Stablemaster nominated
In the last 8 months or so since that whore came knocking, we have seen an abundance of reasons why we are incapable of handling our affairs. In fact, we are less capable of self-governing than your run of the mill Islamic nation whose polling places are known for the presence of soldiers and U.N. inspectors. As I write this morning, ominous anvil shaped thunderheads are building in the sky from the west.
Whether this will be merely rain or a "rain event" is anyone's guess. Whether we have reversible flood gates and or sheet piles closing the feet of canals is also anyone's guess. But what really matters is what I can make a damn pretty good guess of, and that is that all of the area Pump Operators have the day off because it is Saturday and "nobody could have ever guessed that we would have a thunderstorm on the weekend." Another near certainty is that the Knights of Columbus in their annual forage for palm fronds, tomorrow is Palm Sunday, will have their holy task made a little easier this afternoon because the fronds will be spread all over the lawns of any thoroughfare like Dickory or Carrollton that has palms on the neutral ground.
As we less than eagerly await to find out that today's potential flash flood was in part the result of our Pump Operators foraging for palm fronds instead of turning on the blasted pumps, I reminisce of all of the other unique personality disorders that have reared their heads since the whore came knocking. We have acts of the masses and the individual that note the inherent character flaws of the indigenous Metro-New Orleanian.
These most notably include those that did not evacuate. I am not speaking of those in nursing homes or who live everyday in abject poverty, those intended to be in the evacuation buses funded by dollars that C Ray Fudcicle thought better spent on basketballs, but the other 50,000-100,000 who with their running automobiles, barbecued the days away on August 27th and 28th, 2005 thinking that the whore would make a last minute turn and that they would look like geniuses compared to their neighbors who will sit in traffic for hours trying to come home. Of this group, I particularly want to note the one's who thought, expected and demanded that the Superdome, Convention Center and superstructure of the Crescent City Connection be well-appointed resorts at which to spend the early days of September. The parents of the teenagers who returned home on August 30th with guns, video games, and televisions and never considered questioning their source(s) also get dishonorable mention. These were the masses.
Also are the individual acts of idiocy. The residents of places like Lakeview that after spending years looking up to the trawls of shrimp boats passing their homes in the 17th Street Canal, thought it to be a sound preemptive measure to put their furniture on cinder blocks elevating it as much as 6 inches above the floor, just in case the levees should break. Those everywhere who just before leaving vacuumed their living rooms because, "it's so nice to come home to a clean house" and never thought to clear the leaves and twigs from the storm drain out front. Those like myself who packed four flashlights and two pairs of underwear as evacuation necessities and were quite perplexed in a blacked out Baton Rouge on August 30th trying to wear a Maglite. Those who upon returning who weeded their garden just in case the country club photographer passed, before considering calling anyone to report that their neighbor 3 doors down's house had a strong smell of natural gas.
There are the ones who tell the contractors how much insurance money that they have before getting quotes and the one's that pay the contractors in advance and are shocked when like from that commercial a few years back, they "inexplicably disappear," they dream of the contractors one day returning at which time they will, "give him a big kiss, right on the lips." The people that spend 3pm-5pm every weekday afternoon in the Metairie gridlock and still find it necessary to honk their horns. People who think that any one of those 2 dozen clowns will be able to deliver us from this collective hell by becoming Mayor. Anyone and everyone who for even a second considers using Michael Brown's consulting firm. Those who still look to Nagin, Broussard, Blanco and or our beloved bat-eared President and honestly expect leadership.
The residents of flooded homes whether in the house or in the FEMA trailer that think that their new respiratory condition is the result of the pollen count. The springtime gardeners who look out on the blue tarp horizon and pray for rain. The U.S. Army, Corps of Engineers. For all of these unique characters but particularly the greatest moronic phenomenon of the post-Katrina era, the idiots who still tailgate on the Causeway, I offer this solution.
I hereby, with godspeed and due diligence, do nominate, one Scott Strauss to become Stablemaster and spiritual leader of Katrinaville. This is the guy who after being rear-ended on the Causeway and being forced through the guardrail and into Lake Pontchartrain had the presence of mind to allow his truck to sink to the bottom and fully flood so that the pressure would equalize and allow him to open his door and swim to the surface. Mr Strauss, we need you!
As we spend the next generation recovering from the whore's wrath and with each year progressing closer and closer to the statistically certain landfall of the next whore, wouldn't it offer us a ray of hope knowing that Mr Strauss has planted his seed in each of our cows of child bearing age. Greater than floodgates and coastal restoration would be the hope of an improved gene pool. And by who better than not only a guy with something that so few of us can display on a regular basis, a little good sense but also possessing undeniably a big set of balls. I estimate his balls to be proportionately bigger than the rest of us by at least twice the proportion than the Grinch's heart grew after hearing the Who's sing without presents on Christmas morning.
Obviously, there would be other contenders for our new Stablemaster. We would have to consider that guy who after having a bullshark snatch his arm in Perdido Pass, swam to shore and gave a passing motorist instructions on how to tie the tourniquet on his severed limb. Also, considered would be the guy who has the undisputed biggest balls of them all, no not AC/DC, that guy who amputated his own arm with a pocket knife and then hiked out of the park following his rock climbing accident. Of course, Rick Tonry would nominate himself and demand a popular vote.
Whether this will be merely rain or a "rain event" is anyone's guess. Whether we have reversible flood gates and or sheet piles closing the feet of canals is also anyone's guess. But what really matters is what I can make a damn pretty good guess of, and that is that all of the area Pump Operators have the day off because it is Saturday and "nobody could have ever guessed that we would have a thunderstorm on the weekend." Another near certainty is that the Knights of Columbus in their annual forage for palm fronds, tomorrow is Palm Sunday, will have their holy task made a little easier this afternoon because the fronds will be spread all over the lawns of any thoroughfare like Dickory or Carrollton that has palms on the neutral ground.
As we less than eagerly await to find out that today's potential flash flood was in part the result of our Pump Operators foraging for palm fronds instead of turning on the blasted pumps, I reminisce of all of the other unique personality disorders that have reared their heads since the whore came knocking. We have acts of the masses and the individual that note the inherent character flaws of the indigenous Metro-New Orleanian.
These most notably include those that did not evacuate. I am not speaking of those in nursing homes or who live everyday in abject poverty, those intended to be in the evacuation buses funded by dollars that C Ray Fudcicle thought better spent on basketballs, but the other 50,000-100,000 who with their running automobiles, barbecued the days away on August 27th and 28th, 2005 thinking that the whore would make a last minute turn and that they would look like geniuses compared to their neighbors who will sit in traffic for hours trying to come home. Of this group, I particularly want to note the one's who thought, expected and demanded that the Superdome, Convention Center and superstructure of the Crescent City Connection be well-appointed resorts at which to spend the early days of September. The parents of the teenagers who returned home on August 30th with guns, video games, and televisions and never considered questioning their source(s) also get dishonorable mention. These were the masses.
Also are the individual acts of idiocy. The residents of places like Lakeview that after spending years looking up to the trawls of shrimp boats passing their homes in the 17th Street Canal, thought it to be a sound preemptive measure to put their furniture on cinder blocks elevating it as much as 6 inches above the floor, just in case the levees should break. Those everywhere who just before leaving vacuumed their living rooms because, "it's so nice to come home to a clean house" and never thought to clear the leaves and twigs from the storm drain out front. Those like myself who packed four flashlights and two pairs of underwear as evacuation necessities and were quite perplexed in a blacked out Baton Rouge on August 30th trying to wear a Maglite. Those who upon returning who weeded their garden just in case the country club photographer passed, before considering calling anyone to report that their neighbor 3 doors down's house had a strong smell of natural gas.
There are the ones who tell the contractors how much insurance money that they have before getting quotes and the one's that pay the contractors in advance and are shocked when like from that commercial a few years back, they "inexplicably disappear," they dream of the contractors one day returning at which time they will, "give him a big kiss, right on the lips." The people that spend 3pm-5pm every weekday afternoon in the Metairie gridlock and still find it necessary to honk their horns. People who think that any one of those 2 dozen clowns will be able to deliver us from this collective hell by becoming Mayor. Anyone and everyone who for even a second considers using Michael Brown's consulting firm. Those who still look to Nagin, Broussard, Blanco and or our beloved bat-eared President and honestly expect leadership.
The residents of flooded homes whether in the house or in the FEMA trailer that think that their new respiratory condition is the result of the pollen count. The springtime gardeners who look out on the blue tarp horizon and pray for rain. The U.S. Army, Corps of Engineers. For all of these unique characters but particularly the greatest moronic phenomenon of the post-Katrina era, the idiots who still tailgate on the Causeway, I offer this solution.
I hereby, with godspeed and due diligence, do nominate, one Scott Strauss to become Stablemaster and spiritual leader of Katrinaville. This is the guy who after being rear-ended on the Causeway and being forced through the guardrail and into Lake Pontchartrain had the presence of mind to allow his truck to sink to the bottom and fully flood so that the pressure would equalize and allow him to open his door and swim to the surface. Mr Strauss, we need you!
As we spend the next generation recovering from the whore's wrath and with each year progressing closer and closer to the statistically certain landfall of the next whore, wouldn't it offer us a ray of hope knowing that Mr Strauss has planted his seed in each of our cows of child bearing age. Greater than floodgates and coastal restoration would be the hope of an improved gene pool. And by who better than not only a guy with something that so few of us can display on a regular basis, a little good sense but also possessing undeniably a big set of balls. I estimate his balls to be proportionately bigger than the rest of us by at least twice the proportion than the Grinch's heart grew after hearing the Who's sing without presents on Christmas morning.
Obviously, there would be other contenders for our new Stablemaster. We would have to consider that guy who after having a bullshark snatch his arm in Perdido Pass, swam to shore and gave a passing motorist instructions on how to tie the tourniquet on his severed limb. Also, considered would be the guy who has the undisputed biggest balls of them all, no not AC/DC, that guy who amputated his own arm with a pocket knife and then hiked out of the park following his rock climbing accident. Of course, Rick Tonry would nominate himself and demand a popular vote.
posted by Big Tuna at 7:28 AM
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