Monday, May 24, 2004


Ah, Rave, here’s a bit of interesting news: yesterday morning—just after midnight, actually—three bombs exploded in banks in Cuernavaca.

“Who did it?” Rave is licking peach jam off his feet.

A group that calls itself Comando Jaramillista Morelense 23 de Mayo. They sent this e-mail to La Jornada titled “42nd Anniversary of the Murder of Ruben Jaramillo”: “Let no honest forces be surprised by this shout of protest that we have been given as our only option! Sergio Estrada Cajigal and your gang of delinquents and drug-traffickers, get out of the government of Morelos! Corrupt and inept politicians, get out; all of you, go! (Que se vayan todos.) “

“Sounds good to me. Xochicalco still carries the stain of the murder of Jaramillo and his family. How they could kill someone there is beyond me. Zapata must have been spinning in his grave—well, in his statue.”

I don’t think it was a case of cultural continuity or anything like that, Rave. Although apparently there were human sacrifices at Xochicalco. I think they took Jaramillo and his family there and killed them because they figured there would be no witnesses. Only the stones.

“Humph—and a bunch of birds like your humble servant!”

You guys have big mouths but not very many people understand your lingo. Anyway they thought they could do their dirty deed unobserved. Interesting that this new group has appeared. Not altogether surprising, though. Things have gotten pretty desperate in the state. Lots of heads have rolled, but not the head of the frivolous fop at the top of the dungheap.

“Speaking of frivolities, they haven’t gotten rid of the fool on the hill in Washington, either.”

He will not go gentle into that good night, guy. Nor will any of the other corrupt, inept politicians leading the world down the primrose path to ruin.

“In the bird kingdom, they would be tarred and feathered—literally.”

It’s not so easy to do that in the hallowed halls of government.

“Hallowed my tushie. Blake may have said that the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom—or some such nonsense—but he was just wrong.!”

Big Brother was wrong, too: ignorance is NOT strength! Fat lot of good that recognition does toward throwing the bums out.

“It’s because your species sees processes like that as difficult. A military coup would do the trick in a heartbeat. As easy as falling off a bicycle.”

Which, by the way, Bush did on the weekend at his ranch in Texas. I didn’t know birds had a military chain of command.

“We don’t. But we know our place in the food chain. Which your species doesn’t. I suppose he fell on his least vulnerable part—his head. Speaking of which, I think you should buy a bit of head cheese in the mercado.”

I hate that stuff, Rave. It tastes like—I don’t know—something rotten.

“It’s very popular in Denmark, I hear. And in Crawford, Texas. Buy me a little piece. I can imagine I am eating Bush’s brain.” Raven rolls his eyes, and lets loose with one of his eardrum-shattering cackles.

It’s going to be a difficult day.

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