Da Contendah

The Lone Star State has been suffering from a record drought. An area larger than Oklahoma has been declared high risk for fire and this past Labor Day weekend wildfires burned more than 100,000 acres close to Austin. Gusting winds exacerbated the problems for firefighters and thousands of residents of Bastrop County have fled the walls of flame. The governor abandoned his presidential aspirations and returned to Texas for photo-ops with refugees and cindered houses. to Texas from his presidential "We've got a lot of Texans living in shelters now." Perry had proposed on TV that such misfortunates as welfare recipients be pressed into work camps. He has yet to suggest such a drastic measure for Texans rendered homeless by the fires. Local police have allegedly blamed the widespread conflagrations on arson. Rick Perry has been a firm believer in the Hand of God and has categorically refused to consider that the epic drought might be caused by global warming. The governor will be leaving Texas today for a GOP debate at the Ronald Reagan library. He has performed well in five gubernatorial debates by defending his record by accusing opponents of tearing down Texas. His anti-Washington rhetoric has been music to the ears of the Tea Party who are seeking to put a man of their politics into the White House and America suffers a short memory about governors from Texas. Rick Perry is no GW Bush. He's the real thing. Right-wing gun-carrying cowboy from Texas AM. A true goat-roper.

The Greater Depression

The recession has hit everybody really hard My neighbor got a pre-declined credit card in the mail. Wives are having sex with their husbands because they can't afford batteries. CEO's are now playing miniature golf.

Exxon-Mobil laid off 25 Congressmen. A stripper was killed when her audience showered her with rolls of pennies while she danced. I saw a Mormon with only one wife. If the bank returns your check marked "Insufficient Funds," you call them and ask if they meant you or them. McDonald's is selling the 1/4 ouncer. Angelina Jolie adopted a child from America . Parents in Beverly Hills fired their nannies and learned their children's names. A truckload of Americans was caught sneaking into Mexico ... A picture is now only worth 200 words. When Bill and Hillary travel together, they now have to share a room. The Treasure Island casino in Las Vegas is now managed by Somali pirates. Congress says they are looking into this Bernard Madoff scandal. Oh Great! The guy who made $50 Billion disappear is being investigated by the people who made $1.5 Trillion disappear! And, finally.... I was so depressed last night thinking about the economy, wars, jobs, my savings, Social Security, retirement funds, etc., I called the Suicide Hotline. I got a call center in Pakistan , and when I told them I was suicidal, they got all excited, and asked if I could drive a truck. These gems are thanks to Da Richard stuck in Saudi Arabia

Atlantic Slapdown

Yesterday my landlord extended a late afternoon invitation to join his family excursion to the beach. The weather was sultry and sunny. My other water option was a long soak in my tub. My answer was quick and to the point. "Gimme five minutes." Within 4 I was in his Audi A6 station wagon. The two blonde-headed kids came down to the street several minutes later. Departure took less than 10 minutes. We were all eager to see the ocean and our destination was within the borders of New York City. AP navigated the empty streets of Brooklyn and found a BQE onramp in Dumbo. Out-bound traffic was light in comparison to the inbound lane. We got off at exit 11S and crossed over Jamaica Bay Inlet on the Marine Parkway Bridge. AP turned right and entered Fort Tilden, to which he had a parking permit from the Rockaway Artists Collective. His kids had brought their bikes and rode ahead on the crumbling roads of the decommissioned military outpost. Fort Tilden had served the nation since the War of 1812 and existed as Naval Air Station Rockaway throughout the 20th Century. Coastal guns dotted the dunes to protect New York City from invasion. During the Cold War Nike Hercules and Nike Ajax missiles were installed in bunkers and launch sites to shoot down Soviet nuclear missile. AP's five-year old son was desperate to find a silo. "Why they not have missiles now?" "The fort was abandoned in the 70s." "Why?" It was only the second of many whys and AP was a good father. He answered each and every why. It was almost five by the time we reached the beach. The earlier crowds had departed for home. The wind off the water was cold. The beach was strewn with plastic bags and beer cans. AP's son asked why. "Because people are pigs." AP answered and stripped off his shirt. He had summered most of his life on the Hamptons and we dove into the rough surf. His daughter and son waited in ankle-deep water. His wife sat by the dunes. "You mind?" "Not at all." I held the two by the hand, as AP stroked through the surf. He was a good swimmer and friend too, since he returned to his children within two minutes he resumed his parental duty. "Thanks." "Don't mention it." I was also a father. AP carried his 7 year-old daughter into the waves, as his energetic son chased gulls with a stick. I ran into the ocean. The water temperature was in the 70s. I duckdove under a large wave and Aussie-crawled about 100 feet from shore. The current swept east at a fast clip and I swam to keep AP and his daughter before me. I love the rough nature of the Atlantic and spotted a surging wave building a surfable face. I rode it for a good twenty feet before the wave collapsed onto the sandbar. I was slammed to the bottom on my back and popped to the surface gasping for breath. An unusual pain throbbed in the ribs. I had hit the sand hard. Lord Neptune was trying to kill me, but I wasn't an easy victim. Some muscles might have been damaged and I bodysurfed to shallow water. Standing up I inhaled deeply. The ache wasn't going away and I decided it was time to call an end to this swimming expedition. "You okay?" AP asked emerging from the surf with his daughter clinging to his neck. "Nothing a few margharitias wouldn't cure." "Your wish is my command." AP is a kindred soul. His wife liked the idea. The kids were happy with the promise of tacos. They were a happy family and happier that we had gone to Fort Tilden. It is our Hamptons. Every time of year.

Join the Party

Where do I sign up?

WORKING CLASS HERO / John Lennon

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njG7p6CSbCU I can't stand the Beatles' music for the most part. Many of the McCarthy songs are classic minorpieces of insipiditude. REVOLUTION is a total cop-out. Post-Beatles John Lennon is another story and nothing beats WORKING CLASS HERO to inspire the struggle. The revolution is over only for those who have surrendered to the falsehood of wealth. Free your mind.

Thai Revenge

Several years ago my daughter was playing on our soi in Pattaya. A pick-up roared down the street like the driver had murdered his wife and was bell-bent for the border. From my perspective the bumper came very close to my little precious and I chased him on my motor scooter to verbally reprimand him.

At the corner I slapped his door with my open palm. A clumsy move and I swerved off my bike rather than zoom into the busy main street.

As I struggled to right the Yamaha, the neighbor who appeared to have such a small head through the windshield, got out of the car. The small noggins was attached to a King Kong body with football hooligan tattoos, which I only noticed a nanosecond before his first punch.

Lefts and rights broke my nose and gashed my eyebrow. Grappling his arms, I realized, “Shit this guy is strong and knows what he’s doing.”

Finally he was out of breath and asked, “Had enough?”

“Yeah, but you’re still a cunt for nearly hitting my daughter.”

We left it like that.

My Thai friends from the Buffalo said we have to get him.

Gae-kaen or revenge.

“But not today.” They advised. “Wait, we get him later.”

Their suggestions were a beating or vandalizing his truck. “We do. You not worry. You not call the police?”

“No.” calling the police only meant you had to give them money without any guarantee of satisfaction.

“Good.” The Thais like keeping the police in the dark. “No know. Good.”

My wife looked at my black eyes and bruised face. “What you want to do?”

“Nothing right now.” Taking a baseball bat to his windshield or slashing his tires would escalate the conflict to the point where someone would get hospitalized since Pattaya is packed with lager louts and hooligans avoiding travel in Europe now that Spain has an extradition treaty with the UK. Fascists to a man.

“Good. Better to have jai-yen.” She kissed my cheek and gave me a beer.

My farang friends asked, “What happened to you?”

I explained the situation, but changed the story to say that my assailant was an 80 year-old man.

“Really?”

“Some of these geezers are wiry and fast.”

“What are you going to do?"

“Nothing as long as he drives slower in the neighborhood.”

Doing nothing felt funny. George W Bush wouldn’t do nothing, but the Pentagon wasn’t in my back pocket. Nothing seemed wrong, especially when the skinhead lout drove by my house every day. With a pit bull in the back. At least he was going slower.

Doing push-ups to build up my muscles was a waste of time.

I’m no longer a fighter.

But I am vicious and spotted a cluster of red ants in my mango tree. Normally I would have sprayed the swarming tentacles with a pesticide since mot-daeng are wicked biters. This time I went into the kitchen and brought out a pot of honey.

“Winnie the Pooh.” My daughter called out as I coated the leaves with the sweet sticky honey.

My wife took one look and said, “Gae-kaen.”

I nodded my head and waited for the ants to gather their clan.

Red ants swarmed over the leaves to get at the honey. Within an hour the branch bent under their weight. By dark they numbered in the thousands, thanks to my attentive resupply of honey. My wife drove around the block and reported that the truck was parked on the street.

A week had passed. A month would have been better. But I wasn’t waiting forever.

I coaxed the red ants into a paper bag. It actually felt heavy and then I dressed in black. Camouflage for the night. I crossed through several backyards to the adjacent street. No dogs barked out a warning. The skinhead’s truck was sheltered under a tree. I snuck up to the driver’s door. A dollop of honey on the door handle. Another under the door. I checked the street and uplifted the bag . A little too fast, because the ants fell more on me than the door.

Thousands of them sought my flesh.

Hundreds of them found it.

I threw down the bag and ran into the darkness.

My wife spotted the welts. “Gae-kaen.”

“Better to have a jai-yen.”

Revenge is always best served cold.

Especially with red ants on hand.

Peace In Our Time

GW Bush and his White House convinced the American people that Saddam and Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction or WMDs. A pre-emptive invasion was successful beyond the wildest dreams of the neo-conservatives seeking to transform the status quo of the Middle East. The president landed on on the deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln aircraft carrier. He strutted to the speaking podium in a flight suit, giving thumbs up to the banner MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

That was May 1, 2003.

The casualty list for American troops stood at 139 killed and 542 wounded.

Over eight years have passed since GW Bush's triumph.

The body count for US troops has reached 4,404 dead and 31,827 wounded in action, although this August was the first month without a single fatality, combat or non-combat, according to icasualties.org

All US military personnel will leave Iraq by year's end.

It's long overdue, however Iraqis still suffer horrific loss of life from suicide bombings.

Almost 1500 dead this year.

They will have to figure the new MISSION ACCOMPLISHED on their own.

Va-Ssalam-o-Alai-kom or good luck in Arabic.

They will certainly be needing it.