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1. The US should not have had a draft during WWII, or and other war. Instating a military draft is a clear violation of the right to life. As to the second part of this question, I have no response. 2. No, it was not immoral for Ayn Rand to collect Medicare. It is completely okay to accept things like Medicare, so long as you do so as restitution (for being forced to pay for programs you do not approve of), and not as charity, or entitlement to other people's wealth. People living in the US have to pay taxes for programs they may or may not approve of, so it wouldn't be immoral to get some of the money back from the government, provided such money was taken immorally. 3. I don't know quite what you're asking here: is their existence immoral, or is using them immoral? To the first question: public libraries do not involve protecting the rights of citizens, so it is improper for the government to fund them, and they should be private. To the second question: once again, you do pay taxes that support these libraries, so it is okay to use them/benefit from them. 4. I have no good answer for this one, but I know someone else here will. 5. Objectivism is defined as the philosophy of Ayn Rand; therefore, in order for one to be an Objectivist, one must agree with the philosophy of Ayn Rand. Rand was right about philosophical issues. This does not mean, however, that Objectivists believe that Ayn Rand was right about everything or that she was infallible. I'm sure many Objectivists could find something about which they and Rand disagreed. So long as these disagreements are not in contradiction with beliefs that Objectivism explicitly advocates, there's no problem.

Blue sat on the cold ground, propped up by a tombstone that was streaked with greenish grey mold. His expressionless face stared out past the cemetery. Still dark clouds were smeared low across the sky, blurring the lines between everything. The cemetery spread out down a hill and lead into the city below. Blue couldn’t tell the difference between the graveyard and the city in the fog.The skyline stood as a graveyard, with each building a tombstone to a stillborn idea. “Is there a difference?” he stood up and walked slowly among the rows of headstones. He paused at one that had lived and died some hundred years before he had even been born. The name and dates told him nothing beyond that fact. The person had lived to be seventy two years old. A whole life, he thought. This person had been born, gone to school, had lovers, owned houses and cars. He had been loved and hated. A whole life time worth of memories and events, and people. Now it was all forgotten and unknown to anyone. All that remained of an entire life is this stone, with a name and date. Blue’s long ears drooped. He suddenly thought how beautiful the old grey stone would look with his bloody brains splashed across it. He stood staring into the distance with that vision in his head, then abruptly moved on. He stopped when he reached a small, plain, black, marble tombstone. It belonged to a boy who was born dead on the same day that Blue had been born. Blue felt a sort of twisted kinship with the stillborn and thought they were very much alike. He thought how lucky it is to die without ever having had the pain of living. Blue continued on past tombstone after tombstone. He looked at how random the ages were. Sixteen, 73, 35, 3 months. No matter what you do, what kind of person you are, what kind of life you live, this is how everyone ends up. How can anything matter when natures goal for you is to to be rotting underground in a wooden box. All of mans aspirations and aims are futile in light of natures ultimate destiny. People spend millions on makeup, gyms and diets, but in the end they succumb to wrinkles, hair loss, sagging flesh, bulging veins. You lose your sight, your hearing and you die alone in the dark, silence. People spend decades on school, college and work place education to reach the point where they can’t remember their children’s names or how to take a shit by themselves. What’s the use in falling in love only to watch everything you loved about the person drain away with the years and leave you alone in the end anyways. Why go through the trouble, he thought. “What is the point of struggling and fighting when there is nothing to gain?” There is nothing anyone can do to stop it. All of man knowledge and ability, science, medicine and technology are powerless before entropy and death. People call life a rat race, like it is a game. What is the purpose of a game you can never win? Frustration and disappointment and a sense of helplessness. That is what Blue was thinking when it started to rain. He shivered as the small, cold drops rolled down his ears. He sighed in bitter resignation as he turned and walked with his head hung low toward a mausoleum. Cassius was laying flat on her back on top of a huge marble slab, one bare foot hanging lazily over the edge. She had pushed the skeleton from its rightful spot and was now resting her black haired head on the grinning skull. You have a lot to be happy about, she thought. This mousoleum belonged to a young couple who had been burned alive in a car wreck on their wedding day. Cassius stared at the looming stone ceiling, half dazed while she idy fingered herself. She had been trying to get off, but she had grown bored and was quickly losing interest. Besides, she kept thinking of being burned alive and whether or not that would be worse than drowning to death. It depends on what you drown in, she concluded. That is what Cassius was thinking of when Blue walked into the cold tomb, soaking wet. He smiled warily when he saw her and sat on the edge of her not-so-final resting place, his legs dangling off the side. Cassius’s ears perked up and she laid he head in Blue’s lap. He slowly ran his long fingers through her short black hair and over her ears. He did this absently, his mind preoccupied. At that moment he was thinking of when a baby bird tries to fly for the first time and it falls to the unforgiving earth, breaking every bone it its fragile little body. While he thought of that, Cassius unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. When Blue finally realized what the rabbit was doing he sighed, “Cassius, I really don’t feel like doing anything,” “So?” she said, sitting up and stuck out her bottom lip in a pouty frown, the next moment she smiled mischievously. She pushed him onto his back and hopped on top of him, straddling his body. Blue looked away and sighed, but put his hands on her thin hips. Cassius looked at his distant, lifeless expression and wondered for a moment as she felt her cunt grow wet, why she liked to do this so much with Blue when it was obvious that he didn’t want to. Well, she thought – that is the reason, I guess. The rabbit leaned down, putting her face close to his and rested her two fingers on his lips. They still smelled of her – to Blue it was a warm and familiar, like a tattered stuffed animal that manged to survive pass childhood. Cassius slid her finger’s into his mouth and began slowly pushing them in and out while breathing heavily into his ear. “You like that, don’t you little boy?” she said slyly. Blue had closed his eyes, resigned to his fate as a living masturbation toy. He slid his hands up her thin shirt onto her flat stomach and then onto her small breasts. She laughed at the mixed look on his face of torture and pleasure as she felt him grow hard beneath her ass, despite his protests. She began to rock her eager body against his hard cock and traced long pink lines down his chest with her sharp nails. Blue bit down on his bottom lip and opened his eyes. She took her fingers out of his mouth. “That always works, you little slut,” she said, Blue smiled sheepishly and shrugged as she pulled off her pants and threw them, rattling some dusty bones nearby. An expression of horror dominated Blue’s face as he noticed the grinning skull of the doomed bride and remembered what this place was. He was speechless, but he tried to fight his way from underneath the insane rabbit. She grinned from ear to long pointed ear at the look on his face and she pushed down on him, forcing his still hard cock inside of her dripping hole. She shuddered as it slid in easily, touching ever part. Blue closed his eyes again and tried to focus on the warm, wet, slippery sensation between his legs. Cassius started to rock against him, sliding him all the way in her and all the way out, over and over. She licked his closed mouth then bit down viciously on his lip, filling her mouth with the taste of old pennies. Blue moaned along and help her hips as she moved up and down. He looked up at Cassius’s face, she had her head leaned back and she was smiling – the kind of grin one gets from destroying something you love. He felt her body tense, the muscles contracting around his dick, felt like a million snakes coiled around it. She pulled a handful of his messy light brown hair and shoved her body down as hard as she could as she came on him. Blue laid back expectantly while she laid still for a moment. Then she sat up smiling maliciously as she pulled herself off his glistening, unsatisfied cock. “You didn’t want to do it anyways, right?” she said spitefully. Blue started to object as she pulled her pants on but knew it was useless to try and fight her. Besides he was thinking of how a parasite numbs you when it bites.

Well, while I grant that there might be some valid reason(s) to write a story from a negative point of view, presuming one has a specific purpose for doing so ( or of course presuming that this reflects ones "sense of life" or such), that is not the primary thing which bothers me in this instance. No, what bothers me the most is the actual subject matter and how it is used. And the possible implications of one choosing to use it in this fashion. I certainly do have to wonder what the purpose of posting such a peice here of all places might be. Even if negative peices like this are not something I would usually enjoy, or have ever really found any pleasure in. Though having said that, a lot of my favorite fiction has some really "dark" scenes, though nothing of this nature as far as I recall.

Just a comment on this; I don't think that this line of argument is a valid approach to determining whether or not intellectual property rights are valid. After all, if a thief put hundreds of man-hours into planning and executing an elaborate heist, we would not then say that he is entitled to "reap the rewards" of his effort. This is because his efforts have been geared towards an activity that violates someone else's rights. So the question is whether the patent-breaker is violating someone else's rights through his labor, like the thief, or engaging in valid production, like the original inventor. Obviously, this hinges on whether or not the original inventor has a property right in the idea that is being copied. In either case, it is begging the question to say, "Well the patent-breaker exerted effort, so he's entitled to the copy," because it assumes that his efforts were not violating the rights of the inventor. The more intellectual property debates I observe, the more I'm convinced it always comes down to one's overall theory of property rights; why we have them, what they are meant to do, etc. Most other arguments that I see about IP specifically, like the one you've put forth, end up ultimately depending on a pre-formed theory of rights, and don't help to determine whether IP is valid.

ObjectivistMathematician is right about 1,2,3 and 5; I'll answer 4 for him. Objectivism is opposed to government currency as such. Money should be printed by private banks. That way, it is likely that most currencies would be tied to hard assets like gold or silver, but it is possible that some currencies were fiat ones, i.e., that its ammount would be set by decree.

Your point being what exactly? True, she did create those characters and obviously I would not accuse her of needing any help. However, that is because as nasty as those characters are, it is all to serve an obvious message and might I add in order to convey a sense of life which indicates a very healthy state of mind (along with a good understanding of evil and less healthy states of mind). However, I can see no such "defense" (for lack of a better word at this point) for you doing what you have done here, which is really almost entirely a different matter to the manner in which Rand used the villians which you mentioned. While there may be reasons to write this stuff which may not give me reasons to worry (which is why I said you MIGHT need help, to allow such possibilities), I really cannot imagine what they might be. This is certainly stuff which is highly disturbing, and if I could see that it served some valid purpose (even if this purpose was not immediately obvious), I might be less inclined to think that you are simply trying to serve some valid purpose, and that this stuff is merely in aid of helping you make that point, as in the case of what Rand did (and what one of the other authors I mentioned does when he uses incredibly "dark" and "gory" scenes in his work, even though his work has a wonderful sense of life. In any case, nothing she wrote is half as macabre or nasty as this seems to be at face value.

Yeah, it is a negative vibe; there's nothing bad about that per se. Although, it is true, kind of an unusual place to post fiction like this here. "Negative" writing I can appreciate (such as writing about a variety of characters in Atlas Shrugged), but not exactly much of something expected to be popular on an Objectivism forum.