December 5, 2013

Thanksgiving (Ethos, Pathos, Logos...)

Yeah, the whole family is gathered around the big table in the dining room, the room with the Wooden Indian in one corner, a bay window looking out on the front yard, and an old dry sink covered with dinnerware jest waitin’ for the next fancy-dinner event.

Jebediah is holding forth at one end of the table, flanked on his right by Lulu Belle, a blonde who is also his wife.  Jebediah is the eldest of four; two of them four, and they’s offspring, ain’t here today.

Lulu Belle is a fine upstanding gal that likes lookin’ after her man: Every time Jebediah attempts a standing boardinghouse reach Lulu Belle snatches up whatever he is after and passes it along with great efficiency.  At first I think she is jest bein’ the good wife, but after a while I seize upon the true meaning of her actions: Jeb is wearing his American Flag short-shorts commando style and Lulu Belle is jest afraid of what might get drug through the mashed potatoes if he completes one of them boardinghouse reaches.  So I give kudos to Lulu Belle right off; she is fast with the fixin’s.

Settin’ on Jeb’s Port Side (his left, which he calls his Port Side cuz that is where he parks his wineglass on fancy-dinner occasions) is a little dark-haired gal who doesn’t say a lot of words.  She jest isn’t one of them center-stage kinda folks, so I figure she is probably the smart one; I come to that conclusion mostly, though, cuz she don’t say much – always a sure sign of intelligence for me.

Sittin’ to the left of the little dark-haired gal is a tall drink of water everyone seems to be callin’ ‘Peyote’.  At least it sounds like that to me, but maybe they is sayin’ ‘Peelohtee’ or maybe jest ‘Peelote’ --- I is never quite sure, and anyways it ain’t the name we knows him by.  He and the little dark-haired gal is married, which seems right and proper cuz Peelohtee is also a person of few words even though he is much taller than the dark-haired gal; they even has few words for each other, jest knowing nods, significant smiles and willowing winks.  They’s still jest a couple, but some of they’s winks and touches suggest otherwise.

To the left of Peelohtee is Ma Kettle.  We call her that because she is the chief cook and bottle washer who, on most occasions, is responsible for all the grub that gets brung to the table.  Ma Kettle, unlike me, is direct kin with Peelohtee and Jebediah who, theyselves, is dutiful kin that still accede to her wishes.  They even smile and give her fancy-dinner politenesses when the occasion calls for them.  And Ma Kettle is right proud of them offspring; you can tell by the twinkle in her eyes.

To Lulu Belle’s right are the three Wunderkind, the fruits of Jebediah’s  and Lulu Belle’s loins.  I has to remember to look their way from time to time cuz they is so quiet, heads down, enjoying all the vittles Lulu Belle has plated for them.  They’s wonderful Wunderkind to be sure.  We learned that word, “Wunderkind”, at last month’s Militia meetin’; the kind folks at the meetin’ wuz all certain they wuz gonna grow up to make us proud.

To the right of the Wunderkind there sits me, jest a spectator whose job is done.  All I has to do now is marvel at the outcome, marvel that my missteps don’t seem to have mattered, and marvel at how fate brought Ma and me together; there are even times when predestination actually seems like it could really be.  In a sense, though, me and Ma are no longer relevant, our stories don’t excite no one, our input ain’t really required; our purpose these days seems to be that of cheerleaders and wowed audience.  But, that is what coming full circle ‘round the table is all about I expect, so we don’t complain none; besides, we ain’t got no reason to noways.

Yeah, fancy-dinner events with the youngins is fun and educational; we never know jest what we’s gonna learn about each other any more than we know if this fancy-dinner will be the last.  Maybe next year there will be more Wunderkind, the fruit of Peelohtee and the little dark-haired gal.  Maybe next year we will be visited by some from afar.  Maybe next year we’ll jest go to ‘Vegas.  What more could one ask at Thanksgiving?

July 23, 2013

Small Town Religion and Tire Sales


It is Saturday morning and I’m in Salem shopping for a new set of tires for my truck.  I’m just shopping for tires mind you; I’m not planning on being Saved.   In fact, being Saved is the farthest thing from my mind.

I pull into a locally owned place on McArthur Street.  The sign reads "Jim’s Tires – For All Your Tire and Tire Service Needs".  At least I think the sign says Jim’s Tires; I seem to remember the place being called DeWayne’s Tires but maybe ole DeWayne retired and sold the business to Jim.  I’m not often in this part of town.

My old tires aren’t even near being bald; they just won’t hold air for any length of time.

Dry rot I tell Jim as he measures the tread depth.  And Jim, wanting the sale and wanting to be known as an honest Christian, tells me that that isn’t unusual, even for relatively safe looking tires; tires with plenty of tread on them.  Jim says the government and the tire industry reached agreement several years ago that tires older than six years should be considered unsafe, unsafe at any speed.  And to ensure their timely replacement the tire lobby convinced Congress to add a chemical to the tire’s compound that accelerates dry rot.  Jim says the tire industry is only trying to improve tire safety, although he doesn’t mind the increase in sales volume.

Jim asks me what size I want.  P235/75/R15, I tell him, black walls, please.

After Jim’s mechanic puts my truck on the lift Jim tells me he is also an ordained minister.  He says he is 70 years old now and can’t understand how anyone our age can be in a state of not being Saved.  He pauses but I don’t respond; Jim’s price, including mounting and balancing, is very good so I just wait for him to continue.

Jim says he has never heard Bill Gates declare his Christianity and how he thinks that is sad.  “It’s good that he gives away his worldly fortune, but to die without having been Saved would indeed be sorrowful,” Jim says.

That’s when I'm tempted to tell Jim the truth; I'm tempted to tell Jim I'm Jewish.  But since there are no Synagogues in Salem I think better of it and tell him I am Catholic figuring that that might save me from being Saved.  I am certain that one small lie won’t damn me to Hell for all eternity and who knows maybe Gehenom isn’t all that bad, maybe it’s just a steam bath for the soul.  After all, all I want is four tires and Jim has offered me such a deal.

This revelation, however, doesn’t faze Jim in the least.  He continues right on by telling me that he personally knows the local Catholic priest.   And his wife.  He even tells me their names and asks if I know them.  I pretend to be examining various tread patterns and polished chrome rims, letting Jim continue.  Jim says how terrible it is that Muslims are instructed by the Koran to kill all non-Muslims.  They kill infidels Jim says, just for being infidels.

When Jim sees my furrowed brow he says he would never consider killing me just because I am Catholic.  I attempt to lighten the conversation; I tell Jim that if he did I probably wouldn’t buy my tires from him anymore.

That’s when I am saved.

Jim’s young tire mechanic comes into the office, says my truck is ready and hands me the keys.  I thank the mechanic, pay for my tires, and exit Jim’s Tabernacle and Tire Company as quickly as possible, thinking that the Road to Hell in Salem must surely be strewn with bald tires, leaky valve stems, and married Catholic priests.

It’s been three years now and the tires are holding up just fine.  But since I drive the truck less than 2000 miles a year I’m beginning to wonder about Jim’s take on the Tire Lobby and its 6-year agreement with the Feds.  Government induced dry rot, is that an oxymoron??

Taking America Back -or- The War On Women


A pattern is starting to emerge, at least in my mind.  And maybe I’m late to the game, but a revelation is a revelation none-the-less.

On the surface there appears to be, at the least, a war on women, a war on homosexuals, a war on immigration, a war on non-English speakers, and a war on non-Christians.  But if you look at all these wars from higher up a different picture starts to develop, a picture of a war on extinction.

If you were a White Christian afraid of becoming extinct what could you do to forestall that inevitability?

Well, extinction is a numbers game so the first thing you could do is outlaw contraceptives and abortions.  Then you could outlaw homosexuals because they can’t reproduce and are therefore not helpful to your cause.  You could also put limits on immigration, especially non-white non-Christian immigrants.  And to manage any undesirables already legally in Your Country you could impose voting restrictions designed to prevent non-White non-Christians from gaining control and making White Christians undesirable.  You could also overrule any extant minimum wage laws thereby allowing businesses to help by offering jobs to undesirables at a much lower pay scale which might encourage them to go back where they came from (self deportation, if you will).  You could even lower taxes on the rich while raising taxes on the poor to achieve the same goal; I’m sure poor White Christians would be willing to take one for the cause.

You could even consider a Constitutional amendment making English the Official Language of Your Country giving businesses yet another legal reason to deny employment to undesirables; this could also help limit voting rights.

Can you see the pattern developing?

After stirring all those policies and procedures into their magic caldron White Christians could strengthen their position even more with a war on evolution.  Why?  Simply because what can't happen can’t happen to them.

So, if your name is Barack Hussein Obama and you are black and possibly Muslim and possibly from Kenya and possibly can't speak English, be afraid, be very afraid, because you are the personification of everything that foretells the imminent demise of the chosen ones and the chosen ones will stop at nothing to prevent you from leading them into darkness.

Oh, if all the above fails simply de-fund the EPA; that way no one can have the planet.