February 9, 2015
Do you remember when Congresswoman Maxine Waters – And how in the name of “fairness” have they kept her in line what with her being paid only 78% of what one of those bitterly clinging, macho, cojones grandes Congressmen from the “crazy” state of Texas gets? – described video of a slew of her constituents looting a 7-11 the way a school of piranha takes a 3 legged fawn apart as “alternative shopping”?
I do.
As acting deputy vice chair of the South Broward County Orwell Appreciation & Tippling Society I looooooove words and terms like that.
Contrary to public opinion, an opinion shared by those who have never read him, he is not turning over in his grave. He is sitting quietly on a hillside, a copy of “Gods of the Copybook Headings” at hand, saying “I told you so”.
We are not in Catalonia but keep it in mind.
I share a problem with brain Williams
For the longest time I “misremembered” the events of the bombing of Tokyo in April, 1942.
It was I, not Doolittle, who led the raid. He had a severe case of the nautical brown squirts, doubtless brought on by an ill digested potato. He had to wear rubber knickers lest he short out the electrical gear on plane #2.
After a perfect takeoff from the pitching deck of the USS Mitty I had to perform a one-handed tracheotomy using his silver bars in lieu of a scalpel on my co-pilot Fritzie Munchausen. He died in 1992 after a botched tattoo session. He had filled up his chest, his shoulders, his arms, and his back and was now working on his arse with profiles of me.
In a practice run over Mt. Fuji I had to climb down and hand crank the bomb bay doors open
I came in low and slow, impervious to WW2 RPGs and AK 27 and 37 fire, cementing my well-earned sobriquet “Old Iron Pants”. I caught the Emperor with his kimono down as he was watering and fertilizing his chrysanthemum trees. I came round again and pickled him with two 500 pounders. Blotto. His evil twin, Thereihito, filled in for him for the rest of the war. I even got his dog, a motley Pekinese, that belonged to the virginal daughter of the Mayor of Nanking, before she was raped, disemboweled, crucified for the afternoon entertainment of the feared Yellow Peril Brigade.
“The little yellow fucking rat monkey bastards”, as Admiral Halsey, another Jersey guy like me and Williams, always lived up to their press releases.
It gets a bit dicey here.
I am pretty sure I “misremembered” my part in those events
The sceptic in me began to ask some tough questions, questions like “How could you have down that in April, 1942 when you weren’t born until October, 1943”?
I do remember my navigator, Lt. Icarus, exhorting me to keep going. Higher! Faster!
I remember I had loaded my personal weapon with special ammo that the refs in Geneva would not have approved of had they seen it. Hollow point shell filled with depleted hubris. Anywhere close and you are going down, sucka!
Here comes the hard part.
The 12 step program that helps you “unmisremember” has a difficult 1st step. You must stand on the hood of your car in the middle of a busy intersection and say over and over and over and over
I AM A LYING SACK OFF ELL SHIT
The next one is hard also.
You are tied to a saddle on a fake donkey facing backwards with your pants on fire. [That’s why it’s a fake donkey] School children fling flaming bags of cat shit at you as you are led around. I forgot the dunce cap.
It’s not as hard as it sounds.
The 12th step is what separates the mere fibbers form the genetically implanted fabulists.
Your tongue is split by a bad ass laser before it is stapled to the roof of your mouth just after your uvula is plucked. Your lips are then Gorilla Glued shut. Then, Maat, the Goddess of Truth, will be appeased.
Maybe.
So far there have been no relapses or recidivists.
Honest.
All is not lost.
Pee Wee Herman is putting together a dinner club tour. He needs a foil.
And for Valentine’s Day I will introduce my new song “Nessun Dorma”. Seats are going fast. Call now. Visa/MC accepted.

KEVIN SMITH
WARRIORBARDIT@BELLSOUTH.NET