They say that Louis XIV had the inscription Ultima Ratio Regum cast into all the cannon of the French Army. It means “The Ultimate Argument of Kings,” and that always struck me as one of the most honest and up-front things any ruler or would-be ruler ever said. “We can dress it up prettier than this, but when it comes down to the unvarnished truth this is what it’s about: You’ll do as I say or I’ll send my goons to kill you.”
I thought about that for a long time. If there’s an ultimate argument, it seems only logical that there must be an ultimate answer. For years I thought the ultimate answer must be the bullets in my rifle, but it never seemed quite right. I’ve got bullets – he’s got frigging Cannon Balls. I mean, if there were three hundred million rifles throwing bullets at him, then maybe. But we all know that’s not going to happen. So if there’s an ultimate answer to his ultimate argument, it sure as hell ain’t bullets.
It finally came to me – and that’s when I abandoned the city and most of my stuff, and gave all that was behind me a good stiff Randian Shrug.
The ultimate answer to kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.
Some years back a mini mall near work offerred a chance to get away from the building for our 9:am coffee break. We would sit for our 15 minutes and watch the shoppers. About once a week a couple of people in motorized wheel chairs would come in and motor over to the stairway to the second floor and literally bump their wheelchairs against the bottom step. Then came an organized effort to force the owner of the mini-mall to install an elevator. Eventually the PC forces won out and an elevator went in. I never again saw a wheel chair there. But an interesting side effect was that a lady running a very small sandwich kiosk had to go out of business. She said the owners raised everyone’s rent to pay for the elevator. I wonder how she feels about PC? Ironically the only public entity on the second floor was a Nike shop selling running shoes and such. I’m just not sure there is a big demand for running shoes amongst the wheel chair bound.
Exactly. Bureaucrats at work, justifying their existence with many otherwise unjustifiable rules and regs.
Although I _must_ admit, I get really testy when I see apparently completely healthy people with no placards parking in the disabled spots…
Sometimes a car with no handicapped hanger/plate will park in a reserved spot, and you see someone with difficulty get out, but usually it’s an apparently fully capable young person that bounces out. Or you have a vehicle with appropriate tags, but the driver is obviously capable…
Parking lots are usually private property, and not patrolled by police, so I assume that enforcement is up to the business owner. Good luck with that…which goes back to the original question…”why are there are reserved handicapped spots”?
Tyranny of the minority again, I think.
An oh by the way article:
http://nooilforpacifists.blogspot.com/2010/10/charts-of-day.html