So anyway has anyone noticed that this thing in which some deranged nutcase wanders into a public place to open fire with machine-guns on the most unobtrusive innocent individuals -- well maybe the Family Hate Farm was not comprised of innocents -- has become a weekly news item?
Some of us are saying this is just another product of a vast Chinese conspiracy to destroy America by driving all of us indoors and away from places where people congregate, like restaurants. Nevermind none of the targets -- schools, churches, mosques, family planning clinics -- have been restaurants.
The entire intention is to force people who used to dine out to call in for take out/deliver. Who has had this system sussed for years? It's the Chinese. And it is so American to blame someone else for your troubles. We blamed the Russians for the world's ills for years, so now that the USSR is gone, we are bereft of folks to blame. Anyone remember the ominous slogan, "Is your washroom breeding Bolsheviks? Poor handtowels can lead to worker discontent . . .".
Word has it that the Bishop of St. Paltry Endeavor is now providing Sunday Sermon in a Box with the slogans, Skip the Slaughter until the Trump Day! Keep Your NRA Membership! No More Germs! Just Plug and Pray! Father Danyluk has been dubious about this program which appears in the form of cardboard cartons that look suspiciously like they have been recycled from Fung's Chinese Takeout down the street. In fact one parishoner at Our Lady of Incessant complaint opened one up on the table in the gift shop there and found what appeared to be rather aromatic hotdish leftovers.
The weather has been delightful. Cool, sunny, light breeze. All the Lotus Eaters have been down on the Strand chatting on their cell phones to hapless creatures in hellholes like Washington DC, New York and Houston where triple digits have been hammering the infidels for all their stringent inflexible torture of fellow citizens these past few months.
If anyone in Peoria doubts global warming now, they have been socked away in the nut house.
We think it is all the Goddess's punishment for people being mean to one another and being so narrow-minded and rigid for so long. If all New Jersey does not start wearing purple and sunflowers by winter, then the locusts begin, followed by the frogs and the rain. You just see. If I lived in Hackensack, I would bundle all the hellfire ministers in town into a canoe and set them adrift in the St. Lawrence River pronto.
The high fog has been absent this past week, so all of the tomatoes have taken false hope. In the High Sierra, Howard Schecter has been reporting TS Eliot weather, as in "Thunder over the Himavant." Anyone seeking to escape terrorists in the shopping malls and terrorists in the Cambria Valley and terrorists in the airports of Ceylon by taking to the hills with backpack and tent has been enjoying the lovely terror of mountain storms above 10,000 feet, which to those who know is an experience large enough to drive one to risk Al Qaida and the Chinese both in the straights of Qatar.
At least the Chinese have better food than that dreadful Mountain House stew.
In the meantime, there are the upcoming Elections that are the real concerns around here. Over at the Same Place Bar, Papoon and Babar, from opposite sides of the political spectrum, sat together to complain about the problems trying to engage an electorate which has become disenchanted with Silly Hall.
Meanwhile down at the Strand, advance scouts were sniffing about to check out the temperature for their own candidates for the Office of President of the Bums.
Every four years the Bums of California hold caucuses and conventions, and the Island has become a dear favorite for candidates by reason of its proximity to Newark and to free food kitchens. Also, the bums never violate traffic ordinances while here, so they are largely left alone.
The largest congregation of bums in California has always been Sacramento, where a fair preponderance hang out in the State Capitol building. This year Barack O'Reilly, the incumbent, is running with his mate, Joe Bidet, against Milk Rummy and Paul Raybans.
There were some questions about Rummy's qualifications to be a bum, which were allayed point by point. First off, the man has never held an honest job, he never has served the military in any sort of capacity - a major plus in recent years -- he was born of American parents in the colony of Hyannis Port, he drinks cheap wine by self admission, a silver spoon was found in his bassinet, he does not directly own, operate, or approve of horses, and he wears two pairs of pants, securing his Conservative credentials.
These are puzzling credentials, but the bum system is one of ancient American legacy with Byzantine complexity expressly designed by the Freemasons so that the hoi polloi shall not meddle.
To be a bum honoree, one must be essentially a useless person which qualification Rummy and Raybans and most of the Texas legislature fill to a tee.
The two platforms can be summarized, ex officio, as follows. Barack maintains that he has done no harm over four years and has inherited a system from incompetent boobs that have badly mismanaged for over thirty years. Not to point fingers or create divisiveness of course.
Rummy says that what is needed is more booze for all, bums on the flush need a break, and everything right now is kaputt, all of which are largely popular opinions, because all of them are largely true and poor bums always aspire to be bums on the flush. Think about it.
All of the bums in Sacramento appear to be bums on the flush, it must be noted.
The Presidential wannabees have cruised through these parts but have yet to fully engage. Meanwhile our people focus upon the local issues, which returns us to Papoon and Babar.
Both of them glommed onto Jordan Fong who happened into the bar for a break from fundraising for the Asian-American homeless shelter in Oaktown.
Each one of the candidates wanted to know the full extent of the Asian-American vote, but Jordan just wanted a drink to relax.
"You lo-fan gen include everything from Turkey, India,Tibet, Mongolia, China, Vietnam, Thailand, and Myanmar in your Asians!" Jordan said. That is over 3/4 of the world's population. Give me a break."
The candidates next focused upon Javier at the end of the bar. What about the Hispanic vote?
"Piss off." Javier said, before returning to his beer and the attentions of a lovely black-haired lady sitting on a stool in a short red dress.
"This is very difficult," Papoon said. "The voter blocks are fragmented."
"It's not like the old says," Babar said. "It was easy to fix things when people could be simplified into simple categories. Now everyone is a subspecies with rights. Even the Locust Valley folks. It doesn't matter who owns a tennis court any more."
"It comes down to every fool coming out to vote." Papoon said, fretting.
"My party does try to eliminate all the fools from being able to vote. The old, the indigent, the poor, the felons, the landless, anyone with foreign-sounding names, anyone not properly documented in districts under control, and all the fools. We do regular purges." Babar said, trying to be helpful.
While this discussion was going on in the Old Same Place Bar a periscope extended from the waters of the estuary and observed all that transpired. It watched the discussions, the campaigns, the debates and the chicanery with equal dispassion, for this periscope belonged to the Iranian spy submarine El Chadoor.
No one on that spy sub cared for the American elections or any of the issues, which all amounted to the same thing for the men who now approached the end of Ramadan with what resources they could muster after being at sea for a record 72 months, being supplied at intervals by a special ship outside the Golden Gate. Everything proceeded according to schedule and everything proceeded per program, however the sense that their mission had been largely forgotten began to dwell upon the Captain. Their position had been kept in place for years largely by a bureaucratic indolence and resistance to change. No one in Teheran had thought to rescind the order put in place on a whim by a bureaucrat who had long since left office.
Nevertheless this periscope remained a filter for people disconnected with the process. So this is American Democracy. What really happens here? What really goes on to direct the course of a nation that rules all other nations on earth? What is this vaunted democracy thing really all about?
The captain sighed and ordered the periscope lowered. And with that the AIS Chadoor left the estuary, gliding out into the Bay beneath the great gantries of the Port -- and so, running silent, running deep, went under the Golden Gate to the open sea.
The long howl of the throughpassing train ululated from far across the water, over the politic waves of the estuary and the Buena Vista flats as the locomotive glided past the dark and shuttered doors of the Jack London Waterfront, headed off on its journey to parts unknown
That's the way it is on the Island. Have a great week
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