Growlers are booking out of our lovely ground floor offices in the old Greyhound bus station in Monahans, Texas, and spreading like cockroaches spread when you turn the kitchen light on suddenly in a New York City apartment all across this good ole US of A. Even though over a 100 Baghdadians lost their lives yesterday in a bomb explosion in a midcity marketplace, F 'em, we're with Georgie Porgie, our "president" and hopeful monarch. We're packin' the chuckwagon at the ranch and we're havin' some of our best friends over...why look, it's Prince Bandar Bush arriving in Air Force 1--wow, we wonder, could you-know-who be with the Prince? "Er-ah, excuse us, Prince Bandar Bush, your high ass, is thegrowlingwolf on that there aeroplane with you?" Whoaaa, we're getting shot at by the National Guard. Jesus, we didn't know Monahans was that close to the Mexican border.
Oh, did we tell you that half of the National Guard troops assigned to Border Patrol duty--a chance to shoot some scumbag Messkins trying to climb that new fence--hot damn, ya-hooo, didn't show up for duty? Only half of the troops ordered up by the "president" were allowed to head for the La Frontera; the rest were either tied up or already dead in Iraq or some governors defied his goonship and kept their Guards at home. But, hell, that don't bother us, either, that'll be solved by the Great Decider, so it don't bother us one damn bit; it's the US's greatest Holy Day and we're actin' Amurican so, hell, "Mr. 'president,' would you have one of your kneegrow waitersl there pass us summ'a that there bar-bee-cue. And asked Prime Minister Tojo, Jr. if he's allowed by his god to eat pork?...heh, heh, heh, a little Middle East levity thrown into the banter, right, Georgie Porgie? Hey, off the record, who's that hot Chinese babe wearing a lot of makeup with your brother Neill overthere; is that that HongKong whore who knocked on his hotel door that time with some free hanky-panky? Excuse us, Mr. 'president,' oh, Neill, Neill, Neill Bush..., please, overhere, The Daily Growler'd like an interview with you and your hot Chinese babe."
Thank God, we're being facetious; but anyway, yep, the Growlerites are skipping town. Let's see, our two-headed girl reporter(s), Franny and Zooey--one of the dudes that drives the Monahans city bus has the hots for Zooey, by the bye, but he says he can't stand Franny--is headin' for Du-twah, Michigan, and then on up the Chevrolet Highway to do a little ribbing in the family backyard in desolite Flint, Michael Moore's hometown, and also, by the bye, the hometown of The Daily Growler house pianist.
Wow, remember when Chevrolets were the perfect USA cars? What design. And they ran damn good, too. Great lightweight motors. Chevvies were reliable cars; you could literally drive 'em off a levee, have 'em winched out of the drink, let 'em dry a bit, and bang, they would get you right back on the road in no time they were that reliable. Now, who the hell knows a friggin' Chevvie from a Toyota? We at The Daily Growler drive whatever we can afford--like a comfortable pair of shoes is what most of us drive.
We, the low-life staff who haven't got enough geetus to head out to the Monahans International Airport and fly off into the sunset or rising sun, may just simply drive up old Highway 80 here to Pecos and go to a rodeo. Boy howdy, there'll be a lotta flag waving, Praising the Lard, John-Wayne cockwalking around, and plenty of barrel-ridin' babes with tight cowgirl outfits made out of Amurican flags, the stars riding high over their firm high-riding asses, and we don't mean with long ears and eats grass, and then afterwards there'll be some shit-kicker music and some Paul Jones-ing all over some big dance floor. "Watch out for that cowshit some cowboy kicked off his boots in the middle of the floor, there stranger."
And for the Growler ladies...well, shit, we suppose women just like something about cowboys, who don't dress particularly sexy to us men...well, hell, let's ask the Growler's on love expert, Divine Diane here. "Divine? Can we have a minute?" "Sure, guys...by the way, how do you like my cowgirl outfit?" "Jesus, isn't that the Mexican flag you're wearing? Hell's bells, Diane, you'll start a riot down there in Pecos wearing that. Might get you busted as an illegal Messkin...and, by the bye, you are getting somewhat Mexicany looking, too, Diane. Have you noticed? You've gotten a lot of sun since you been out here in potash country." "Hell, boys, look, I'm being sponsored by the illegal immigrants; check out my ass." "Holy cow, the stars and stripes waving proudly across your, may we say, billboard-size ass...heh-heh-heh, just kiddin', Diane, a little levity at your expense, sweetheart, we love your ass. Kinda like the 'president' was joshing around when he talked about the gynecologists and how they should be let alone in terms of litigation so they can get on with giving women good lovin'." "Ride this, boys, I'm headin' for Pay-cos." "And we're right behind your divine behind, Divine Diane." So love comes in tight pants out here.
Oh, great, Israel wants their soldier back and they're bombing the hell out of the Gaza and Palestine and now Hamas is threatening to retaliate by blowing up Israeli schools and buildings and shit. Oh boy; way to go. For hundreds of years now these two cultures have been hacking it out over rights given them by nonexistent gods and prophets and through holy messages and holy scholarship and holy stones handed down off desert mountains giving commandments or a Medina Silk Road trader who moved into a cave with his sister and wrote a holy book, another word of yet another god. All these holy books and all of them immune from scientific corrections because they are guaranteed to be, that is if you have what they call "faith," the actual words of their "actual" Big Daddy god, Allah, Jehovah, Elohim, Yaweh, call them some ancient-language title, those are all titles not names, Jesus Christ isn't even a name in whatever language, that's a title, his street name being Joshua Ben Joseph of Nazareth (actually a slummy suburb of Nazareth--like Nazareth was up on a hill and Jesus's suburb was down at the bottom of the hill, down where they threw the garbage). Sorry, we are flag-waving and becoming fiery...we are beginning to GROWL in fierce anger at the world we are going to take a holiday from. We hate it that while we're over in Pecos, Texas, guzzling beers by the case at some roadside saloon--"Is Pecos dry, dammit, did anybody ask?"--"Don't worry," we're told by The Daily Growler guy who drives our big rigs, "The Daily Growler mobile refrigerator unit is stocked with plenty of cold Dos Equises and Superiors; ice cold, just like you guys and dolls like 'em."
Hot damn, so here go The Daily Growlers off on our various ways, leaving behind the cares of the world to be entertained by some true Amuricans who don't really give a shit what's goin' on thousands of miles away--off in LaLa Land or down in Mexico City or way back up thar East in Yankeeland. "As long as them A-Rabbs don't blow up the rodeo arena--and the Messkins don't start marchin', we gonna kick some shit and eat some bar-bee-cue...and some Messkin food, too, you bet." So a Big YEEE-HAW from The Daily Growler. We'll not post tomorrow--WE'LL BE BACK WEDNESDAY, prayer meeting night to all good Christians, and GROWLIN' night for all truth-telling GROWLERS.
Happy Fourth from The Daily Growler Staff (and Rod)
The Daily Growler Quote of the Day
"The men American people admire most extravagantly are the
most daring liars; the men they detest most violently are
those who try and tell them the truth."
--H. L. Mencken
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