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Another Foggy Moment
These are the continuing adventures of a typical resident
of the self-proclaimed center of the Pugetopolis universe -
Seattle. Most are true stories but some are made of whole-
cloth. I ain't the Mayor, the Governor or a Big Shot. Just
another Working Stiff with a Bad Attitude.
------------------------------------------------
WARNING: This is not a Child-Proof Neighborhood.
If you're a kid - scram!, beat it! you little
punk before your Old Lady catches you and calls
the cops. They'll throw you in the Big House in
Walla Walla and won't let you out until you're
89 years old. There. Don't say I didn't warn you.
-------------------------------------------------
- 160 -
DO'N THE MYRTLE...
It was 33 years ago yesterday that Myrtle Edwards, the patron saint
of old housewives whose kids have grown up and moved away, died in
a car accident. A music major in college, she wandered out this way
from back east with her husband in WW-II times to raise their family.
Everything was pretty normal until the kids grew up and moved out.
Then hubby split in an amicable divorce. And there she was: an old
housewife at loose ends. What's a poor old soul to do? Just quietly
fade into retirement? Nah. Not Myrtle.
She went back to school - U Dub this time - to pick up a couple
degrees and joined every frig'n club or organization there was to
join. On the side she indulged her passion for bird watching.
Next thing you know, she's on City Council and winning elections
like there's no tomorrow. Far and away the most popular politician
in town. A popularity she earned by her charm, decency and utter
lack of pretention. She no doubt would have become our next mayor
when tragedy struck and it all came to a premature end.
That long, skinny stretch of park along the shores of Elliot Bay
just north of downtown where they always hold the Hempfest, is
named in her honor. "Do'n The Myrtle" is just another way of
saying: Keep On Truck'n baby.
* A STROLL DOWN THE AVE...
The got The Ave well torn up as the City does its rendition of upgrading
the facilities. Starting down at the south end, they have been working
their way north, block by block, leaving a trail of devistation behind
them. Funny how Gary Merlino always seems to be the only construction
bid winner around here. The boy definitely has a Magic Touch when it
comes to city contracts. You'd be tempted to think he's got the whole
Engineering Department in his back pocket eh.
With the start of Fall Term only a few weeks away, they'll be tearing
through the middle of it about the time the students return. With a
little luck, maybe they'll even trash the cross-traffic on busy 45th
Street round about then. The impact on the many small businesses along
the way is predictable - it makes most of them all but inaccessible.
I'm sure their leasholders will deduct it from their annual lease and
the City won't collect any business tax off them this year to kind of
compensate eh. Right - and monkeys will fly outta my butt too eh.
They're almost up to the spot at 45th Street where Dimitri got beaten
to death by those skateboard Fairies a couple months ago. Whatever
happened to those Lusers anyways? Sure is a pain living in a town that
has nothing but asswipe for newspapers. If it weren't for The Stranger
and the Seattle Weekly, we'd be left completely in the dark.
Tower Records could charge admission to stand outside the doors to their
new joint in the U District. The glue fumes from the construction going
on inside are worth a buck or two a Hit. They're moving into the former
Wizards of the Coast digs across the street and up a block. That'll give
them LOTS more room. In a town where the restaurants and shops close up
at 6pm on Sunday evenings, you could always rely on Tower Records to be
open if you are on an evening Walk About. While their stock isn't as big
as Borders downtown or Barnes & Nobel down in U Village, they're far more
likely to have what you're looking for. They got Class and Taste. The
other guys only got lots of Stuff. Tower knows music. The other guys
don't know squat. Last time I was in Barnes & Noble the checkout gurrrl
asked me if I wanted fries with that order. Oi!
Call it an old habit, but everytime I pass by what is now the Buffalo
Exchange used-clothes outlet, I always give a little tap on the end
window. Just saying hello to Ron Martinez. For years he stood right in
that spot day in and day out, rain and shine, playing his guitar. He
became something of a U District icon over the years. Different clubs
and bars around the neighborhood offered him inside-gigs but he turned
them all down. He liked playing the street. It was more personal. He
could talk to people. Maybe play them something in particular they
wanted to hear. Or maybe even make up a song for them. Sometimes they
would play along with him. Originally from Boston, from what I've
heard, he had a lot of friends here. A lot of people who cared about
him. But one 4th of July a few years back, he blew his brains out with
a gun. Nobody's knows why. And our world got a little colder and
grayer.
For years now, a South African brother has often stood outside what is
now the Bank of America on The Ave. A lot of people mistake him for a
begger. Living on a disability check, he'd be delighted if you'd slip
him a Buck or two but that ain't why he's there. Call it an African
Thing, but he likes to hang out and chat with passers-by. It's what he
does instead of sitting at home in front of a TV. And since banks are
America's cathedrals to the the Almighty Buck, they are the natural
place to stand near if you want to see a crowd. Many of the people
passing by him over the years have become friends. He's a very friendly
guy. I always like to stop and shoot the breeze with him. We talk
soccer, the mysterious ways of women, the many oddities of life in
America, etc. He moved out of here a year or two ago after a few of
the Boyz hang'n in front of the 7-Eleven followed him home one night
and beat him to a pulp for the few bucks he had in his pocket. He broke
his foot recently and could use a little cheering up. Stop and say hello
if you see him there. Maybe slip him bus fare so he can come around here
a little more often. He'll appreciate it. So will the rest of us.
And then there's the spot across from the Jack-in-the-Box where Hippy
Dippy James had his life cut short by a pizza-delivery puke's bullet
while Trip'n & Skip'n on Acid down The Ave. James didn't have a weapon,
didn't threaten anyone and Mr. Pizza Puke called him back for his bullet.
The donut-munching freeloaders we call Cops around here, let the killer
walk. I've been stiffing Pizza Delivery Pukes ever since.
We got lots of ghosts in my neighborhood.
* 9/11 ANNIVERSARY...
I'm sitting there chatting with one of my workmates last week when she
says she really dreads the approaching anniversary of 9/11. Every Media
Jerkoff in America is going to be shoving their own special tribute down
everybody's throats. Visions of an eternal loop of airliners crashing
into WTC Towers. She said that on 9/11/01 she only watched the first
hit on the first tower and didn't stick around for the second one. Even
then, she only watched the hit once. That's all she could stand. She
ain't in no mood to watch endless reruns now either. Neither am I. I
think I'll read a book and/or listen to CDs instead that day. Just
avoid the Talking Heads, Motor Mouths and scribblers.
What happened that day? Beyond two airliners augering into the WTC
towers, all we know is both towers collapsed and a helluva lot of
innocent people died. Deeper questions - who did it, how many actually
died, why the towers fell so easily, what the circumstances of the
attacks really were, why our military failed to protect us when we
came under attack - will likely forever remain unanswered. All direct
witnesses died in the act, the evidence has been removed and the
opportunity for a properly objective investigation is long gone.
From the CIA to the FBI to the INS to the Department of Defense to
Congress - they all failed us. All we're left with is a bewildering
snake-pit of lies, obfuscations, contradictions and half-truths. In
the absence of facts, we're left to assume whatever we're inclined
to assume.
I've never had anyone bring 9/11 up casually in conversation. Nobody
really gives a damn about it.
* STOP TWINKLING DAMMIT...
My goodness! The Euros released pix this past week of experimental shots
from their new Adaptive Optics cam. They hitched it up to Paranal (Chile)
Observatory's Very Large Telescope high in the Andes Mountains for a test
run. Much of it knocks the socks off our orbiting Hubble Space Telescope.
Adaptive Optics is the key. The biggest problem ground-based telescopes
face is that no matter how big or high they might be, they are still
looking up through about 40 miles of turbulent, dynamic, surging and
swirling air. It makes stars twinkle. Fine for children's songs but bad
for astronomy. That's why they put the Hubble Space Telescope into
orbit - to escape this ocean of air. Supposedly the HST, despite its
considerable smaller mirror, was going to make the big ground-based
scopes second-stringers. It looked that way at first, but not any more.
For years ground-based telescopes have been trying various methods to
cancel out the effect of the turbulance from our ocean of air. It has
slowly evolved from fairly crude early on, to quite sophisticated now.
The Euro's NAOS (Nasymth Adaptive Optics System) used in conjunction
with their CONICA Near-Infrared Camera is the present state-of-the-art.
While still in the experimental stage, it is VERY impressive. The Hubble
may soon find itself relegated to the minor leagues. Check out their
pictures:
NAOS
(Reference: robotwisdom.com)
* OBIE & ANTHONY...
Obie & Anthony is one of those Howard Stern Clone talk-shows on the
radio for shy guys who prefer sock-puppets to real girls. Which is to
say - Wankers. Like the skateboard crowd, it's hard to tell if they're
afraid of girls or they're just Homos. Howie, at 40ish, is kind of a
pathetic Old Fart, but Obie and Anthony are much younger. While they
are more contemporary, like most Howard Stern Clones, they aren't nearly
as good at it as The Real Thing. They're pretty much Airheads with little
to say worth listening to. Lacking a sizeable audience, they can't
attract any Big Stars or Major Public Personalities either. They have
trouble getting females of any kind on their Luser show. Their on-air
conversations are typical high-school/frat-boy affairs full of titty
and kaka jokes mixed with inarticulate guffaws and snorts to a background
of the world's most boring rock music. Electromagnetic zit kulture.
I really miss Scotty Farelle (sp?). He was the best. Neither Howie,
nor Obie nor Anthony nor Tom Leykes are even vaguely worthy to sniff
Scotty's underwear. He put 'em all in the shade. And unlike any of
the above, he wasn't a Wanker. He was genuinely warped and twisted
in a kinder, gentler way - it was no act. Unfortunately, he upset
a few people with Big Bucks and they made him disappear. Sigh.
Bridge to Scotty. Come in Scotty.
While Howard Stern is wildly popular, O&A aren't. Which means they
have to try harder. This week their attempt to do so made headlines.
They sent one of their flunkies with a couple to St. Pat's Cathedral
in New York City to attend Mass on the Feast of the Assumption of the
Blessed Virgin Mary - a rare weekday Holy Day of Obligation. While
everybody else was praying, O&A's young couple were Make'n Bacon a
few pews back. The flunky provided live commentary for Obie and
Anthony back in the studio.
While I am a Catholic I don't object to this money-grubbing publicity
stunt on Catholic grounds. I'd object to it if they'd pulled it in a
synagogue, Zendo or a public library. When people are trying to reach
beyond themselves and their dreary, painful little lives - leave 'em
alone. Jerk-off in front of somebody else.
The flunky and the lusty couple were arrested. O&A's show was yanked
for 24-hours then returned. I'm sure they'll make a ton of money off
this latest adventure. But their show's still Luser garbage only a
pimply-faced Wanker would listen to.
* DIRTY PICTURES...
In a futile attempt to convince everybody that they aren't the
clueless bumpkins and hayseeds they appear to be, the scribblers
at the Hooterville Times sponsor local High Tone events like the
annual Seattle International Film Festival. Since no film critic
worth two cents would work for either one of our back-woods,
hicktown rags, they send over one of the boys who does the farm
report and hope he doesn't embarass himself too much. It's not
a popular job. There are all those dang foreign flicks with their
dang foreign languages and those dang subtitles with their big
dang four and five letter words. Gives a feller a headache.
This is Seattle afterall where our motto is: no sex please. And
that is where we draw the line. This year's winner "Sex and
Lucia" had some obvious problems. Why couldn't they pick out
something clean and wholesome like "Obie & Anthony Do St. Pat's"?
Both the Hootervile Times and the Piss & Moaner ain't about to
allow advertising for, let alone review, no gol dang foreign
flick where perverts drop their Bloomers and take their boots
off to make love. Filthy foreign trash like that has no place
in a clean-cut town like Hooterville. So, despite the Time's
sponsorship of the SIFF, they ain't going to promote this year's
winner. The Fart & Belch crowd at the Hooterville Yacht Club
would throw a Hissy Fit if they did.
Try the Seattle Weekly or The Stranger. They're both written by
adults for adults and have critics who actually know thier ass
from a hole in the ground about flicks. The Times and Piss &
Moaner reviews are strictly for the 12 year olds.
.........................................................................
Money, not morality, is the principal commerce of civilized nations.
Tom Jefferson
.........................................................................
UNIVERSITY STATION
Walking by the most recent excavation work the City is doing on "The
Ave" (University Way) alongside U Dub campus, I couldn't help noticing
that they've exposed (and removed) the ties of an old rail-track of
some sort. They were sitting under a thick layer of asphalt topside
and a thick layer of concrete below that. Whatever it was, it pre-dated
regular use of cars. It was something from back in the horse and buggy
days. Hmmm. Interesting.
My first thought, since the rails were so close together, was: this
must be the remains of one of the old interurban routes that crossed
the city in Olden Times. The ties of regular rail-lines are further
apart. But the thought of somebody running freight-trains down the
middle of "The Ave" seemed unlikely. The freights ran further south
along what is now the bike-path alongside the Ship Canal. The old
Everett-Seattle interurban didn't get any closer than Fremont - miles
away and the Rainier Valley line didn't come anywheres near here.
Couldn't have been either one of the main interurban lines.
Long before this part of town was called the "University District" and
the adjacent small business-district along the west side of the campus
was known as "The Ave", they went by other names. The U District was
then known as "Brooklyn" - in honor of Seattle's early New-York-City
fetish. That little Statue of Liberty near the beach at Alkai Point
over in West Seattle was part of the fantasy. The other Brooklyn was
across the water from New York City just as the U District was across
the water (Lake Union) from Hooterville. Pretty dang clever eh. We
might rate as the stunted Luser twin of Gothem, otherwise there is
no detectable similarity. Doc Maynard, the guy who originally named
Seattle, got closer to the truth - Cleveland was his model. The
central core of our Brooklyn was known as "The Station".
The heart of the U District back then, was where the Third Avenue &
Suburban Railroad's station servicing the campus was located. It was
a dinky, little shed at 42nd Street and University Way, about the size
of a modern-day bus shelter - near where Bulldog News and The Magus
used-books are now. Everyday, vast throngs of commuting scholars with
a mighty thirst for knowledge used to trudge valiantly up Hippy Hill
towards Denny Hall from the little train shed. Denny Hall pretty much
was U Dub in those days. Since there wasn't much of any place to live
around here, most students and faculty had to commute the five miles
or so from downtown to the school. for many years, U Dub's offcial
address was simply: University Station, Seattle, WA. Far as the world
knew, U Dub was that grubby little shed at 42nd Street.
College Inn, the old hotel that still stands a few blocks south of where
the old train shed was, originally was built to accomodate the crowds for
the 1909 Alaska-Yukon and Pacific Exhibition on the campus. Aside from
the hotel, it also sported a restaurant, bar and store. It was instantly
the commercial hub of the U District. It was the best place to shop.
If any of the students in the dorms at Lewis Hall or Clark Hall wanted
some beer or the latest CDs, to get a pizza or the latest edition of
The Stranger back then, they had to get it at College Inn. Even today,
whenever I'm working on campus I usually join the crowd grabbing a coffee
there on the way in. It remains the only food and beverage enterprise
in its immediate neighborhood. The pub around back also remains a going
concern.
After the AYP Exhibition, the center of the U District shifted a few
blocks north to its present location, for some reason. Probably yet
another sleezy Hooterville real-estate scam. College Inn found itself
distantly dangling off the bottom of the new and improved U District -
outta sight and largely out of mind. Far from the main action. And so
it remains today.
U Dub Libraries has a terrific and extensive website on the history of
the U District:
U Dub Libraries - U District History
I really like that pix of those nasty-looking Gangsta Dudes cruise'n for
Skank out in front of the shed. It looks like it could have been shot
yesterday. That wimpy looking punk playing Pocket Pool with himself
appears to be slipping us The Bird upside down with his free hand.
Yo! Yo! Yo! Probably a frat boy.
HistoryLink has a smaller but still interesting entry for the University
Station too:
HistoryLInk - University Station
Apparently the old railroad ties are part of an extention to the original
line that was added in preparation for the AYP Exhibition nearly 100 years
ago. It was double tracked a few blocks north from the shed at 42nd Street.
They ran trollys up and down the double tracks. In the front window of
the University Bookstore's Computer & Electronics store they have some
blow-ups of historical pix showing the bookstore through the years. One
of them is a cozy Christmas scene of The Ave showing the double tracks
with a few of the old street cars running up the middle.
.........................................................................
Don't lose
Your head
To gain a minute
You need your head
Your brains are in it.
BURMA SHAVE
.........................................................................
'OL YELLER'S TWAT
(aka The War Against Terrorism)
Dear Diary,
Howdy pardner! Yeller here. It's been a tough week. I really worked
up a major sweat watch'n my Secret Service Boyz chop'n wood out back.
My old buddy next door says only a dumbass jacknape would be cut'n
firewood in the middle of summer. I congradulated him on his very
perceptive profile of your average Secret Service agent. We shared
a crack pipe or two and memorized about the Good Old Days fer a while
before go'n our own ways. Got half the barn filled up with those bales
of Mary Jane Presidente Fox in Mexico sent as a present. Still ain't
worked my way through all that Nose Candy from the new Columbian
president. Dang. A soul really don't wanna be do'n this job Straight.
It's just too frik'n weird for that.
Go'n ahead with the Iraqi Thing. It was kind of fun to jerk everybody
around early-on pretending I was undecided, then pulling the rug out
from under them once theys suckered in. But they're wise to it now and
it just ain't no fun no more. Seems everybody in the whole danged world
is agin it - right from the Pentagoon to Congress to that Froggie Palace
in France. The only ones stick'n by my side are Howard Stern and that
Limmy Fairy - Tony the Poodle. I wish that crazy Limmie galoot would
quit asking me for a date. The pecker-heads are piss'n and moan'n about
how we're a bunch of fools, monsters, hypocrites, murderers and
terrorists. Mercy! Let 'em yap all they like. The second they try to
do anything about it we'll drop on 'em like 20 tons of elephant shit.
Ship all their asses off to Camp Ashcroft and stick 'em in Dirt Cages.
They are as ignorable as street-bums and telemarketers. I just pretend
they ain't there. And they are very obliging in that respect. All
talk and no walk.
General Sharon said not to worry about a thing. Everybody hates his
guts too. Hell, he's a gol dang mass-murder'n War Criminal and they
still can't touch him. He says stick to his plan and everything will
be alright. All our boys got to do is get the ball rolling, then he'll
claim he got small-poxed by Saddam and WHAMMO! he nukes 'em into the
stoneage. Ain't nobody going to know he faked the whole thing. And
there ain't no way in hell anybody's ever gonna find out. Perfectly
justifiable self-defense plain and simple. Only an anti-semitic bigot
would deny them the right. Hee. Hee. Hee. By Jesus them Jew Boys got
ALL the angles covered.
By the time the pissers and moaners figure out what happened, there
ain't gonna be nuth'n for them to slobber over but a big, glowing,
radioactive pit that used to be Iraq. Yee Haw! No more Iraqis. No
more Saddam. The Jew Boys take the rap and me and Poppy take the
oil. The perfect set up. Works for me.
That gol dang Brent Scocroft damn near gave the game away this week.
He knows what's come'n. Same with Dick Armey and most of the rest of
them. They're all get'n cold feet and lose'n their balls. They're
afraid of nukes. Not me. I like 'em. BOOM! Blows 'em up REAL good.
Ditto for them Jew Boys. They like nukes too. Same time they whack
Saddam, they plan to whack anybody nearby who might be in a position
to retaliate - which takes in most of the civilized world. The CIA
boys who said the Izzies got 140 nukes kind of undercounted a tad.
They didn't count the extras I had shipped over to help out.
General Powell left his latest Mid-East Peace Plan on my answering
machine last week. I liked the part about handing out free Wing
Dings to both sides to soften them up. Just might give that one a
try. He did a real good job on my shoes last week too. Had 'em
shining like mirrors. Left him a $5 tip just to show how much I
appreciate his fine work. He's a good Boy. If we ever go back to
slavery, I'm grab'n him real quick. He'd make a good butler. Got
that distinguished High Yeller Uppity Nigra look to him without
the attitude. The man has practically no self-respect a-tall.
Called Bernie Tibbets yesterday to express my condolances. I told
him "Adjourn! Adjourn! Adjourn!" Johnny Boy over at the Department
of Justice will stretch this thing out for as many years as it takes
for the Little People to forget Bernie ever existed. Then we can
just drop the charges real quiet like. By then the stock market
will just be another lottery machine at the supermarket. Dang fools
throw'n their money away on gambling like that. They got exactly what
they deserved. There's only one way to play the stock market - from
the inside. Sure was fun fleece'n the pea-peckers while they was
there for the take'n though. Gives a feller a little extra spend'n
money to throw around fer elections and such.
Weeelll Doggies! It's get'n late. I better get some shut-eye.
Be Nuke'n Ya,
Yeller
.............................................................................
My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable,
superior spirit who reveals himself in the slightest details we
are able to perceive with our frail and feeble minds.
- Al Einstein -
American Immigrant
.............................................................................
- MONDO VATICANO -
They were feeling the "Foggy Effect" in Roma this week after that little
spiel I gave about Jews being God's special people last week. After many
centuries of Jew Baiting, the U.S. Conference of Bishops and Pedophile
Hiders decided to back off and quit trying to convert the Hebrews. Not
that it has been any sort of priority since torture was outlawed. It
wasn't any fun after that.
The difference between me and them is that I actually put my money where
my mouth is. They don't. Despite their flowery talk, Jews are still
banned from the Vatican Library. Cardinal "Ratso" Ratzinger, the Grand
Inquistitor, ain't letting them for another two years. Not until the Wops
finish shredding and hiding all that embarassing stuff about Pius XIIth -
the Nazi Pope - who obscenely and quietly watched while the Germans
slaughtered off the Jews during WW-II times. As long as talk is cheap,
the Pollock and the Curia Queens will be happy to Sling their tiny,
little hearts away about how much they love the Jews. Just don't ask
them to put their Walk where their Talk is. That ain't gonna happen
with those scumbags.
+ +
The religious orders (Dominicans, Franciscans, Benedictines, etc.) had
their kick at the pervert priest can this past week. Aside from the few
who publically minister in dioceses, they are not subject to the whims
of the local bishops. They answer only to their order's superior and he,
in turn, only answers to Roma. They don't have to abide by the protocols
agreed upon in Dallas recently. Even so, many relgious orders don't
participate in this organization. It's strictly voluntary and optional.
Unlike the bishops recent meeting in Dallas, the orders held virtually
all of theirs behind closed doors out of public view, with their lawyers
in attendance. They refused to meet with a group of victims. Afterwards,
the chair of the meeting gave a public rendering. From his girlie name to
his swishy mannerisms, he was obviously Gay and clearly feeling his oats.
Gays within the orders are far more powerful and independant than within
the dioceses. In a speech punctuated with flippancy and arrogance, he
essentially said, Screw the diocesean bishops and the secular authorities -
they were going to do it THEIR own way. Snickering about "gut-wrenching
victim naratives" he stiffled a yawn then asked, "Are we having fun yet?"
Real Christian Piece 'o Work this boy eh.
There's good reason for his flippancy and arrogance. Many if not most of
the orders are international in character. They are capable of protecting
their perverts by shifting them out-of-country: Japan, Peru, Europe, etc.
It's not just theoretical. They've already done so a number of times.
And apparently will continue to do so. That way they can blow-off the
civil authorities and screw the victims out of any opportunity for
reparations. Even the most ardent local prosecutor will balk at the
expense and complexity of returning perverts from foreign jurisdictions.
The shame of it is, the orders are in a better position than anyone else
to seek an effective understanding and possible remedy for this nasty
form of sexual deviancy and predation that ruins kids lives. Secular
psychology has found out virtually nothing of any significance and has
no cure to offer. By retaining their perverts as priests and keeping
them within their communities, they provide a powerful incentive for
their perverts to make an effort to come to terms with their illness.
With the support of that community, living within a very controlled
environment and having a religious focus, there are unique opportunities
for change there. Far more so than that offered by our gizmo-oriented
secular psychologists with their guinea-pig prisoner patients. Far
more so than the diocesean bishops who just boot their perverts out
the door - outta sight, outta mind and now somebody else's problem.
+ +
The Catholic League's "Wild Bill" Donohue, Super Catholic and rumored
to be possibly the next Pope, tanked up on Sacramental wine this past
week and went nose to nose with FOX News' own resident Right Wing Wacko
"Wild Bill" - O'Reilly. Actually they didn't let our Pope-in-waiting on
the air. That would just be embarassing. He had to send O'Reilly one of
his legendary nasty letters. O'Reilly dissed Future-Super-Saint JP-2
for not meeting with victims of the sexual abuse perpetrated by pervert
priests during his recent visit to Toronto. He characterized the Papal
Bowling Ball's disinterest as lacking in compassion. In accordance with
Catholic League Standard Operating Proceedure, Future Pope Willy right
off the bat declared Mr. O'Reilly clinically mentally ill. Lacking any
sort of background in psychology whatsoever, Wild Willy's diagnosis'
are routinely snickered at. In short - nobody takes this Goofball
seriously. After having carefully canvassed the entire population of
the United States, Willy declared that Mr. O'Reilly was the ONLY person
he could find who felt this way about JP-2's screw-up. I guess he must
have called while I was at work eh.
+ +
As if it wasn't bad enough the Papal Bowling Ball's trip to Toronto was
a money loser, they got a nasty additional surprise from it this week.
One of the three sewer hookups the City approved for the World Youth Day
people to dump the human waste from over 7,000 portable toilets, backed
up spewing tons of raw human waste into many area stores and businesses.
Holy Shit! What a stinking mess! One that effectively put most all of
them out of business. Plus they had to pay out of their own pockets for
the clean up. Neither the City nor the World Youth Day people were willing
to assume responsibility for the mess they created. It's heading for the
courts to sort it all out.
But the Porta-Johnnies aren't the only thing leaking in T.O. A visiting
lady from Damascus, Syria done sprung a leak too. She travels around the
Melkite Catholic Church circuit oozing and leaking oil from her limbs
on demand. During a recent performance at Jesus the King Melkite Catholic
Church in Toronto, she wowed the crowd by having phony wounds appear on
her wrists and ankles as she talked. For her Grand Finale she dramatically
slumped to the floor and began oozing an oily substance from her 'wounds'.
Jump'n Jesus on a Pogo Stick! The crowd rushed her hoping to smear the
miraculous oil all over themselves. The preciding clergy had the hands
full holding them back. No word on what the gate was for this event but
it sounds like it must have been BIG baby. There's no business like
Miraculous Show Business.
But Toon Nieuwenhuisen in the Dutch town of Deurne topped that easily.
His bust of Elvis Presley began weeping real tears last Friday. That's
the one in his Elvis Shrine Room surrounded with flickering votive
candles. Just to be on the safe side, he tasted the miraculous tears
to make sure it wasn't a trick by the Anti-Elvis (Perry Como?). Danged
if they weren't salty! Praise Elvis! Hallelujah! He got on the Horn
to the Press immediately so the whole world would know.
+ +
Your classic American Catholic confessional could easily be mistaken
for a closet. It's got three doors: Fr. Confessor in the middle with
a sinner on either side. No windows. Solid. Just a little indicator
so you can tell if its occupied. Inside, you kneel before a screened
'window' through which you may be able to make out the profile of your
Fr. Confessor. The confessionals in many of the newer and renovated
churches in Europe have glass doors so people can see what's going on
in there. It makes them feel safer and ensures that everything is
above-board e.g. Fr. Confessor ain't Wank'n off in there. You can't
hear anything of course. Bishop McGrath of the diocese of San Jose in
California has ordered all of his confessional boxes to have glass
windows installed. An American first. The reasons are much the same as
those the Euros had. It's a good idea. Now if only they could get people
to go to confession they'd have it made. Hardly anyone goes any more.
They aren't anxious to have a closet Gay guy lecture them on the evils
of birth-control and abortion.
+ +
About 40,000 gypsies gathered in the small French village of Damblain
at an old demobilized NATO air base for a religious revival this
week. It will run for about two weeks. They had these evangelical
gatherings in 1994 and 1996 as well. This isn't the first one.
You'd think with all that business arriving in a small town they'd be
pleased as punch to see the gypsies wouldn't you? Hell no! These are
French bigots we're talking about. Whiny, bitchy, nasty Froggy bigots.
They don't want no steenkin gypsies praying in their town. But there's
not a helluva lot they can do about it. They're out numbered. The
gypsies are going to pray anyways. And being a pretty independant
bunch, the Roma hopefully won't be spending any money in that town
and instead take their business elsewhere.
----------------------------------------------------
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on you baby. He'll teriyaki your sorry butt and turn
it into Lutefisk.
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