The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age
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    Cake or Pie? Choose or Die. (19th Nervous Breakdown.)

    By quinn esq on Sun, 09/28/2008 - 1:43am |
    1st. It's that simple. Cake is Republican. But Democrats? They're Pie People. Cake is dry, crumbly, all the focus on the top layer. The Icing. Icing matters, for cake people. But pie's 'nuther story altogether. Pie's all about the filling. YEAH BABY! The middle. And the more of it, the better. Sure, you CAN make a pie with an upper crust. But you want it thin. Wafer thin. The other thing about pies, you can fill 'em with anything. Chocolate or Butterscotch. Cherries or Apples. Rhubarb or Razorblades. Coconuts of Cream. And really, isn't life mostly about the pie? Scientifically, we're 90% water, right? So who'd want cake? They're ALWAYS dry. Dry as dust. Go ahead, try to talk while you're eating cake. You mumble while it crumbles. Whereas pie? Liquid gold. Nectar of the Dogs. Makes you want to sing. Republicans? F*ck 'em, I say. Let 'em eat cake. 2nd Breakdown. World's biggest Bank failure. World's biggest Insurance failure. World's biggest Housing failure. World's biggest bankruptcy. 5 investment Banks gone. Bye-bye. Nighty-night. 0% on T-Bills. Not worried. Uncle Sam say, I WANT YOU. TO BUY. T-BILLS. 3urd. True story. Friend of mine - lives in the 'burbs outside San Diego. Big Republican area. Nice. Tells me a guy just walked past his house. True story. 4rd. The guy was WALKING. Hello? COULDN'T PAY TO GAS HIS CAR. NOT DRIVING HIS 4RD. 5tyiethly. Butterflies are flapping their wings over the Amazon, creating Hurricanes. Right? Well then. Our course is clear. F*ck the butterflies. Us or Them. Fer or Agin. Evil or Ain't. I say we bounty 'em. $150 a wing. Aerial hunting, 'salright with me. Sure they're pretty, but so are Russians. 5th (Time Out. Suspend This.) And that's the crux isn't it? It's all right there. The Russians. And the Crimeans. And the Sevastopolitians. Now, I know some of you are worried about the Russians. Some of you worry more about Crime & the Crimeans. But me? I'm watching them Sevastopolitans. I remember my history. Doomed to repeat it? I think not. I remember the Neapolitans & what they did to Italy. And how did that end? Crying. Screaming. Running away. Hair-pulling. Tears. Just like birthday parties. 6th Breakdown. Why do we inflict CAKE on kids at Birthday Parties? Partisan horseshit. 7th7th7th. $700 Billion Bail-Out. Waaaaaa(repeat "a")aaaaay too much. Afraid for the kids. I'm greatly depressed. Great. Ly. And a $700 Billion trade deficit. Every year. Which means = $700 Billion in "free gifts." (That have to be paid back.) (By our kids.) Oops! It's still going on! Hey everybody! Stop accepting the gifts!!! And uh and uh uh uh $700 billion for Iraq. Gonna save money on that. Move the troops to Afghanistan. Cheaper cost of living and all. And and and $700 Billion a year for oil. Less oil for the kids. More carbon. More Hurricanes. Sold the family beast yet? Paid off that last dime? Got that SUV up on blocks? This is the way... this is the way.... whimper. Ei8th. True Story. Friend of mine used to run a Works Dept. Every Fall, this lady'd phone up to complain. About trash on her lawn. Leaves. "Tree trash," she called it. Seriously. She's be outraged. OUTRAGED. But did she ever blame the neighbours? Nope. Not once. She was very precise when asked about this. She understood personal responsibility. And it woz the Trees wot done it. The Trees wot should pick it up. And the Trees wot should be punished. "Them," she'd say, "and their Tree Trash. On MY lawn." The City'd send a guy over after dark - true story - and rake her lawn. She's like the House Republicans. Or Wall Street. Or us. 9th Inning, gotta foc_s. Why'd yo_ guys drop the "u," anyway? Seems kinda spitef_l. I know, 1776 and all that, but still, so bitter? And look where it got _. I can see dropping the _ from labo_r. But Neighbo_r? Hono_r? Savio_r?!!! Can _ imagine having the gall to say, I'm gonna change how The Savio_r's spelled? 9th+1th=10th. BREAKING. I'm breaking now. I like the Democrats because they're like us Scottish people. The Demoscots. A Party for people with COURAGE. Ones that know their History. And Demand Justice. And who're always up for a fight. With each other. Because, after all, aren't those the BEST fights? Family brawls. Oldtime hockey. MacDonald/Campbell. Hatfield/McCoy. And f*ck the Clinton's, I say. The Kennedy's. de Rothschild's. And Hubert Hollow Humphrey, that fat lil bastid. 'n I can't WAIT 'til we get to sink our teeth into those Soetoro's. Dynasty? O'er. My. Dead. Demoscottish. Body. 11thI'mComin'Dowwwwn. My Grandfather. The genetic one, not the other one. When he was a kid, goes to Cambridge, takes music. Gets pulled into WW the Oneth. Manchester Regiment. Gallipoli. Basra. Megiddo. They fought in interesting places. He never told any story but the last one. The day he's under fire, dove into a cave. 12 other guys already inside. Anyway, somebody on the other team fires something in. Shell or whatever. 12 dead. All but him. He comes to - Calm. Sees arms, legs, torso's - Calm. Walks out, realizes he's naked & bleeding, except for his boots, and this little leather strap holding his compass. Calm. Guy starts talking to him, my Grandfather realizes he's deaf - and Freaks Out. Music, you see. Afterward, it shamed him. That music was his first thought. Said that in a time of crisis, people think the strangest thoughts. I'm holding that little heart-shaped leather case right now. Things come back around. Crisis. People think the strangest thoughts. 11teenth. Take a turn, turn, turn again. Something's not holding. Something's not holding. 12. See that bird circling? Wha' izzit? Turkey vulture? No? Bald Eagle mebbe? Ya know what they can see? Ultraviolet. Birds see in the ultraviolet. Know that? Yep, 4 types of cones, not 3 like us. Can see in the 4th dimension. That fact messes me up. See, that means to them, a crow ain't... black. To them, a Crow might look brighter'n a Cockatoo. And here's the messed up part. They're closer to seein' the truth than we are. All those colors WE see? Might as well be watching some old black & white TV. Think of that. What color's a black person? I donno. AND NEITHER DO YOU. What color'm I? I. DON'T. KNOW. WE do not live in Reality TV. Take a look at these hands, they're passing in between us. TAKE A LOOK AT THESE HANDS!!! Lucky lucky lucky #13. You don't think 13's lucky. Remember that cave? That shell? Remember those 12 guys that died? Tell me. Who was #13? Tell me, who am I? God may not play dice with the universe. But you and me? I can hear Him. "Yeah baby. Let it riiiiiiiide." 14. I got these fine hands. Musician's hands. Musician's ear, yeah. Music on the brain, that too. But them li'l hands. Genetic. My father was a violinist. Not my Step-Dad. Hell no, he was this huge farmer. But me? Lil hands. You ever stood there, little, and looked at some huge bastard that was gonna hammer you, and looked down at your hands, musician's hands, then up at him, up and down, and life was right there. Your whole life. Choose. Right here, right now son ----- Choose. And all you hear is music, building inside, like Beethoven or something.... But the trouble is.... all you got is blood in your eyes. Generations of it. From your ancestors, them little Jews, all the way back in Leipzig. From them little Scottish people, the ones who went to Bannockburn. Music and War. Music OR War. And you know if you throw that punch, you've chosen your path. And you're torn. And the guy's in front of you now... and he's just so f*ckin' BIG.... and he pulls back his arm.... And you take him down. Your sharp little knuckles turn out to be good at making them bleed. So you do. And you feel like a Wolf. A Bear. Berserker. But the ROAR in your ears afterward. Saying - no more Music from these hands. Just Blood. You chose. So take a look at these hands. Times of crisis, people have the strangest thoughts. Take a look at your hands. You got a choice. Music. Blood. Don't think you don't. 15thward. Hadron Collider. Ebola. Derivatives. Tsunami from the Canaries. Tsunami from Derivatives. And a Snowbilly. Who Hunts librarians. Hunts wolves. Hunts pork. Blessed by the Witch-doctor. Witch-hunter. Same. SAME. And the Witch-Hunter blessed the Snowbilly, and said, "This ole Earth's had a good run. 6,000 years is plenty. Ya hear that bell? I SAID, DO YA HEAR THAT BELL?!!! Time's up. School's out. Get busy. Ssssssssarah." 16. Moose. I hear they run in herds. Huge galloping herds of 'em - saw it on tv. But sometimes their antlers get caught in the trees, right? And the wolves get 'em. You can't have that. 'Taint humane. Heli-huntin's what we need. It's Scientifically proved. It's either Heli-huntin'.... or we go back to the Hellhounds. 17almostabletosee. I'm the man in the box. Pitch black. I am your leader. I've been in the box. So you don't have to. It's dark in there. So I'd never put you in the box. But you wanna look? Bet you do. Wanna see? I can show you. Wanna feel what it's like? Inside? Where I sleep. Wanna see? Step inside. Step inside the box, America. You know you want to. Know. 18th. Not quite. Hold on. Luke's gone. Fast Eddie's gone. Billy the Kid. Butch. Butch is gone, Sundance. What now? Not much time left. Only time for 19. So you better stop. Look around. Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes, here it comes. Here comes your 19th nervous breakdown. Here comes your 19th nervous breakdown. Here comes your 19th nervous breakdown. Here comes your 19th nervous breakdown. America. 

    Are you ready?

    In a time of crisis, people think the strangest things.

    Say Goodnight, Des. Goodnight Des.