mr. zilla goes to town

Wednesday, June 04, 2003

Snatch and grab

Last week, the Nevada Boxing and Gaming Commission ruled that a police officer did not violate the rights of a gravely wounded farm worker, by interrogating him at the hospital without reading him his Miranda rights. Mr. Martinez was shot five times by police and then subjected to a lengthy interrogation as he awaited medical treatment. He was never told of his rights, and he says a police sergeant kept questioning him even after he said that he did not want to answer. Mr. Martinez, who was never charged with a crime, was left blind and paralyzed.

This is a page C14 story. A1 ink needs headliners. It's up there, in the bright lights, that Jumpin' Joe Lieberman was asked: "So Joe, what makes you think you can beat Gorgeous George?"

The former frontman for the Mudville Nine spat his toothpick, reportedly. "Beat the fucker lastoim eh. Fookin boxincommishn fookd us ahn points. Joos wanna karevan... an soom apple pai.. fir me ma."

Soon they'll fiddle the weigh-in by the burning deck chairs, while around them the USS Titanic is taking on water. Global roaming cellular backpack packrats are scurrying for dryer ground, in search of lighter-than-care balloons of anecdotes to attach to their existential lack.

Recent budget deficits are reaching the event horizon, helped that way by a $350 billion tax cut that gives nothing to people earning $10,000 to $20,000. That's one fucked-up frigid iceberg, so large that alien economists thousands of years from now will only be able to infer it's existence from our gravity. All us wee amoeba, creased of brow, slowly sucked into cogitating upon these cosmic macronomics while our petri dish heads for the sink.

I've got some redbacks stuffed in a mattress behind mum's garden shed back home. I was really tempted to inject some JFK DNA, and see what came of some transgenic greenbacks. Maybe if one bit me I could spidey my way to work? But what with the little buggers breeding so well right now, its getting harder to find a decent dead president that would actually improve the strain.

Don't blink, decisions are missed, these humble dreams are one with the trend. How can I trend just by treading agar? It's the inescapable complicity: enriched free-market nuclear effissioncy. And since the mammon ain't going to Mount Rushmore, the faces are going the way of Dorothy. Not even Calvin Coolidge is in Kansas anymore. Too many GMO played hooky from school. Too many were singing "Stand By Me" on the railroad tracks when the 6:15 Euro Express came through three years early...

Now normally no one would notice, even with Toto there still yipping from somewhere in under the carnage. The earnest rhubarb yammers that it's really good for exports, and the talking TV tea leaves say that a little Cronespan Ointment will see it all to rights. But dazzled by the kleig lights that beat them to the scene, the cross-eyed paramedics accidentally defibrilated a media cyclist stopped at the scene. So the upticks won't be on Wall Street but in Yellow Brick Joe's mortgaged, broadband, broadbutt bills. Will he smell the nagging odours of decline, or febreeze his lemming offspring into the maw of the next distractive war?

Maybe there's a scent at the New York Soundbyte Exchange.

"The United States is very rich, but not very realistic. All the good things in US life are hidden while what is on the surface is stupid. America probably has the most sustained set of voluntary social relationships, charitable groups and citizen participation. Yet most small-town Americans have political attitudes to the right of Atilla the Hun. It's a real conundrum." (Richard Sennett, founder, New York Institute of the Humanities; professor of social and cultural theory at the London School of Economics, May 2003)

"Where did this idea come from that everybody deserves free education? Free medical care? Free whatever? It comes from Moscow. From Russia. It comes straight out of the pit of hell." (State Representative Debbie Riddle; Republican-Houston, May 2003)
I've got ringing in my ears... no wait, that's the closing bells. So silence the margin calls, cut the cat-calls, and somebody gag Paul Wolfowitzle, please. Lately his Pentagon decided to back Mujaheddin-e Khalq, the Iraqi-armed and funded Iranian opposition group. But just across the river at the State Department, this group is axiomatic evil, up on the leaderboard of America's Most Hated.

Orwell George showed us doublethink. The war was kevlar doublespeak. Now Gorgeous George gives us doubleunthink. The ability not to hold two opposing ideas in your head: is this the end state of post-modern democracy? Have they beat us at our own game? How many fingers am I holding up, J. Winston Howard?

Questions that make me this sick imply one way to search for answers. In Utah, its called the oesophogeal oracle. In Nevada, it's the prophet slot machine. Will there be any happiness in a recycled kong-foo-sing? Who or what can I regurgiate to get on with this?

Saul / Seven / Lemon / Barley / Marley / Bob / Dylan / Thomas: "Do not go quietly into the night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light." Hell yeah, Mr T. I guess that's why you're on the A-Team! So I'll invite Mr. Martinez and half a million backpackers over. We'll spill out the beer in those existential lacksacks and crowd around the pay-per-vote.

Hey, I just figured out what to do about those redbacks.

My money's on the fookin paikie!

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