society this number could not reach 1% but statistical chance alone dictates that you will always have certain percentage of retards and chimp monks supporting this guy so 4% will probably be a closest number, but 31%. Come on. Who’re we kidding.

Following is excerpt from George Bush’s interview from Today’s Show.

Bush: “Yeah, because we’re buying equipment, and people are working. I think this economy is down because we built too many houses (Curry: hmmmmm) and the economy is adjusting. On the other hand we’re just about to kick out 157 billion dollars to our taxpayers……what would have been had we abandoned Iraq when times were tough and let those soldiers die in vain..”

WTF??? Now, when this guy goes to G3 summit or any kind of important meeting to represent United States of America, aren’t you embarressed? I know I am. And people that voted for this guy should not only be embarrassed, but should be on their fucking knees begging forgiveness from rest of us sane citizens.
Click here for full video.

• Clinton presided over the longest period of peace-time economic expansion in American history, which included a balanced budget and a reported federal surplus.

• Clinton left office with a 65% approval rating, the highest end-of-presidency rating of any President that came into office after World War II.

• In August 1993, Clinton signed the Omnibus Budget Reconciliation Act of 1993, which passed Congress without a single Republican vote. It cut taxes for 15 million low-income families, made tax cuts available to 90% of small businesses,[37] and raised taxes on the wealthiest 1.2% of taxpayers[38]. Additionally, it mandated that the budget be balanced over a number of years, through the implementation of spending restraints.

• In 1994, Clinton sent U.S. forces to Haiti as part of the negotiated restoration of Jean-Bertrand Aristide’s presidency. He also withdrew U.S. forces from Somalia (1994), where while helping to avert famine they had suffered casualties in a futile effort to capture a Somali warlord. Clinton promoted peace negotiations in the Middle East, which bore fruit in important agreements, and in the former Yugoslavia, which led to a peace agreement in late 1995. He also restored U.S. diplomatic relations with Vietnam in 1995.

• Clinton succeeded in brokering peace negotiations in Northern Ireland between warring Catholics and Protestants

• In 1997, Clinton and the Republicans agreed on a deal that combined tax cuts and reductions in spending to produce the first balanced federal budget in three decades.

• During the eight years of the presidency, the economy expanded by 50% in real terms, and by the end of his tenure the US had a gross national product of $10,000bn – one quarter of the entire world economic output.

• The booming US economy has brought economic benefits right across the income spectrum.

• The unemployment rate has dropped by half, to 4%, a 40-year-low, while the economy has created some 15 million jobs.

• In December 1999, Clinton was among 18 included in Gallup’s List of Widely Admired People of the 20th century, from a poll conducted of the American people.

My brother is in Bosnia and Herzegovina currently doing research for his dissertation. He lives in our native city of Mostar. There is no war or fighting since 1995 and city fell into what I call “post war coma”. Meaning, nobody cares about anything. Everyone minds its own business. No one rushes to do anything. If you are tourist or a stranger, you would not notice any national tensions. Or would you? Story below is a testament that city is still psychologically divided between Muslims and Catholics and my brother experienced it first hand.
Last week he got caught up in the middle of hooligan fight between soccer fans, and this is a short story of his experience in his own words.
Just click on the link to read the story.

The Soccer Game

(Velez-Zrinjski: 0-2)

Yesterday morning I felt another bout of depression coming. Actually it was more like melancholy since it was less intense and somehow sweeter, so I decided to take my morning walk throughout the city. It was only when I reached the Lenjinovo and saw rows of riot police lining up both sides of the road that I realized that another controversial, endlessly antagonistic, and hopelessly nationalistic match between the city’s two soccer teams—Velez, which has become the official team of the Muslim East side and Zrinjski, the Croatian West side team—was taking place that day at 1 o’clock in the afternoon at the Stadium on Bijeli Brijeg in the heart of West Mostar. I tried to ignore the police by just walking past them, gently accelerating my pace, hoping to get to the Bijeli Brijeg woods where I would disappear among the trees and follow the paths of my childhood. I guess I was too optimistic since I should have known that nothing goes according to your private little plan in this city.

As soon as I hit the Partizansko Groblje, where the presence of riot police made it difficult to even walk on the sidewalk (so I had to occasionally step off the sidewalk and into the street to avoid bumping into the heavily armed and shielded police SWAT team officers), I heard a booming voice coming from their radios: “They are coming, get ready.” At these words, all the SWAT team people stood at full attention and I quickly got out of their way and stood behind them. In a few seconds, three buses full of Velez fans yelling, “Velez, Velez, Velez,” and waving red Velez flags, sped through the narrow street towards the Bijeli Brijeg Stadium. The buses were flanked on both sides by heavily armored police cars, whose sirens and honks created a sense of an impending crisis in the center of the city: the few passerbys (I later learned that everyone in the city avoids being on the street during these matches) froze on the spot, staring at the strange procession, reminding me of those anniversaries of Tito’s death when every human being in every corner of the city and the country would freeze at the sound of the siren, announcing the exact moment of his death. But these were not silent postures of respect. This was plain fear. Two old ladies, carrying grocery bags, seemed to be the first ones to move as they rushed towards the woods, one of them repeating to her companion, “My dear Jesus, my dear Jesus.” Their decision to step out of the collective pause inspired the other passerbys to do the same and everyone started walking again towards their destinations. As I rushed between the rows of SWAT team officers, I heard a powerful explosion at which I immediately turned around towards the main intersection which I had just passed. The smoke prevented me from seeing anything, but the smell made me realize that the explosion was the sound of tear gas being fired. At this, the passerbys, including myself, started running away from the intersection to be followed by a reverberating noise: cheers, shouts, loud cursing, mixed with the sound of clanking metal. As the noise got closer (I still couldn’t see anything except for the smoke), a car full of SWAT team officers rushed towards the intersection. The riot police jumped out of the car and rushed towards the center which seemed to be the epicenter of the noise. At this I realized that the center, or Avenija as it is known, had just become the battleground between the riot police and fans (I didn’t know whose fans), or better said, hooligans. This is when I started running towards the Omladinska neighborhood, just below the stadium, which I considered to be a safe haven since my aunt lives there. However, as soon as I hit the main street in Omladinska, right below my aunt’s balcony, I saw a huge mass of people moving towards me, actually running, as if they were being chased by the billowing smoke behind them. Once again, the stingy smell and the masks which most people in the mass were wearing made me realize that it was tear gas. I felt trapped. Turning left I ran in between the socialist-era high-rises. Certainly, these high-rises had never been the beautiful architectural achievements as they had been described by their socialist creators, but they had always offered us children large enclosed courtyards where we would hatch our childhood plans away from the main streets. As I ran in between these buildings and found myself on a basketball court, completely enclosed by the high rises, I thought of playing soccer with my brother and his friends on this same court. My brief nostalgic excursion to my childhood was rudely interrupted by that chilling reverberating noise. I looked towards one of the tunnels connecting the main street with the inner courtyard and saw a crowd of about 20 teenagers (they couldn’t not have been older than 15!) screaming, “Zrinjski,” “Ovo je Hrvatska,” and running. As they rushed by me, the sound of screeching tires was followed by another squat car, which was apparently chasing the Croatian fans. At this I ran towards the same tunnel, hoping that as the trouble seemed to have moved away from here, this would be a safe route. As soon as I reached the end of the tunnel and found myself on Avenija, I was greeted by that awful stench of tear gas, at which I went back to the courtyard. Not knowing what to do or where to go, I wandered around the courtyard, finding another tunnel, leading to another side of the Avenija boulevard. I walked through it, so carefully as if I was stalking someone, and realized that I was on a safe side of the boulevard. I looked behind me and saw the billowing smoke in the distance and the reverberating noise suddenly subsided. I took another side street and found myself rushing towards the Carinski Bridge which would take me to the safe East side of the city.

Later that day I learned that seven police officers and several fans were hurt in the riots. A small bank as well as several cars were burned. The culprits turned out to have been Zrinjski fans, trying to get to the Velez fans, but having been prevented in this by the organized Sarajevo-based SWAT teams, they decided to throw themselves into the fight against the police.

Flustered by having been caught in what it seemed like the middle of this riot, I rushed towards my cousin’s house who had invited me for lunch that same morning. After throwing at me all kinds of creative epithets for having gone to “their side” during this match, I told them what I had experienced. Their reaction depressed me even more than the riots I had just seen. “Of course they would do that,” my cousin said. “That’s why I hate going to their side. I feel so unsafe.” I repeated several times that these seemed to have been small groups of teenagers and that these kinds of riots accompanied many soccer matches all across Europe, my cousins insisted that this was directed against the Muslims and that this once again showed just how divided the city was. On my way to my cousin’s I had stopped by at one of the coffeehouses on the East side to meet my American friend Adam who was sitting in a company of two heavily built men and a blonde woman. They had been sitting in that café all morning, waiting for the game to be over so that they could go home. Still flustered from all the running and tear gas inhalation, I couldn’t immediately understand what the game had to do with their home. “Well we live on their side,” one of the bodybuilders said bitterly. “See this is why you should never come back to this damn city,” the other one added. “In case you have anything here, sell it, sell everything,” he shouted. “And then get the hell out! And never come back!” he shouted so that the whole café could hear him. I finished my cappuccino and made my way to my cousin’s apartment, overlooking the beautiful Neretva canyon. But the beauty of their view was not on their mind. Their pessimism, if not downright despair, echoed the words of the bodybuilders. I had lunch, a cup of coffee, and decided to take off. After this experience I really needed a drink, so I met up with Adam at a local bar and had a liter of good German beer.

Now that I have written this I realize that this experience might have a lot to do with how I feel now. I have to admit that yesterday as I was caught in the middle of the riot, I felt the adrenalin rush and wanted to see what was happening. The adrenalin rush, however, must have been quite short. Only a few minutes later, after hearing the first explosion, I felt that instantaneously paralyzing fear of being trapped, which I had felt so many times during the HVO raids on Muslim apartments during the war. I could hear that same fear in the words of the two bodybuilders and my cousins. That same fear I could see in the eyes of the Velez fans whose faces I saw from my cousin’s window as they dejectedly returned from the game. Velez lost 0-2 to Zrinjski. Zrinjski’s Mostar continued the orgy of celebration into the evening hours. Velez’s Mostar, however, continued to retell the stories of fear.

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