Bailing Out

Did Anyone Remember Pearl Harbor?
Like a rat backed into a corner, our “president” has started to bite back at his attackers. “You people just don’t get it,” he barked at a press conference yesterday he called with Tony “Poodle” Blair to discuss Cousin James Baker’s Iraq Study Group's findings. “You people don’t understand that I do understand. I do know things are tough in Iraq. I do know that. We’re staying the course, though, dammit. You people got that? It’s Al Queda. blah, blah, blah. If we withdraw now, they’ll be back over here killing American citizens again, I’m warning you—warning you, hell, I’m still trying to scare the hell out of you poor bastard ninnies.”

Since everything this spoiled brat says is a lie, let’s think backwards and read what he says as, “I don’t understand what the F is going on in towelheadland. And damn right I’m bailing out of the plane before my crew is out just like my old Pappy did when he was a WWII Air Force captain and after his plane crashed and he saved his ass first—that’s my old Pappy—F his crew. That’s my feelin’, too, folks; I gotta save my butt first, then I worry about other butts later. Besides, I’m already committing troops to Iran—and I still got my hand up old Tony Pansy Blair’s ass, good buddies…hey, let’s go party at my faux ranch this weekend…I got the beer, the barbecue, and the shotguns. Fire up Air Force 1 and let’s leave our woes behind.”

I say let’s fire up the impeachment procedures and put our current woes in prison where they belong.

But Bush is right when he says you gotta know when to bail out; that's true of any life situation if it backfires or if it looks like it's headed up the wrong alley.

Randi Rhodes sees great things coming from the Dumbocrats, plus she's in love with Slick Willie Clinton. She says they are already starting investigative procedures into things like all the contractor deceits, frauds, and thefts in Iraq. Pelosi has already warned the Repugs that the Dumbos are going to do an audit on the whole shebang--she especially said they'll be looking for millions of "lost" monies that were given these contractors and yet the work they were supposed to do was never done--and the money disappeared--it fell deep between the cracks of their creative bookkeeping platform. And what about the world's largest embassy, the Green Zone, we're building overthere, with the classy restaurants and the car dealership? And what about all the oil the Bush Bastards have piped out of there already?

Why did Exxon and Mobil have to merge? They are now the largest corporation going--but I can't remember, were they going bankrupt before the merger? I don't get these mergers? They've been going on forever.

Omadhaun
Came across this word in This Place on Third Avenue by old long-gone New Yorker writer John McNulty (2001, Counterpoint Press). "...worries herself sick trying to live with an omadhaun like you...." It's Irish for "simpleton, fool, etc." I had never seen the word before and I love finding words that I've never seen before, though, hey, it's an Irish word and why am I supposed to know an Irish word? Looks like it should be spelled, O' Mahaun--and I knew some O'Mahons and they were about as foolish as folks could get.

Diane Sawyer in North Korea
Just watched Diane Sawyer in North Korea. What a scary joke of a woman she is; spouting all kinds of derogatory things as she strolled along clean-looking very modern streets, people looking prosperous, though Diane keeps talking about how poor the country is--commenting one time about how she at 5'9"--and that's pretty damn tall for any kind of woman--towers over most men or women North Koreans. Then she makes a startling, to me, statement. She says the North Koreans are shorter than their South Korean brothers and sisters and she ventures to guess it's because they go through great periods of starvation due to there being no steady food supply in their commie country--everything's because they're commies, you see, and not Capitalist pigs like Diane--can you imagine, millionaire Diane Sawyer strolling the streets of North Korea, and she dresses pure American teevee, a mere teevee talking head, except they do like to show Diane's long, lean body as much as possible, except the older she gets the more she's looking like Martha Stewart, cruising about North Korea being condescendingly bullshitty with the people?--one time she's on an escalator and she says, "Watch this, I'm going to try a good old American smile on these people," then she grins like a possum eating shit at several North Koreans descending on the down escalator across from her as she goes up and none of them return her grin. She says, "Look, they just won't smile." No, Diane, but I bet if you handed a couple of them a couple'a thousand bucks apiece they'd smile at you, they might even start dancing about as they smiled.

North Korea, by the bye, is a beautiful country. More beautiful than Diane Sawyer, that's for sure. One time, while Diane was comparing her height to the midget Koreans, she noted, "I don't see any overweight people on these streets...nor do I see any dogs and cats anywhere." Leaving me to believe that Diane was trying to say these poor commie bastards are so starving, they're eating all the pariah dogs and wild cats in the town--and, I guess, she assumes, they've eaten their pets already, too. Hey, Diane, you dumb blonde numbskull, they eat dog in Korea and China and VietNam. Hey, a barbecued whole cat might taste pretty damn good, too, whether you're fat or skinny. I ate cat meat in Haiti one time, at least that's what a guy from England told me I was eating--sundried strips of cat meat that you squeeze lime juice over--delicious. A Dominican Republic whore told me the worthless Haitians, these island-sharing people hate each other, were jiving me, that I was eating turkey not cat. I took it to be cat meat, dammit, and it was good eating, too.

Once down in New Orleans I found a store in the Vieux Carre selling cans of tiger meat from India. I bought several cans and my brother and I opened one and looked at it and thought, Jesus, it looks foul as hell--it was chunks of a strange-looking meat in a greenish-brown gravy sauce. I took a bite; he took a bite. It wasn't bad, but we dared not eat the whole can. Cowards!

A piano-playing friend of mine and I gave a big bash in Santa Fe one year and as a special treat we got a young suckling pig carcass down in Albuquerque and we dug a pit in my backyard and filled it with hot coals, laid a grill over the coals, put the pig on the grill, covered it with aluminum foil and bricks and let her cook a whole night long into the next afternoon. When we undid the whole thing, that pig was crackling and sizzling and smelling magnificently. My friend and I took it into the kitchen to put it on a big aluminum tray we'd borrowed from the restaurant where my friend tickled the ivories and sang every night except Monday.

Before we'd cooked the piglet, we prepared it in my kitchen, and after we'd buttered it down and rubbed it with spices and shit, my piano-playing friend suddenly said, "OK, man, before we put this porker on the coals and cook his young ass, it's traditional for the pig preparers to eat the raw eyeballs--then after it's cooked you put the apple in his mouth and cherries in the empty eye sockets, see. You ready?" What could I say? I was a manly man in those days, so I said, "Let 'em rip," and rip 'em he did, right out of their sockets with his thumb. He then put the naked eyeballs in tablespoons, handed one to me, and then said, "OK, down the hatch." I looked down at it before I downed it. A pig's eye looked back at me. I swear, I saw nothing in a pig's eye. It was like eating a small clam. No problem.

The only time I bailed out on food was in the Colombian jungle when I was offered a monkey dinner. I said no thank you to monkey brains and eggs. You see, I am not a cannibal. I ate the grilled fruit bat instead and that wasn't bad at all. Not the first rodent I ever had; I grew up eating rabbit.

So here come the Dumbocrats. They're promising so much and Randi Rhodes believes in them, but you know me. I have my cynical doubts, normal doubts I have about most miracles whether political or otherwise. These predicted feats of magic are always disappointing and almost always turn into business as usual, or, as Yogi would put it, "Deja vu all over again."

But I'm not bailing out yet. I'm flying solo, so if I go down, I go down alone. If I bail, it'll be just in time.

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler

So that day that was suppose to live in infamy went by without a soul noticing it. We, here at The Daily Growler REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR, the day the Japanese successfully attacked the U.S. "Possession" of Hawaii and destroyed most of our Pacific naval fleet and pulled us into WWII, with good old aristocrat-crippled F.D.R. giving his "Day that will live in infamy" speech before Congress, December 7, 1941, as he declared war on the Empire of Japan. Facts later showed Roosevelt had prior knowledge of a planned Japanese attack and also the day of the attack a coastal observer reported back to Pearl Harbor that he saw a formation of what looked like to him Japanese airplanes headed their way. Wars are always based on lies.

This was a hastily done post. thegrowlingwolf is becoming bored with the usual life he leads here in New York City. Music is boring to him; people are boring to him; the only thing he sees himself fit for these days is contemplation. Not much comes from contemplating except another contemplation. We eagerly await seeing just what the old Wolf Man has in mind for his future posts.

We hope they aren't posts mortum.