Friday, June 20, 2003


Raven and I have been watching with great interest the incandescent bulbs lighting up above people’s heads who have finally realized that they were suckered into accepting and supporting the invasion of the sovereign country, Iraq—an invasion that is still going on, with daily deaths from confrontations between Iraquis trying to defend THEIR country and U.S. soldiers who’ve been brainwashed into believing they’re back in—where?—Indiana?

It warms our hearts to see folks finally demanding a bipartisan congressional committee to investigate the machinations/manipulations/manufacturing of evidence and just plain lies (we come from the country and we know manure when we see it) strung together by the petrocriminals of the Bush Gang in order to get their hands—er, drills—into the second largest petroleum reserves on the planet.

“After that investigation shows just how guilty those guys are, do you think that people will look at the invasion of Afghanistan and be able to muster up enough historical memory to connect 9/11 with the Reichstag Fire?” Raven clamps his beak into a rye cracker.

A wry question from the rye cracker monster, huh? I’d like to hope so, Rave. I really would. But you have to remember that the bulbs that we’ve been seeing begin to give off some light are nowhere near the majority. In most of the bulbs there still beats the heart of darkness.

“Wretched analogy. It would be better to say still persists the peristalsis of stupidity.”

You’re too sensitive to images of darkness, and you’re getting too far out, guy—too close to Poe’s “detestable” putrescence from “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar.”

“Poe! Of course. A saint of my devotion. Or maybe I am the saint of his devotion? A second-class saint though—all he had me say was “Nevermore”. Not even “One day at a time.”

Ouch, Rave. I fear we’re heading into a fog of alcoholic imagery.

“He WAS an alcoholic.” Raven unwraps another little packet of rye.

Poe? I suppose so. It didn’t seem to hurt his writing, though.

“I was talking about Bush. The leader of the Gang. The born-again bonehead who—as we indicated a few months back—should be impeached.”

Who would—in fact—do better falling off a barstool in Texas.

“Both of them would do better.” Raven lies down on the windowsill, ready for a snooze in the sun.

Bush and Poe?

I had a terrible feeling—even before I finished my question—that I had been had.

“Of course not.” Raven closes one eye. “Bush and the horse he rode in on.”

To the bar in Texas.

“To the Oval Office. It’s high time they cleaned out the manure in there.”

Raven closes the other eye, and a discreet snore begins to escape from his beak.

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