Here’s the thing about being pro choice that people don’t get…
You don’t have to morally agree with abortion to be pro choice. That’s why it’s not called pro abortion. It’s an understanding that you can’t make that choice for someone else and they have full control over that not you. It’s pro I’m not the boss of everyone else.
This is important.
Correcting Internet DisInformation: The American Space Pen / The Russian Pencil
thank you for this.
And then from his initial investment of >$1,000,000, the Fisher Pen Co. was able to make a lot of money and grow the overall size of the U.S. economy and create lots of jobs.
So essentially a story that is supposed to be about government inefficiency turns out to be a story about how the U.S. government worked with a private company to make space travel safer while also stimulating economic growth.
The moral of the story is not that the Soviet Union was more efficient. The moral of the story is that by failing to allow private investment in innovation, the Soviet Union was doomed.
Incidentally, Paul Fisher, who invented the Fisher space pen, was a fascinating guy. He had this plan to eliminate income and property taxes with a progressive asset tax and even ran for President. And the Fisher Space Pen Co. is still a going concern, still employing people, and still generating a return on Fisher’s million-dollar investment.
Today in Middle-Earth: Gollum visits Shelob, but seeing Frodo asleep nearly repents (March 11th, 3019 T.A.).
And so Gollum found them hours later, when he returned, crawling and creeping down the path out of the gloom ahead. Sam sat propped against the stone, his head dropping sideways and his breathing heavy. In his lap lay Frodo’s head, drowned deep in sleep; upon his white forehead lay one of Sam’s brown hands, and the other lay softly upon his master’s breast. Peace was in both their faces.
Gollum looked at them. A strange expression passed over his lean hungry face. The gleam faded from his eyes, and they went dim and grey, old and tired. A spasm of pain seemed to twist him, and he turned away, peering back up towards the pass, shaking his head, as if engaged in some interior debate. Then he came back, and slowly putting out a trembling hand, very cautiously he touched Frodo’s knee – but almost the touch was a caress. For a fleeting moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin, and the fields and streams of youth, an old starved pitiable thing.