Max looked at me with an expression like he had just tasted something extremely unpleasant. “No, I don’t care to watch and listen to him. He irritates me. And you’ll recall that that lady columnist that you drool about, what’s her name, Peggy Noonan, said Beck is probably certifiable. But I’ll say this, he’s one hell of an effective showman. And as long as he recruits people of substance to the cause, I’ll tolerate him.”

“What?” I said in surprise. “You would actually tolerate Mr. Beck? Did you have a divine vision or something?”

Max raised one eyebrow at my allusion to divinity. “You know that rally he had at the Lincoln Memorial last week?”

“Yes, one could hardly avoid hearing about it.”

“Well, not only did he talk about politics without mentioning politics, his attendees turned out to be of a different stripe than what we’ve seen in that same venue.”

“How’s that, Max?”

“Do you remember the New York Times survey earlier this year and how it shocked the establishment when it found that ‘Tea Party supporters are wealthier and more well-educated than the general public, and are no more or less afraid of falling into a lower socioeconomic class.’"

“Yes, I do,” I replied, chuckling. “In fact, I was really surprised that the New York Times, apparently in a spasm of objectivity, even admitted to such a thing. I thought they were of the persuasion that tea partiers were wild-eyed Ku Kluxers without the sheets, racists with a glass of bourbon and branch in one hand and a rope in the other looking for some darkie to llynch.”

Max smiled at my analogy, then his brow furrowed as he explained. “I thought about what the Times said when I saw the photos of the Lincoln memorial grounds and the reflecting pool area after those 300,000-some-odd people left. It was pristine, no trash! That crowd came there in what was essentially a revolt against the people in power, but it was an orderly revolt, not the disrespectful and obscene exhibition we are accustomed to seeing. They didn’t trash the place! This was a revolt of the responsible, people that respect the country, folks that are comfortable with the traditional mores of American society. That’s what got my attention.”

I thought about that for a moment then said, “Max, that says to me a lot more than any of the platitudes that might have been voiced and the patrioteering that went on. I’m glad you told me about that. I’ll have to share that with some local tea partiers I know. That will give them a warm and fuzzy.”

“Always glad to be of help,” Max said. “Oh by the way, I’ve been parsing some of that e-mail you have forwarded that came from your right wing friends. I see they do not let the truth restrain their enthusiasm any more than do the minions of the left.”

“You noticed that too?” I asked. “Do you think that we might set a record for levels of ugly before this coming election?”

“I’d like to place a bet on it,” Max said, smiling. “I love sure things.”

Max and I had been talking about the blazing hot August weather we had been enjoying in Texas and were swigging cold beer in an attempt to keep our body temperatures down to a safe range.

“I heard something about that,” I replied. “Who is giving them a rashing?”

“Something called “The InterAcademy Council” he answered. “They didn’t get into the question of whether man was causing the global temperature rise, but concentrated on how the IPCC conducted their business, formed their conclusions and reported their findings. They found some problems.”

“What was that?”

“Remember the story about the Himalayan glaciers that were melting at an alarming rate? They took that story, unverified, out of a magazine and put it in their report as the by-God truth because it backed up their disaster scenario. As it turned out, some imaginative magazine writer had dreamed it up and put it in an article. The IPCC took it as gospel without verification. In fact, when they asked some scientists to review the story, those guys questioned its veracity but the IPCC used it anyway.”

“Big oops!” I said.

“Wait, here’s something funny. Let me read it to you. ‘A particular problem in the 2007 report was that it didn’t ‘consistently reflect uncertainty in some aspects’ of climate change.’”

“Uncertainty?” I exclaimed. “Is that what they call it when some of their scientists take a contrary position to the official story and the powers just leave it out of the final report?”

“Reading between the lines, that’s exactly what happened. These academic types are nothing if not delicate their wording. If it didn’t back up the official party line, the IPCC honchos just ignored it.”

“Not very scientific,” I mused.

“No, it wasn’t,” Max agreed. “Here’s something else. The IPCC stated in their 2007 report, with a ‘high level of confidence’ that global warming would cut in half the output of rain-fed agriculture in Africa by 2020. The investigators found that if they had been honest about how they came up with that ‘high level confidence’ it would have been clear that the evidentiary basis for that statement was very weak. The ‘confidence’ they spoke of did not really exist at the level claimed.”

“Are we going to have confidence in the IPCC after this or are they going to keep pulling the same old con?”

“Let me read what an atmospheric scientist from the University of Alabama, name of John Christy, said. ‘If these recommendations are followed to the letter and spirit, I think the IPCC could indeed be improved.’ This guy was consulted by the InterAcademy Council for its review. Christy reported that he participated in the writing of two IPCC reports and said his doubts about evidence of man-made global warning were pushed aside both times.”

“Well, Max, if the IPCC can’t build some level of respect and confidence among the people that are going to be affected by their conclusions, they’re just sucking wind. They might as well go home and take up needle-point.”

“That’s true. Some of our politicians are having big problems with what’s been going on. I think it started with Michael Mann’s hockey stick graph. The IPCC couldn’t explain the Medieval Warming Period (900-1300 AD) and the Little Ice Age (1280-1850 AD) so Mann just rewrote history for them. There are some people that simply aren’t going to believe anything the scientists say if they are talking about man-made global warming. They have poisoned the well.”

“That’s not good,” I said. “We can’t keep pumping all that crap into the air and expect to get by with it forever. I go along with Bjorn Lomborg about the developed countries pledging a percentage of their GDP to a coordinated effort to develop an artificial fuel by the end of the century. But until we can trust what the scientists are telling us, that’s going to be a tough sell.”

“How about if the two of us can get in on the graft of buying and selling carbon credits. There’s billions to be made in that. Would that take some of the sting out of it?” Max asked, grinning.

“I’m too old to turn criminal now, Max,” I said. “Besides, the Chicago crowd already has that angle locked up. I’m also too old to get my knees broken.”

“Why do you ask?” he said.

“You remember when we were shocked that we’d get 90 million hits on porn?”

“Yeah.”

“Try it now,” I urged him.

He turned around, hit a few keys, waited a moment and then said, “Holy cow!”

“What’s the total?” I asked.

“Two hundred eighty-eight million,” he said, swiveling his chair around.

“So the pornographers have prospered,” I chuckled, “and not a one of them identified by the triple X domain identifier.”

Max sighed. “Bushy-boy did a good job of killing that, didn’t he? Parents and libraries still have no easy way to block porn. The irony of it is that the porn merchants actually asked for it.”

“That’s a good argument for taking domain designation away from the United States , isn’t it?” I asked.

“Not among our federal authorities,” Max replied. “They just keep on pretending porn doesn’t exist. Mentioning it in an official document would be legitimizing it. But that isn’t the most astounding thing that’s going on. Did you know that Argentina legalized gay marriage last week?”

“No, I don’t think Fox News talks about stuff like that,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

“Well they did,” Max went on. “Now same sex couples can get married in Buenos Aires , Mexico City, Pretoria and Ames , Iowa . But guess where they can’t get married.”

“Where?”

“In San Francisco , the shining city on the gay hill.”

“Good grief!” I exclaimed. “You’re right. Californians voted the same sex marriage thing down. That is ironic.”

“I thought it was a pattern of illogic for the ages,” Max chuckled.

“By the way, what’s your take on gay marriage, Max?”

“I think you know where I stand. I think it’s up to the states to make their own laws. The feds have no Constitutional prerogative about marriage. Anyway, I think monogamy is less risky than promiscuousness.”

“Don’t do as I do, do as I say,” I scoffed. “Monogamy is less risky? Folks, this little homely brought to you by the raging roué of Bangkok ?”

“You know that I am not successful at marriage,” he grumbled. “At least, I’ve tried.”

“Things are changing too much, too fast, Max. I read where most young people think nothing about having babies out of wedlock,” I mused.

“I am aware of that too,” he replied. “They just keep cranking out those ‘love children’ willy-nilly. As long as they take responsibility for the little brats, I suppose it’s okay. But there’s too many that don’t.”

Speaking of that, “It was one of the most ironic things ever when they discovered the link between crime rate and Roe versus Wade,”

“You’re talking about the dramatic drop in national crime rates sixteen years later?”

“That’s what I thought of. That’s real irony for you,” I said. “Yet, logical.”

Max laughed ruefully. “Talk about ironic. I see Bristol and Levi are getting back together.”

“Yes, I understand it was even a surprise for mom.”

“After Levi shot off his mouth about dear old Mom in the public prints, he was probably afraid to talk to her,” Max said. “She’s usually heavily armed, you know.”

“Talk about the sword of Damocles,” I said. “Levi better be a good boy.”

“We’ve got elections coming up. We ain’t heard the last of it,” Max said with a deep sigh.

I looked at him a minute and decided my ears were playing tricks on me again. “ Whattaya talkin’ about?”

“You recall that the story that John Connally being the one that went to Duval County and talked those dead Chicanos into voting for Lyndon Johnson for the Senate, put him over the top?”

“I remember that was the rumor. I don’t think it was ever officially confirmed,” I said.

“You didn’t expect it to be did you?” Max laughed. “Any you must not have read about the large number of felons that illegally voted in the Minnesota senatorial election, huh?”

“Felons? What are you talking about?”

Max smiled. “It appears that there is a watchdog group called the Minnesota Majority that smelled a rat in that Minnesota recount that reversed the outcome of the senatorial election. This bunch has been combing through records comparing the lists of those who voted with criminal rap sheets. They found that at least 289 convicted felons voted in Hennepin County , the state’s largest county and another 52 voted illegally in Ramsey County where St. Paul is located. The head man, Dan McGrath, says that they counted only conclusive matches and that the number of felons voting in those two counties alone exceeds Franken’s victory margin”

“Good grief!” I exclaimed. “What a rat’s nest! What are they going to do about it?”

“They went to Hennepin County and told ‘em what they’d found and the officials there just stonewalled ‘em.”

“What a surprise,” I said sarcastically.

“But over in Ramsey County , the District Attorney, name of Phil Carruthers, took the whole thing very seriously and said the Minnesota Majority “had done a good job in their review.” He’s asked for 15 investigators to be hired to pursue the investigation. Carruthers said, “So far we have charged 28 people with felonies, have 17 more under review and have 182 cases still open.”

“You don’t think it’ll change anything do you?” I sneered.

“No, but it’s nice to know somebody cares about the integrity of the system,” Max replied.

“That’s a warm and fuzzy alright,” I said. “But it just proves, once again, you can’t beat the Democrats in a recount when they’ve got the state attorney general on their side.”

“I know,” he said, nodding. “They found out in Florida that if they didn’t have the Attorney General in their pocket, they weren’t going to win any recounts.”

“Taught ‘em to choose their battlegrounds more carefully, huh?” Max asked.

I just nodded and drank my beer.

As we were cruising down I30, Max asked, “Did you see where Hugo Chavez has pulled another dirty trick on his people?”

“No,” I replied. “What did he do this time?”

“He moved the official U. S. dollar exchange rate from 2.15 bolivars to 4.3 bolivars. He effectively wiped out the savings and purchasing power of the people he brags about representing.”

“Good grief!” I exclaimed. “That had to hit hard. Venezuela imports damn near everything they use. That’s going to inflate prices like crazy.”

“Oh, no!” Max replied with a wry grin. “Chavez already thought of that. He promised to arrest any merchant adjusting prices.”

“How logical that guy is!” I observed. “With a grasp of economic theory like that, he’s a veritable Latin Milton Friedman, isn’t he?”

Grinning, Max replied, “So, the long-suffering Venezuelan people are faced with a Hobson’s choice. They can have even more shortages than they already have or they buy on the sly at inflated prices. The irony of it is that most of them were already on the edge, just barely getting by.”

“That ain’t all,” Max went on, sighing. “The government instituted rolling blackouts across the country because their generating power is going to hell in a basket.”

“Oh, no! What happened?”

The official position of the government is that they have had a long drought that’s left the water levels at the Guri Dam at critically low levels. And the country gets 70% of its power from that dam.”

“You mean to tell me a country swimming in oil hasn’t constructed a bunch of back-up generating capacity?”

“That’s what I’m telling you,” Max said, shaking his head. “They’ve had chaos. In Caracas , people were stuck in elevators and the predators had a field day in the dark streets. The per capita murder rate in Caracas was already one of the highest in the world and it got worse. He stopped the blackouts in Caracas , but they are still going in the rest of the country.”

“Next, they’ll be running out of oil,” I said, jokingly.

“Funny you should say that,” Max snorted. “They still have plenty of oil, in the ground anyway. The problem is that Chavez has expelled or seized the assets of foreign oil companies like ExxonMobile and Conoco-Philips. There’s no one left to properly maintain the oil fields. On top of that, he fired the skilled employees of the state oil company because he didn’t like their politics and put his political cronies in charge. In 1998, Venezuela was producing 3.3 million barrels of crude a day. In January, it was down to 2.4 million and heading south.”

Shaking my head, I said, “I wonder if those economics professors in those big Ivy League schools brag about Venezuela ’s successes in their experiment with socialism”

“You kidding?” Max chuckled. “When the country finally collapses, they’ll just say what they always say, “The right people weren’t in charge.”

“Gosh, where have I heard that before?” I wondered aloud.