If I were going to write a play for the next BBC radio play contest, I’d make it the about the ridiculously porous border between our country and our neighbor, Canada. And how cheap Canadian moose antlers are flooding our market and getting passed off as “Genuine Maine Moose Antlers,” which is a total joke! Maine Antlers are known to have a much higher tensile strength than those weak-ass Canadian moose antlers. They make better coat hangers and look much better when you mount them on your bike handlebars. If you needed to make crutches from moose antlers, you’d want to make them from Maine antlers because of their strength and the striations in the “grain” of the antlers, which add a highly desirable element of design.
And, frankly, Maine antlers make much better flails. You think you don’t want a flail, but you want one for the coming moose antler war, trust me on that. Can you imagine being in the antler crossfire without a flail?
Anyway, I’m going to write a 53-minute radioplay about the war of the antlers in the next two weeks.
When I was a young kid way back in the mid-1800s, the term “impeach” surfaced many thoughts in my young mind, not the least of which was of peaches. I somehow then connected those peaches to bald heads, because peaches have fuzz, and if you were impeached the authorities were going to shave your head as a punishment.
And maybe tar and feather you.
This reminds me that my old friend Bond told me a story of when he was taking a boat from Spain to Morocco in (let’s call it) 1984, and some hippie-sort on the boat started smoking a joint and mouthing off, which caused a boat-official to haul his ass underdeck. When the hippie emerged, his head had been shaved. Which is sort of what I had thought happened when you got impeached. Also, this now shaved-hippie was still smoking weed. And the joint was stubbed out into someone’s eye.
Who knows how many stories I’m conflating into one? Maybe God does. My guess is between 3 and 5; the stories of my young and sordid past, with joints, hippies, and a shaved head here and there tend to ooze into one another at this point in my (extremely high-functioning and mainstream 50-something) life.
Still, those were the days! Smoking a joint was rewarded with free haircare back then. Try that now. Now, you’re lucky if anyone cares if you smoke a joint. The police hold the door open for you when you emerge from the weed store and advise you to mind the steps. (Or so I’m told.)
Just don’t sip a snifter of whiskey in view of a 17 year old because you’ll get a full body cavity inspection.
Anyway, everyone wants to know which side I’m hoping will win, and I know it’s cliché but I have to say I’m just hoping for a fun impeachment.
I’m planning to have my agent get me a meeting with Hollywood producers so I can pitch a new thriller about interference in the 2016 elections, which is based on my book “All the President’s Courtesy Diplomatic Appointees.”
No, I haven’t written my book yet, but this is a book that is destined to write itself, or so I’ll lead unsuspecting Hollywood producers (who are dying to meet me) to believe. I’ll tell them that while Robert Mueller and co were wasting their time on the story about Russia interfering in the fake 2016 elections, I was investigating the true interferers – Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia.
These three fake countries have long been meddling in US elections and using fancy smoke-and-mirrors schemes to make it look like Russia was the meddler. No wonder Vladimir Putin is so frustrated with us. Makes him want to take off his shirt and ride a white horse!
Meanwhile, I’ve hired an assistant to sort out which countries should be preceded by the word “fake.”
I’m not much of a folk singer, but if I were one I’d be writing folk songs like “Blowin’ a Whistle.” My songs of rebellion would be aimed squarely at “The Man”. Troubadours would be singing my songs in subway stations, with their guitar cases laid open and piles of CDs put out for people to buy, filled with folk numbers by Seeger, Guthrie, Dylan, and me.
Wake Up, For Cryin’ Out Loud! would be my first, breakout album. Songs like “You Can’t Possibly be Serious,” and “It’s no Longer Funny, People”, would start to appear on critics’ lists of top hits, and everyone would marvel at my ability to be both humble and kind, and yet have an attitude. Sounds impossible, but the magic of my folk song art is my humility/attitude continuum. My song “Ramblin’ Tweet” would crack the top ten, and “If I had a handgun (I’d shoot it in the morning)” would get to number three.
Of course, half the country will hate my records, either because they dislike hearing whistles blown, or because they happen to be “The Man,” or because they think handguns are for wimps.
What songs would you sing if you were a folk song artist?
J'Biden Era Haikuage
People's Arms. That's right!
200 million shots
In 100 days
We are good people
But we still have far to go
Repair. Restore. Heal.
There's nothing new here
The Affordable Care Act
We're restoring it
Democracy is fragile
The world is watching
Strategy is based
On Science, not politics
Truth, not denial
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