Murderous deer, Scooter Libby, racism and the morbidly obese.
I felt the urge to write the other day while reading an article on The Smoking Gun about how one of Cheney's ex-minions, now punching bag and general scapegoat, "Scooter" Libby has aparently had enough after being the defendant of, if memory serves me correctly, five felony accusations. Two of which were purgery, which I believe he was convicted of (don't quote me on either of those facts).
The termination of Libby's employment came about rather abruptly after he leaked the identity of a CIA agent named Plame to a New York Times reporter. Although he has taken the brunt of the punishment for the crime, which borders on treason, up until this point it appears that whatever compensation he was recieving for the prostitution of his credibility is no longer enough and the bad blood that has been brewing within the administration is finally bubbling up to the surface. His story now, which seems extremely plausible and, in fact, quite probable within this hellish government is that he had direct authorization from George W. Bush to leak the information to the public.
Keep in mind that on national television just days after the leak the President promised to immediately bring the hammer down and fire whoever was responsible for the leak.
But I didn't write about it immediately. "Let it brew", I thought. I took one last glance at the headlines on Yahoo News before my ride arrived to take me to my car which had been resurrected the day before. There were several headlines about various explosions killing nameless people in the Middle East and adding them to the maddening pile of statistics that casts a grim shadow on this hideous war. There was also a headline about a goose sexually harrassing a woman in New York's Central Park as well as the headline containing the Libby story.
The ride to my car was a mind-numbing, soul-dissolving journey which I know only took an hour and a half but felt like three as my mom droned on about how I should come home more, cut my hair that way girls will like me (thanks for the vote of confidence mom), stop hanging around at the Gypsy because its weird and find a church to go to. She also informed me that kids these days are playing something called "The Choking Game" which we used to refer to as simply "Bullying" and that people in the towns that I grew up in are dying left and right from various diseases and addictions. It has always amazed me that the people in those towns have yet to catch on to the correlation between their diets and their high death rate. If these people could figure out a way to free-base fried chicken and inject it directly into their aorta they probably would. There is a decent chance that several autopsies in the area have revealed whole christmas hams lodged in the subject's left ventricle. She also told me how, as a christian, she takes these events as well as the abundance of "damn inter-racial couples" as signs of the approaching apocolypse. Hypocrisy both amuses and enrages me.
Anyway, after driving an hour and a half away from the ocean we decided to eat seafood and stopped at Dale's. Our waitress was around my age, some sort of modern, slightly diluted version of a southern belle. She has probably never touched dirt in her entire life and seemed like the type who would spend the night in her car if she ever saw a spider in her house. I got the sudden urge to set the building on fire just to see her reaction.
The conversation teetered back and forth between my mother's rants about how the weather lately makes her think that the world is about to end and my random input about various happenings around Wilmington until I finally found a moment to confront her with something that had been bothering me for quite some time. Two decades to be exact. She was talking about some "mexican" person from Miami (they were most likely Cuban) who called her desk at work yesterday and wanted to settle a speeding ticket that they got on I-95 recently.
"I couldn't understand a damn word she was saying and there was a baby screaming constantly in the background. I wish I could work for the Border Patrol. If they couldn't speak the language I would tell them to turn their ass around and go back."
I looked at her and tried out of respect to mask my dissappointment but judging by her reaction it is safe to assume I failed:
"I mean, I am not racist or anyth-"
"Yes you are."
The conversation quickly turned back to some mundane, neutral topic as we finished the meal.
Once home, I said hello to my dogs, one of which is nearly old enough to get his driver's license, and then I threw all of the shit which had been pulled out of my car back into it, hugged my mom, told her that I love her and began the return trip.
My car seemed foreign to me. Mostly because it was clean. I hit the 70mph zone between Chadbourn and Whiteville and my foot got heavy. 65. 75. 83. 90. Deer. A whole heard of them flashing past me for a brief second on either side of my car. I eased off the gas and enjoyed the free adrenaline. A few miles down the road my foot got close to the floor again as a result of the idea that lightning doesnt strike twice. Zap. Deer. Another herd. This time I saw them coming and had time to react but not enough to stop, so I hit the gas and began straddling the center line. God has hired quadrupeds as hitmen against me. He probably pays them with corn and various other grains. They lack the opposable thumbs neccessary to handle paper currency.
Back within the city limits I relaxed and drove the speed limit all the way back to my apartment where the first thing I did was check the headlines. More, or maybe even the same... I can't really tell anymore, headlines about civilian deaths in Iraq. The video of the sexually deviant water foul and some story dealing with gas prices. But where was the Libby story? Why is there a follow-up about some pervert bird but not even a whisper about a crime far more drastic than what chased Nixon out of the White House?
The media scares me. Every once in a while very important things tend to dissappear all together. Someone is masking something. Thats fine I guess. You can only suppress so much shit before you begin to build up pressure and things begin floating to he surface. What we are seeing now, ladies and gentlemen, are the first gurgles of a pot about to boil over. I wouldn't mind being in Washington with a pen and paper when it scalds all of those evil bastards.
The termination of Libby's employment came about rather abruptly after he leaked the identity of a CIA agent named Plame to a New York Times reporter. Although he has taken the brunt of the punishment for the crime, which borders on treason, up until this point it appears that whatever compensation he was recieving for the prostitution of his credibility is no longer enough and the bad blood that has been brewing within the administration is finally bubbling up to the surface. His story now, which seems extremely plausible and, in fact, quite probable within this hellish government is that he had direct authorization from George W. Bush to leak the information to the public.
Keep in mind that on national television just days after the leak the President promised to immediately bring the hammer down and fire whoever was responsible for the leak.
But I didn't write about it immediately. "Let it brew", I thought. I took one last glance at the headlines on Yahoo News before my ride arrived to take me to my car which had been resurrected the day before. There were several headlines about various explosions killing nameless people in the Middle East and adding them to the maddening pile of statistics that casts a grim shadow on this hideous war. There was also a headline about a goose sexually harrassing a woman in New York's Central Park as well as the headline containing the Libby story.
The ride to my car was a mind-numbing, soul-dissolving journey which I know only took an hour and a half but felt like three as my mom droned on about how I should come home more, cut my hair that way girls will like me (thanks for the vote of confidence mom), stop hanging around at the Gypsy because its weird and find a church to go to. She also informed me that kids these days are playing something called "The Choking Game" which we used to refer to as simply "Bullying" and that people in the towns that I grew up in are dying left and right from various diseases and addictions. It has always amazed me that the people in those towns have yet to catch on to the correlation between their diets and their high death rate. If these people could figure out a way to free-base fried chicken and inject it directly into their aorta they probably would. There is a decent chance that several autopsies in the area have revealed whole christmas hams lodged in the subject's left ventricle. She also told me how, as a christian, she takes these events as well as the abundance of "damn inter-racial couples" as signs of the approaching apocolypse. Hypocrisy both amuses and enrages me.
Anyway, after driving an hour and a half away from the ocean we decided to eat seafood and stopped at Dale's. Our waitress was around my age, some sort of modern, slightly diluted version of a southern belle. She has probably never touched dirt in her entire life and seemed like the type who would spend the night in her car if she ever saw a spider in her house. I got the sudden urge to set the building on fire just to see her reaction.
The conversation teetered back and forth between my mother's rants about how the weather lately makes her think that the world is about to end and my random input about various happenings around Wilmington until I finally found a moment to confront her with something that had been bothering me for quite some time. Two decades to be exact. She was talking about some "mexican" person from Miami (they were most likely Cuban) who called her desk at work yesterday and wanted to settle a speeding ticket that they got on I-95 recently.
"I couldn't understand a damn word she was saying and there was a baby screaming constantly in the background. I wish I could work for the Border Patrol. If they couldn't speak the language I would tell them to turn their ass around and go back."
I looked at her and tried out of respect to mask my dissappointment but judging by her reaction it is safe to assume I failed:
"I mean, I am not racist or anyth-"
"Yes you are."
The conversation quickly turned back to some mundane, neutral topic as we finished the meal.
Once home, I said hello to my dogs, one of which is nearly old enough to get his driver's license, and then I threw all of the shit which had been pulled out of my car back into it, hugged my mom, told her that I love her and began the return trip.
My car seemed foreign to me. Mostly because it was clean. I hit the 70mph zone between Chadbourn and Whiteville and my foot got heavy. 65. 75. 83. 90. Deer. A whole heard of them flashing past me for a brief second on either side of my car. I eased off the gas and enjoyed the free adrenaline. A few miles down the road my foot got close to the floor again as a result of the idea that lightning doesnt strike twice. Zap. Deer. Another herd. This time I saw them coming and had time to react but not enough to stop, so I hit the gas and began straddling the center line. God has hired quadrupeds as hitmen against me. He probably pays them with corn and various other grains. They lack the opposable thumbs neccessary to handle paper currency.
Back within the city limits I relaxed and drove the speed limit all the way back to my apartment where the first thing I did was check the headlines. More, or maybe even the same... I can't really tell anymore, headlines about civilian deaths in Iraq. The video of the sexually deviant water foul and some story dealing with gas prices. But where was the Libby story? Why is there a follow-up about some pervert bird but not even a whisper about a crime far more drastic than what chased Nixon out of the White House?
The media scares me. Every once in a while very important things tend to dissappear all together. Someone is masking something. Thats fine I guess. You can only suppress so much shit before you begin to build up pressure and things begin floating to he surface. What we are seeing now, ladies and gentlemen, are the first gurgles of a pot about to boil over. I wouldn't mind being in Washington with a pen and paper when it scalds all of those evil bastards.
posted by Seth Parham at 11:55 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home