Monday, February 25, 2008

Irony ("Feigned Ignorance")

How's This For Irony?
Self-made roofing magnate Kenneth Albert Hendricks died on Dec. 21 after falling through the roof of his garage. He was 66. [From the Blog of Death.]

"Yo, Ken, be careful up there, buddy." "Hey, I've been doin' this since I was knee-high to a grasshopper so don't go tellin' me to be care...whoaaaa! Argghhhhhhhhhh!" PLOP. SPLAT.
"Ken? Ken? You old sombitch, are you OK? [a moment goes by] Dammit, they've killed Kenny! YOU BASTARDS!"

And Talkin' 'Bout Fallin' Through the Roof
I'm sorry, folks, I try and get high minded and ignore these politicians and then I catch a glimpse of their latest skulduggeries, accusations, and slung muds and I can't resist poking a stick through the bars of their cages (they are caged in their own egos) and teasing these heathen jiveass human-trick-ponies.

Like old Hillary. Why she's so peeved she's almost going into one of those "female" moods--like maybe have such a hot flash she forgets who she is and what the hell she's doin' and goes off on a real old-fashioned Chicago wallflower girl madness remembering what her father and mother and her grandparents used to say about those blacks on the Southside of Chicago, Cottage Grove, Maxwell, all the way up to Hyde Park where the Jews lived. I've been in Chicago before when the whites were hostile--check out how the Chicago Police have traditionally treated Chicago blacks. Just recently some black men brought a lawsuit against a former Chicago police commander whose favorite way of getting an N-worder to confess was to put a Chicago phone book on top of his head and then beat on the phone book with a baseball bat--oh boy did those savages confess--and these guys who are suing this yokel who's now retired and living well in South Florida on full pension confessed to crimes they didn't commit and spent up to 18 years in prison until DNA proved they weren't guilty. That's the Chi-town Hillary comes from. And from there to the Eastern girls's college, then Yale (oh, how liberal Yale used to be--"Welcome, our knee-grow brothers..." The Elis were poor little white lambs, not black sheep. And wait a minute now, afore ye accuse me of prejudice, I wanna say some of my best friends went to Yale)--and after Yale she got hoodwinked into marriage by Slick Willie the Arkansas boy with the big brown nose (he'd just pulled it out of old Senator Fulbright's ass), the Hillbilly Rhodes Scholar--a scholarship named after that great British humanitarian and racial justice fighter, Cecil Rhodes! Cecil gave us Rhodesia, too! It's Zimbabwe today--and what a mess Cecil left to the black folks who owned it anyway--"Those little wooly boogers; I say, they're such docile buggers. They'll do anything you beat them into doing." AND WHAT A MESS THE FUCKING BRITISH EMPIRE AND THE VICTORIAN AGE AND THE EDWARDIAN AGE AND THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION HAVE LEFT US WITH IN NEARLY EVERY CORNER OF THIS EARTH. There is still chaos brewing in every former British colony, from this country around the world through India, Sri Lanka, Siam, Indonesia--which the Brits shared with the Dutch--remember when the Moluccans were blowing up the Dutch a few decades back--every former British colony or protectorate is in turmoil today--Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, Palestine, certain parts of India--and all over Africa, again sharing the blame with the Dutch, the Belgians (what a mess the Congo still is), the Portuguese, the French (trouble in Angola and Chad), from serious economic problems in South Africa, to out-and-out craziness in Zimbabwe, dire trouble in Kenya, madness in the Sudan, Mozambique, Diego Garcia, Nigeria--pick a former British colony where there isn't some kind of conflict either brewing or in full swing. And now the Brits sit pompously feigning ignorance about what's going on in this fucked up world, a world fucked up by pompous asshole egoists, elitist fops--and I include all British musicians in that fop bag, too--how disgusting was the PBS tribute to 60-year-old Sir Elton John the other night? (PBS is the Pro-British System.) I thought Sir Elton was broke. Didn't he just have to sell off all his "Little Richard copycat" wardrobe because he was so damn broke? Yet he keeps right on copycattin' along, playin' the piano a la Jerry Lee Lewis--did y'all know that?

I'm sorry. I'm such an Anglophobe. I used to get really pissed when the hip culture referred to me as a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. Fuck that. First of all I'm a white-skinned native of the United Snakes of America--I hate anything Anglo and as far as I know Saxons are half-Nazis, and as for Protestantism, I'm an atheist with a lowercased "a"--I hate most things British except original Jaguars, before Ford bought them and ruined them and has now sold them to India's Tatta Motors. How ironic is that? How embarrassing is that? However, and I hope I don't hurt some Jag-nuts's feelings when I say, Jaguars were elegantly made though they weren't that good a runnin' machines--I owned two Jags and I had huge mechanic bills all the time with both of them--in fact, one time, in Santa Fe, I had a Mercedes mechanic trained in Germany, a Native American dude, who used my Jag to learn how to work on British-made automobiles it was in his garage so much. First of all Jaguars in those days were timed to run cool at high speeds--because they were meant for country driving out in the English countryside and not for city driving--and to drive them in a city you had to reset their timing gears--and to do that you had to wench your whole block up out of the engine compartment, take the timing chain loose from the timing wheel and then notch the wheel tighter or looser depending on how hot your motor was running. As a result of a hot-running motor, you burned a lot of oil. Whoooo boy. But sweet driving. I used to tool my little Jag sedan, a Mark VI, white, with cherrywood dashboard and black leather bucket seats in the front and a lush couch-like rear seat, a Lucas electrical system, and I had a Bose sound system installed in it--two speakers in the back window--and I tooled that car all up and down the USA, tooling along at easily a steady 90 mph--leaving 'em in my dust--until my young wife at the time had enough and forbade me to drive when she was with me--she drove or she didn't go. I still drove that Jag a lot and loved every minute of it. I bought it in Dallas and right off drove it to Santa Fe; then from Santa Fe I drove it to Florida eventually trying to put down stakes in Key West (I was actually in Key West to make a movie of Hemingway's home there, which I did, and while filming at will around the place, the keeper of the house said it was for sale for $80,000 and if we were interested in buying it...blah, blah, blah), then we drove to Boca Raton and lived on the beach for a while, and then it was back across the country to San Francisco, living up on Washington Street and parking the Jag on Hill Street with the car's cool nose pointed straight down at a 180 degree angle toward San Francisco Bay--I always said cars in San Francisco must have the best emergency brakes in the world--and from San Francisco we tried to live in the Big Sur, then we went up to Eureka--beautiful up there--I've walked out deep into a redwood forest just outside Eureka and it was god-damn inspiring--you should have heard the poetry bubbling through my brain's fissures out there in the belly of that redwood forest--I felt as though I was in the midst of an ancient intelligence when I was alone out in that Goliath-tall grove. From Eureka we drove the Jag up the Oregon Coast (Hi, Coos Bay!--I loved Coos Bay) into the Hood Canal area, where I'd decided we wanted to live but we couldn't find anything just right so we moved on to Port Angeles, Washington, and there we took a fabulous ferry ride over to Victoria, British Columbia, where we moved into a motel right across from the parliament buildings and facing Puget Sound and the Olympia Mountains--we were a happy couple in Victoria until one night we both said, this is the dullest place on earth except for this beautiful aesthetic view--and we're getting tired of the view--so one day, boom, we were out of there and taking a ferry over to Vancouver--we made some money at the Woodbine Race Track then we shot the Jag out over the Columbia River and into wild, wild Oregon--I was so bored in Pendleton, Oregon, one night I tried to read the Book of the Mormon that was in the nightstand by the bed. I read one or two pages and started laughing like a Hollywood-bound hyena, hollering, "Listen to this shit, honey," and then I'd read a long passage to my wife and she came out of the bathroom and listened a while and said, "Jesus, can you believe intelligent people believe that shit?" "No," I said, "Anybody who believes this drunken drivel is not intelligent at all. Not even a half-nuts, meat-crazed chimpanzee would fall for this shit?"

I really dug Burley, Idaho. We had a great little motel room there, with a wild-ass bar next door where we went every night and had steaks and drank Ranier beers and CC and Seven and sang along with the Frank Sinatra records on the jukebox and I was all for settlin' down in Burley, Idaho, but one night my wife said, "You know something ironic, Wolfie?" "No, what, Toots?" "As much as I wanted to get the hell out of Santa Fe, now after all this travelin', I'm ready to go back to Santa Fe--baby, I miss Santa Fe. Let's go back." "You wanna hear something else ironic? I've been thinkin' the same thing, Toots, so let's pack the Jag and blow this joint." And that's what we did; we drove from Burley, Idaho, straight through Montana, Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, on down the Rockies and smack-dab back into Santa Fe 24 hours later--checked into a suite at the La Fonda Hotel, and I took a shower the minute we hit that room and to this day I still recall it as the finest shower I've ever taken in my life. By midnight we were back full swing into the Santa Fe social whirl. We'd been gone close to a year and a half and had driven that Jaguar over 12,000 miles, from Santa Fe to Southernmost Florida, then from Southernmost Florida across the USA to California, traversing Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Nevada, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia, Idaho, Montana, Utah, Wyoming, Colorado and back to sweet home New Mexico. I sold that Jaguar to a painter friend of mine for 1,000 smackers and he turned around and sold it for 2,000 smackers to the president of Walgreen's Drugstores out of Chicago--a dear old friend of mine and my wife's who used to send us a huge tins of the finest pistachio nuts every X-mas--

I used to have a 16-mm movie of my Airedale hound driving that Jaguar--Queenie, that was the dog's name--the best and gentlest dog I've ever owned--and I've owned three dogs since an adult, a Malamute Husky, a Siberian Husky, and this Airedale--we had two litters of Airedale/Husky puppies, too--cute little mask-bandit-looking tykes. The Malamute was a big dog--we brought him down to Santa Fe from Fairbanks, Alaska, along with his father, the Siberian Husky--and Malamutes don't bark, but let a full moon show itself on our mountainside and you'd hear a howl that would wake the dead. When my Malamute howled at the moon--we'd hold our breathes waiting for the hunters to come rollin' up in their 4-wheel drives ready to shoot whatever moved--"A wolf, boys, I heard a wolf up here, I swear." "Calm down, boys, it was just my Malamute." Skookum, that was the Malamute's name, was half-wolf--a very loyal dog. My wife and I rented a place in British Tortola from an old sea captain--but when we told him we had a Malamute we were bringing down there with us, he said he wouldn't bring an Alaskan dog to Tortola because of the humidity--we harkened to the old Captain's words and cancelled our rental and stayed in Santa Fe where the weather was perfect for a Malamute.

So Hillary is flipping out. She's turning on Obama worse than Slick Willie did. Obama's kicking her Dumbocratic Party machine ass--11 wins in a row over Hill--and beating her ass bad in Aryan Nation Idaho, too--and then when Hill was crowing how she would take Obama's ass in Wisconsin it ended up she even lost bad to the N-worder there, too, and Hill has now run over to Ohio, where she knows the voting machines are easily rigged, and shit-fire fuzzy, she's runnin' into Obama-ites all over the god-damn place up there, too. And Hill is getting raggedy looking--and where's Slick Willie these days?--he's been awfully quite since he called Obama a fool or whatever it was Billy Jeff called him--did I ever tell you that Hope, Arkansas, (did you know Mike "the Baptist Huckleberry" Huckabee is also from Hope? So was Ketty Lester--anybody remember her?) used to have "Welcome to Hope" signs up at all entrances to this little one-horse Arkansas burg known for its great watermelon crops? Those "Welcome to Hope" signs showed a huge head of a little "pickininny"--that in Arkansas is any black child, boy or girl--all big-eyed black with burr head and big white choppers glowing out from this kid's taking a huge bite out of a slice of red-ripe watermelon. That was where Slick Willie was born and reared by his trailer-house mammy and her second-or-third-or-fourth husband. And what ever happened to Slick Willie's half-brother, the rock star? Remember him? Wonder how Hill would like it if Roger, wasn't that his name, Clinton showed up at one of her Obama bashings--maybe he's written a hot rock song for his sister-in-law.
Here's a postcard from Hope, back about the time Slick Willie was born.

And then today, Hill lets loose the old photo of Obama doing a photo-op all dressed out in his Al Queda-Islamic extremist garb. "Damn, that thar proves Osama's, er-ah, I mean, Obama's a terrerist! When's President Bush gonna put a stop to this liberal commie terrerist bullshit and declare himself our dick-tater." He's a dick alright, but then so's Hillary.

And how 'bout we have Ralph "Spoilsport" Nader back in the race again? He's running so he can counter Hill and Obama and their backing the nuclear power industry, HMOs, pharmaceutical drug companies, and lobbyists. I suppose the NeoCons are sponsoring Ralph again this year. I don't think Ralph cost Al "Bore" Gore the election--I do think the Bushes stole both the 2000 and 2004 elections and would have no matter how many votes Ralphie Boy got. Plus, Ralphie Boy is right about a lot of the shit he wants to pile on Obama and Hill. Would you not say Ralph has got a huge set of balls! People tonight are outwardly cursing Ralph but he's stoically trudging on. The Dumbocrat doomsayers are already conceding the election to John "Half-baked" McCain and blaming their loss on Ralph "Spoilsport" Nader.

Shit, I wouldn't put it past nutjob Amuricans to elect John McCain--and then we'll go up on the mountain and wait for "De Lawd" to come back!

Idiots! Everywhere idiots! And I heard this Obama babe, this Samantha Powers, and she was doublespeaking like a full-blown tailgunner all about how Obama was this, purely this, and that, purely that, and how pure this guy is and how honorable--and I'm thinkin'--damn, there's another one of these self-determined gutsy babes boosting her MAN, her superman, and boosting him wrongly, too, I might add.

These silly political schnooks don't see the picture even though the picture is so big and huge and high-density it's screaming at them, "Wake up, you fools. We the People want Bush and his NeoCons impeached; we want 'em jailed; we want 'em ran out of town, and we want somebody to get us out of these stupid unnecessary and back-breaking wars--and get us out of this FEAR mode and into a REPAIR mode--but these mooneyed politicians don't see it that way at all--they're all still drunk on their own dizzying glorified spins--and the Dumbocrats never do see it and they are so surprised when one of their candidates actually wins--like Jimmy "Peanut Head" Cah-ter and then Billy Jeff "Pass the Gravy, Ma" Clinton--otherwise the Dumbocrats are their own worst enemies. Hillary's blowing it, but so is Obama and his high-school-debate-style retorts against Hill's wide-open, KKK-approved mudslinging--she's beatin' her feet on that Mississippi mud! "Dammit, I got'a get them damn darkies to dancin'!"

The Daily Growler predicted long ago that Hill and Bill would cave, their racist souls would blossom forth some good ole Willie Horton ads blaming the black man for his own slavery--why, hell, they'll be blaming Obama's African daddy as being a slave-tradin' terrerist back in Africa before he held that white woman, Obama's mother, hostage. Oh the shit that's gonna hit the Clinton fan. Hell, I predict Hill will have a mad moment--cry hell, she'll go berserk with Obama hatred!

In the meantime, Cap'n John McCain seems determined to shoot himself in the foot--which is hard for John to do since his foot's in his mouth most of the time. Certainly folks are seeing you don't want this flyboy at the controls of the ship of state--he'll either crash it into the deck of that wobbly ship or the Al Queda Air Force will shoot his ass down for a little extreme rendition at Osama Bin Laden's tiger hunting camp in Pakistan--wonderful democratic Pakistan--Amurica's friend. The Good Ole USA gives billions of dollars in aid to Pakistan--Pakistan turns around and aids the Taliban who are amassing troops in the Paki mountains and then are reemerging in Afghanistan, especially coming back into the Kandahar region en masse, according to Sarah Chayes who lives in Kandahar, thus allowing the Taliban to kill NATO troops--like they killed several goofball Canadian soldiers the other day. Before the USA went in and occupied Afghanistan, they didn't know what car bombings were--now they do. 150 Afghan civilians were killed in a car bombing the other day. Ain't war grand!

And how about OUR keeping track of the Kurds--you know The Daily Growler has said all along how everybody over there in Iraq, Iran, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, hates the Kurds, PKK or democratic, it don't matter, if they're Kurds, they're hated. Turkey is as I type this bombing the bejesus out of the Kurdish territory around Kirkuk--now named something else--the heart of the biggest Iraqi oilfield. You see the Iraqi government hates the Kurds--come on, these same birds backed Saddam Hussein 100% when he gassed the hell out of the Kurds--and they butchered Kurds during Iraq's 10-year-war with Iran, who also hates the Kurds. So "Kill the Kurds" is now US approved--can you believe the USA (We the People) gave its approval to Turkey and allowed it to bomb the hapless Kurds at will, with airplanes and bombs and equipment We the People sold to the Turks or gave to them in a foreign aid package. Of course, ironically, we probably sold the Kurdistan PKK their weapons, too.

How corrupt is all of this! It's indigestible to me. It's so seethingly rotten and the smell gets more miasmic the longer it's allowed to rot. "Praise Jehovah I wasn't born a Kurd!"

I say, nuke the whole lot of 'em--what's that, Condo Leasing Rice, G.W. Bush wants to discuss making me his Sec'y of Defense?

for The Daily Growler

Some Kurds Kurds--they look pretty terrifying, don't they? They certainly look like a definite threat to US national security. They look like a big threat to the Turks, too--can't you understand the Turks wanting to decimate these savage scumbag sheepherders!'s where the Kurds have lived for thousands of years--right smack-dab in the middle of OUR OIL, dammit! the heart of Kurdistan. Check out the Website:,kurdistan1.jpgKurdistan architecture. glam-girls.
...And here's a site that has some great photographs of Kurdistan, the country and the people.

"Cats," a Poem by Kurdistan Poet Abbas Abdullah Yousif

What's a bakery
home garage
without a cat?
For, at least, a cat scares me
For, at least, a cat kills the rats for me
For, at least, a cat eats my leftovers
For, at least, a cat makes me think of darkness
For, at least, a cat awakens dead desires
A cat hides under a carriage
Watches television
Scratches its ears
Sits on a chair
Stays awake all night
And, best of all, fights
You'll see cats on mount Qaf Also
among ruins of a mill Leaf through a
woman's journal And you'll see cats
You'll see the word written all over my
neighborhood walls.

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