Monday, May 13, 2013

Ipso Facto

Has anyone else out there—and I am speaking to men only—has anyone else out there put on a pair of freshly laundered pants or shorts and found . . .

that they fit so perfectly that you either choose not to put on a belt or simply forget to?  Then, half an hour later, when they finally get stretched out, you find that nothing on earth short of a tightly cinched belt can keep these pant/shorts from falling down over your bare butt?  Well, such an event happened to me at Walmart today.  Yep, when I left home I thought, “Ha, no need for a belt me . . . these shorts fit perfect.”  Lo!  As soon as I exited the car in the parking lot—BOING--I knew.  Instead of driving back six miles to get a belt, I determined to suck it up.  And so, as I slipped around Walmart with one of those friggen defective shopping carts that pulls hard left and makes a major malfunction noise like it has a flat tire, I tried holding my shorts up w/o anyone noticing. Mostly, I was successful; the slow pace of shopping for food allowed me to discretely keep a hand on a belt loop and still push the fuggin noisy cart.   

It was the trudge back to the car, however, that was awful.  In addition to fighting the stupid shopping cart full of food across what seemed like miles of blazing hot asphalt, the shorts acted as if they would fall down over my butt with every effing step.  Whatever, I must have looked right at home among the geeks, freaks, sneaks, cheats, carnies, big screen TV boosters, and meth scab pickers at Wally World, for none noticed, thank god.

Moral: If the aliens and sub-humans at Walmart start staring, you probably best just go home and gas yourself.


Rant Therapy

“It’s time to speak out.  We old folks from the Depression and World War II generations are appalled.  What used to be the sins in life are now considered ‘rights.’  The morals and viciousness in today’s society are worsening at a rapid pace.  It’s time to speak out to our so-called leaders.”    ----Lillian Murray, Rotonda West

Ha!  Glad the old lady above got all that off her chest.  I’m sure this rant to the editor from a flimsy Florida fish wrap in a small, backswamp community will speed all the way up the chain of command to those in charge and that someone will get right to the bottom of old Lillian’s concern.  And if that doesn’t work, then maybe if Lillian just keeps voting Republican for another hundred years all these problems will just go—POOF!—and disappear.  Fact is, while Lillian and her “Depression and World War II generations” were fast asleep, the weasel got in the hen coop and stole the eggs.  Lillian and most other Americans didn’t get it then--and I doubt if they even get it now--but this ain’t their country no mo.  While they were snoring soundly, the First World that was once America was handed over with a pretty blue bow to the Third World.  That’s the reality.  What Lillian and other slow-thinking snail groaners—young and old--see now is not a war still being waged for the “morals” of the U.S. but an occupation being hammered down and locked up by our worst enemies.  We lost.  They won.  That is it.  We may as well either get cozy with the new reality or hop the next train out of town. 

“It’s time to speak out. . . .”  That’s funny . . . and sad.  Sorry, Lillian, you are a wee bit late on that one . . . a mere fifty years too late.  Not sure what exactly it was that raised you from your slumber but now that you gave us all a good jest, please just go back to sleep and trouble the world no more with your “It’s time to speak out. . . .”  


Scales of Justice--And then there is would-be fugitive, Bryan Zuniga (let’s call him BZ, or maybe “Buzz,” for short).  Seems Buzz was just minding his beeswax the other day, driving without a license, driving erratically down the street, driving like an idiot, driving on the left side, driving on the right side, driving in the center side.  This sort of “driving” is exactly the kind of driving that draws the attention of blue lights.  So. . . .

When the cops pulled him over, Buzz panicked and made a break for it.  Forget the car, forget the future, forget the fact that he was looking at a mere ticket, at worst; nope, Buzz just had to do the impulsive, erratic, rabbit-like thing and try to escape.  Funny thing.  After bursting his way through one of those vinyl fences so common down here, Buzz did escape.  Had this been normal street cops chasing him, Buzz would have been run down in seconds; but these particular law dogs this day were gravitationally challenged  lard lads from the county doughnut department and these ample-bellied  badge boys never, in all recorded history, have ever yet won a foot pursuit with anything, and so they didn’t even try to run down a slim twenty-year-old.

Well, turns out that a few hours later these same sloth-footed cops, as was their wont, checked the local hospital on a hunch.  Bingo.  They found Buzz in bed bandaged butt and banjo.  Seems our fugitive, in his panic to escape, tried hiding near a water treatment plant and before he knew it he was “fighting for his life” with an eight foot alligator.  From the sound of his injuries, Buzz is lucky to still be alive.  Bites all over his bod, tip to toe.  When he gets out of the hospital Buzzaroo will have quite a tale to tell his cellmates at the county hoosegow. 

Moral: Never run from Florida cops.  If da man don’t getcha, da nature will.