Wednesday, August 24, 2005


Rave, I am really hot under the collar this morning.

"I'm not surprised. This is not exactly the temperate zone we are living in. I suppose that's why this rye bread is dried out?" Raven holds up a torn piece of bread in one claw.

It is probably stale. And I am not hot from the weather, I am angry.

"Oh oh. This wouldn't have anything to do with a bible-thumping rabble rouser calling for the assassination of Hugo Chavez on US airwaves, would it?"

Of course it does! Things are getting wilder and wilder and more and more violence is the order of the day. The fact that the Snickering Cretin's spokesperson simply passes off an action against international and federal laws--including against the Patriot Act--as merely "inappropriate" is beyond outrageous, and it indicates that Venezuelan Vice President Rangel was absolutely correct when he said that mounting an anti-terrorism campaign all over the world, while supporting and advocating terrorist acts from the heart of the US itself was beyond hypocrisy and was, in fact, simply criminal.

"Sounds criminal to me, all right."

Raven rejects his breakfast bread.

"Would you mind nuking a small bit of leftover lasagna for me?"

Whatever Raven wants, he gets.

Of course I will microwave the lasagna for you. I am getting tired of looking at it, anyway. But back to the assassination caper, why isn't Robertson in jail--with both due process and the key thrown away?

"Beats me. Any muslim cleric, for example, who called for the assassination of the Creepy Cretin undoubtedly would be."

And Rumsfeld--Mr. War, as Chavez calls him--or Mr. Mothballs, which I prefer--said that Robertson was a private citizen and that private citizens say all kinds of things all the time. As if every private citizen had a license from the FCC to operate a broadcasting network to say all kinds of things all the time! I am sure those other private citizens would be in hot water even suggesting an assassination of the Crosseyed Cretin on a ham radio set.

Raven opens his beak to coincide with the DING of the microwave.

"Actually, I wonder how much the Corrupt Cretin donated to Robertson's network to insure that he would call for the killing of a president who is NOT a cretin, nor a war-mongering scoundrel taking refuge in false patriotism, and who happens to control both OPEC and the world's largest hydrocarbon reserves. That's what I wonder. And although I expect to live to 84--if those same warmongerers have not blown the planet to bits by then--I do not expect my question to be answered."

Raven tucks into his lasagna.

"A little dry. But beats stale rye bread. Or Soylent Green."

Amen, brother Raven.

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