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Bush to visit N.O. on Wednesday
~Editilla Motellas~It was that day, a day of Infamy.
His FuckMookness flew over our City in a Big Pellitopter!
We were on the fire escape doing the usual thing of so many, days into the flood, nothing ...just watching the city burn, middle of the day, hotter than a well digger's ass in Hell, really hot and my 2nd floor view is directly West at the bottom of Elysian Fields rat'by the River.
The only radio was tuned to the only radio broadcast, out of Baton Rouge, which was only broadcasting cell phone calls for help from people whoever could get through from their attics, out of insulin, covered in fire ants, snakes and injured ankles trying to Kick through that little spinning vent in the roof of stinking, fetid darkness in the middle of the day live on the radio, so sad now
--when suddenly the radio disappeared, just went static.
Ya'know, folks had jokingly wondered about when the Little DickTater would eventually finally come to town. Some even wanted to know the hour as they reminisced of the Police Chief's own bare Escape from New Orleans.
They wanted to know especially in the Ninth Ward as word'up consensus opinion had it that They would goddamn come and get us then, eh? or send Kurt Russell, The Snake ...it's what I heard anyway...so the radio went dead and left us to face the sounds of Our Dying City Sinn Féin,
the sounds of slow crucifixion, sounds I will never forget.
Then there! Up in da'sky! Neither bird nor plane He came ...in a Really Big Pav 4 Hellicopter painted in that queer computer camouflage that seems to make its own light warp reality around itself like a demon in a fun house...
~~Rat'Down the Middle of Our Sacred Elysian Fields~~
...the thing was Huge and Quiet and Toll'me it was Him, in more ways than the 4 black Cobra attack choppers flying in a diamond shape beneath. Jus'sayin, doubtless this was not our own Guard, Shanghi'd to Bagdhad, or Blancho's Fat Asset ya'know? So, I knew it was Him --da'Bastad! Boy George! How? Because when I stood up absolutely naked in the 98 degree heat, all four gun turrets on the bottom of those mean Cobras spun and looked directly at me --just like'dat...'cause I had my hands raised up into the air, four days of scummy hair and blood-caked mean soul'dirty visage, naked as a pissed-off monkey waving its arms in the air ranting vapidly "Yes, we have no bananas you motherfucker!"
Both Hands, Double Fork You!
I gave His UnHoliness the standard Middle One,
then the Italian Arm Jock,
then the Turkish Tooth Knuckle'Knash,
then the East Filipino Pick'n'Flick,
then the Texas Punk Sllllap...pi'yowzaaah!
then, then... Two Big Peace Symbols.
...laughing and shakin'it all rat'there...
One can only suspect that they did not shred me to ribbons due to regular exposure to That Familiar Gesture
wheneva this Presidente goes anywhere in the world.
Somebody looked rat'at me too through the big window in the side. We kinda doubt it was FuckMook 1. (FMOTUS) Why? Well, they probably had His Smirkness stuck in back, playing Jumble Word games or Lookin'fo Waldo.
This is a true story. Really. I swear. No lie.
I con teelll you'don beeleeeve meeeee...really...
...then the radio came back on just like nothing had happened, as if we had not been passed over by the Grimmest of da'Reaper's Darkest Doh!minions:
da'Carnivoreal Preternatural Arch Angel of Moloch.
Editilla O'rilla d'Aphasia~New Orleans Ladder
