MRS. ALMEIDA AND THE CHICKENS

September 30, 2007

Well, its been a quiet week on the Island set here on the edge of the San Francisco Bay, our Hometown. Eugene Shrubb is finally talking about pulling his Army of Bums gradually out of Newark. As long time readers are aware, Eugene, President of the California Bums, invaded Newark with his Army of Legislature Bums some five years ago in an attempt to find and remove an alleged cache of Weapons of Mass Doodoo in the form of Terrier-ist Poodles. No WMD's were found, but the whole affair descended into a terrible and seemingly inextricable quagmire for as it turned out, the citizens of Newark failed to realize they had been invaded for quite a while, and pretty much nobody cared anyway as Newark lacks a Mayor, a City Hall or even a Town Council, and seems to lack any self-respect in addition to its wants.

Some Newarkians even thought the invasion might spruce up the place a bit, and maybe get rid of some of those eyesore body shops and linoleum outlets cluttering the main drag there. Others -- largely inhabitants of San Lorenzo and other neighbors, blamed the entire fiasco on a subterfuge to raid the City of its liquor deposits. Meanwhile the months of the Occupation segued into years and the Coalition of the Swilling has dwindled, leaving Eugene few political allies, save for the incendiary and highly Ultraconservative Reverend Rectumrod along with the Official Mouthpiece of the Bum Government, Fanny Foxx Spews (FFS Channel X).

As usual, Ann Coulter remains unintelligible and full of bile towards anyone reasonable.

September here is a time of transitions. The dahlias are still in bloom, but the leaves have all gotten that white fungus which will eventually knock them all back. Mr. Peepers has been scurrying along the top of the fence, storing up all kinds of things and can't be bothered for interviews. September is a time for long walks on the Strand, a time of meditation on things planned and happenstance, on failed opportunities and accomplishments.

Officer O'Madhauen thinks about the time he collared a would-be armed robber after the man hit the U.S. Bank on Otis, but made the mistake of performing an illegal U-turn on Park. O'Madhauen chased him down Santa Clara until the man crashed into Mrs. Almeida's chicken truck, sending Cornish hens and Dutch bantams scampering in all directions. The robber set out running between the houses there with Officer O'Madhauen and Mrs. Almeida running after him, losing the perp briefly until Mrs. Almeida spied the guy hiding up in branches of a maple in Mr. Howitzer's back yard.

The officer shouted up at the man to throw down his gun and give himself up. Right then, Officer Popinjay's cruiser drove up onto the front lawn and the Officer shone a spotlight up into the tree, even though it was midday.

When the man let his pistol fall to the ground -- it was a .45 caliber hogleg Colt -- the gun went off and the bullet sang right by Officer O'Madhauen's left ear before it went through Mr. Howitzer's window, shattering the glass, and ricocheted off of the brass fantod on the edge of the desk and then the bird cage before getting stuck in the bell of an antique flugelhorn hanging on the wall.

The macaw in the birdcage flew out of the broken window and sailed out over the estuary near the Fruitvale bridge beneath which an Iranian submarine glided on its way out to the Bay and back to sea. The macaw lit on top of the periscope and many were amazed at the sight of a brilliant red, gold and green bird sailing in this manner before it took off again to land on Coast Guard Island, where it lives to this day.

After scolding both the Officer and the robber, Mrs. Almeida paid a number of boys on skateboards a quarter each for every chicken they brought back.

It would be years before Mr. Gallipagus would put that flugelhorn to his lips to play a tune right before the November Poodlehunt, and blow a mighty toot that would dislodge the bullet into Jose's beerstein, and all would be amazed.

The submarine left the Bay, sailing under the Golden Gate, undetected, for all local Homeland Security resources had been diverted to certain foreign situations such as keeping Cindy Crawford out of eyesight of the President.

In any case, that bullet provided Officer O'Madhauen many years of reflective moments and that is the main point here. Mr. Howitzer still has that brass fantod and he meditates from time to time upon the scratch left by the bullet.

And all the leaves falling, burning just like embers, in colors red and gold.

That's the way it is on the Island. Have a great week.

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