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| Subject: More D'Ville Fluff- Ron Carlson-If that is his real name. | |
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Author: RIP |
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Date Posted: 11:45:15 12/27/04 Mon I have such respect for the journalistic community, and it's responsibility to integrity, that I find it necessary to inform others, that there is an impostor among you, or a wannabe, so-to-speak. I'm aware that talented journalists, among other influential people, read Joey's columns, and if they haven't yet, they will. Joey is an, undeniably, gifted journalist. That being said, I need to vent about this impostor. The Duncanville rag, which has gone downhill anyway, has a solicitor, of sorts, who fancies himself a writer. He goes by the alias, Ron Carlson, though there is no documented proof of his background. He incessantly peddles his biased viewpoint to those who buy the Duncanville paper, which is, mostly, the occasional person in need of the classifieds. His dribble is flowery, repetitive, floundering, and, most importantly, pointless. His rantings are a cesspool of boring riff. Ron's text has a familiar ring, as if it were taken directly from the Bible, or pulled from the bowels of evangelistic Hell. Carlson, who claims, no written proof, he has the credentials to be a pastor, showed up in Duncanville, a few years ago, and developed a freakishly cult-like following, complete with isolated, desperate, and financially strapped people. He taps into the lunatic fringe, the old, and the impressionable of his congregation, and, drawing upon the Christian ethic of tithe, laps up their pensions, retirement, minute salaries, or last few dollars. Does anyone know where that money really goes, and, equally important, who gets the proceeds from the how-to, religious paperbacks he writes? I'll bet Ron knows where the money's hidden. Someone should check that out. Ron doesn't forget the wealthy. There is exploitation of money and prestigious position with an, "I'll scratch your back, if you scratch mine," mentality which permeates. His church building, and the land around it, is immense. Ron lives in a near mansion, replete with a swimming pool. Why does he afford himself the luxury of a swimming pool, when others, in his own congregation go without? Ron, don't use the excuse that the elders are responsible for your living quarters. You live in America. You could have turned the opulence down. Buy a smaller house Ron. One without a pool. Ron, you appear to be a man who capitalizes on the destitute. Move out of that house Ron. Give the proceeds from your paperbacks to the poor. Until then, I hold you responsible for my alienation from God. Ron has sent his teenagers packing, according to his column, to pseudo-prestigious colleges, forgetting to mention they were not afforded scholarships. Dirty money earned Ron's kids their escape from Duncanville, and Carlson, with his written insults and embarrassing comments about them. Ron, they are embarrassed by you. I don't think Carlson's ever been audited, and that is a giant hint to anyone working with the IRS. Carlson writes, in one of his solicitations below, that, “I didn’t push him," I testified to my folks against the false accusations leveled by some responsible neighborhood folks familiar with a variety of my past exploits. “He just fell. It was his own fault.” Ron, I think you pushed him, and you left out the fact that the poor boy said he felt you push him, or the whole of the "responsible neighborhood" would not have accused you of it. By the way, tell us where you are from Ron. You've never mentioned the name of your town, and you degrade your father by saying that, "And when my dad, not known for conventional and responsible behavior, feared liability issues, I knew there was a problem." So Ron, by your own admission, a boy fell out of your tree house, and you were accused of pushing him. You've also written that your father was not known for convention and responsible behavior, and if I remember correctly, in many of your "submissions" to the paper, you've pondered the atrocities committed by your family. Ron, I hope, to God, that you are digging your own grave at that paper, because the cloak of religion never hides the bad guys forever. The Duncanville rag has a new owner, replete with new money, and no real literacy so I won't hold my breath. If you read this far, you must have realized that Ron and I had a dispute. Of course I would not have written on this message board, had there not been, according to Ron Carlson's lying, self-serving perspective, an, inconsequential, accusation by me, which is, suspiciously, similar to his own secretaries accusations against him. Yes, I've been subjected to three years of Ron's libelous actions. RIP Ron's crap is below: Don’t get stuck up a tree without Jesus at hand By RON CARLSON Shortcuts I hate liability. Honestly, I’d rather live recklessly and irresponsibly without the burden of consequences and guilt. I’d like to engage in dangerous behavior without having to worry about getting caught and punished. I’d like to perform wild and crazy stunts without fearing someone might trip and fall over my mess and sue. If I ran the FCC, smart, tough, ready-to-sue, lawyers could not buy valuable ad time on television. I’d reassign them and redistribute their wealth. Really, I’d much rather make decisions based not on what’s safe but what’s fun. My sinful, thoughtless, impulsive nature consistently votes for deregulation. I wear my seatbelt not because I want to (insert comma here, Ron or Ron's illiterate secretary.) but because I have to. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d rip the tags off my mattress. I’d walk on the new grass; I’d roll on it like a puppy. I’d love to hooky-bob again and throw snowballs at passing cars. If those that I love would permit it, I’d sneak into the Super Bowl with a rainbow wig and flash John 3:16 posters at the camera. I’d never punt on fourth down. I’d give away all the cookbooks and brew by feel. I’d add extra garlic and peppers. I’d listen to Dr. Phil and then do the opposite. If I could get away with it, I would suspend my adult sensibilities and act juvenile. I’d leave the grown-up part to those more adept at maturity. I’d run off and join the circus or fly away with Peter Pan. I’d pay the fiddler next Tuesday. I know how I am. I know me and me scares me. Left to my own devices, I’d self-destruct before nightfall. I realize I’m my own worst enemy. I know I need help. I’m an accident waiting to happen. That’s why I hang with Jesus, His Word and His people. They keep me on the straight and narrow. I fully understand I don’t naturally think straight and narrow. I require boundary helpers. I need folks who consistently remind me why we can’t do that. I will always need someone, patient and thorough, to explain the liabilities attached to my perspective. I know this is true because nobody views the giant oak tree down on the creek bank like I do. It’s a majestic beast — head and shoulders taller than any tree in the neighborhood. It’s the Barry Bonds of red oaks — fertilized and hand-rubbed with flaxseed oil. It’s the king of the local forest. Every time I pull into the church parking lot with someone in the car, I stop and ask them to admire our magnificent church tree. It’s hard not to be impressed. “You know what I’d like to do,” I tell my passengers. “I’d like to build a tree house in the very top of that monster where I could go and hide and study and think and look and enjoy. We could form a club and have campouts and …” And invariably I get the same response: “Oh, you can’t do that!” “And, why is that?” I respond on cue — fully knowing the answer in advance. “Liability!” Stinking liability! I hate liability. “Just think of all the problems it would cause,” right-thinking folks explain predictably. “Children would climb up and fall down.” “We’d wipe out the next generation of Duncanville youth.” “We’d jeopardize the future of the civilized world.” “We’d have smart, tough lawyers camped on the lawn waiting their turn to file suit.” “What if we hid in the tree house,” I inquire, “and make them climb the ladder to serve the papers?” “Nope. Won’t work. No can do. Forget it. Grow up. What are you thinking?” Carefree. That’s how I’m thinking — uncluttered by the burden of liability and smart, tough lawyers. But I should know better from experience. I woke up Christmas morning of 1959, glanced out my window at the giant dormant cottonwood, and became an instant believer in Santa Claus. Sometime during the night, his carpenter elves had descended on our backyard and built a tree house with my name on it. The next Saturday, Eddie Abbott from across the street came to visit. I lowered the rope and he ascended to my palace in the sky. And he promptly fell out. All the way to the ground, without interruption. There he splat. His screams brought big responsible people running. Then the fire truck doubling as an ambulance (it was a small town) arrived on the crime scene. Everyone agreed he was broken. The lower half of his femur protruding from his thigh gave it away. “I didn’t push him,” I testified to my folks against the false accusations leveled by some responsible neighborhood folks familiar with a variety of my past exploits. “He just fell. It was his own fault.” The next morning, I glanced out my window at the giant cottonwood and noted my home away from home had vanished. Santa Claus giveth and Santa Claus taketh away. “Too much liability,” Dad said. And when my dad, not known for conventional and responsible behavior, feared liability issues, I knew there was a problem. So way back before the litigious era, I was initiated into the rank and file of those intimidated by consequences resulting from unsafe behavior. And though I hate it, I accept it — begrudgingly — and try to make the most of living in a precautionary world. We might want to take a closer look at the life and times of Jesus, noting the wisdom of a balanced perspective that recognized there is a time for everything — even doing the right, bold thing when smart, tough lawyers are waiting in the wings for an accident to happen. Merry Christmas. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |
| Subject | Author | Date |
| Re: More D'Ville Fluff- Ron Carlson-If that is his real name. | Joey Dauben | 14:43:42 12/27/04 Mon |
| Re: More D'Ville Fluff- Ron Carlson-If that is his real name. | RIP | 13:42:37 01/01/05 Sat |