Crafty Devil

Q. What's the difference between Nation Building and Buying Votes?

A. Twelve months in Northward

God, supposedly, moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform but Mac wants a piece of that action. So Mac created and administered a special fund, also in a mysterious way, for handing out public money to Ministers (church variety).

His Holiness the Pope of  West Bay

Pending God blowing the roofs back onto the churches he blew them off of during Hurricane Ivan, Mac takes matters into his own hands and gets them fixed. After all God helps those who help themselves and God knows Mac does that - to his elbows.

I don't know how many roofs you can put on the same church - maybe new oriental influences are ushering in the pagoda style - so it looks like the church ain't the only thing the money is intended to fix, if you catch my drift.

Presumably the Small Fries went along with this extraordinary ecclesiastical handout being, where not God-fearing, at least Mac-fearing men. But, it looks like the Governor keeps one eye half-open while dozes in his pew, for his hand-servant the Auditor General is now on the case.

Unwilling, as ever, to account for public money he's been splashing out,  Mac berates and badmouth his detractors from the bully pulpit of his office, even unto accusing them of being 'Devil worshippers'.

No Mac, the devil is in the details and, unless Joe Public gets to see them, there could be Hell to pay.
(Not Hell, West Bay obviously -that's already been paid).

Are we there yet?

Freetard: defn

A person whose ability to make rational decisions is impaired by the possibility of receiving something for free.

 
I bumped into the Duke of Earl the other day. I'd heard he was more or less off the booze. He only ever drank to forget and his memory is so drink impaired these days that, while he still drinks on the days he recalls what he was trying to forget, on the days he forgets what he's trying to forget, he's dry. Sounds less complicated than is is.

Hi Duke, how's it goin'?

Do I know you?

Sure you do. It's me Baldy.

Did you used to have less hair?

Nah. I'm wearing a wooly hat.

OK. Hey, are you the one with the wife that looks like Schwarzenegger?

You got me

Take a seat my friend and tell me how it's been goin'.

I joined him on his park bench and we talked of this and that and how the world seemed to be going down the crapper.

Why is that Duke? What's going on?

Too many freetards. Too many people feel entitled to take out more than they'll ever put in. If this keeps up, we are headed, my friend, to government of the freetards, by the freetards, for the freetards.

Duke, I know places where that process is nearly completed.

You mean West Bay and Cayman Brac?

Bingo.

Here Today Gone Tomorrow

So how was your Rapture?

I had fun putting a scare into Mrs B.

Mrs B is a pretty hard case - think Sarah Palin on steroids suffering from industrial strength PMT and wearing a fright mask. But she can be credulous if something like The Rapture is repeated in the news often enough and she had been drawn in.

She says she married me for my sense of humor, and I married her out of conviction, or the possibility of getting one if I hadn't married her. I'm still not convinced you legally have to marry a girl just because you left the toilet seat up in her house on the first date.

I'm so careful about that now.
 
Ayhoo she got a shock on Saturday evening, Rapture Day, when she came out into the garden to find I was nowhere to be seen and my sole earthly garment, vacant of its occupant, on the lawn.

From my hiding place up in the tree I heard her gasp, "O-M-G,  O-M-G. He's been RAPTURED"

Ruptured would have been closer, I don't know about you but I haven't climbed a tree, naked and in a hurry, since I was about 12. Apart from our honeymoon. But it was worth the effort.

I was shaking with mirth so much the tree was swaying,  spooky, because there was no wind. Not yet anyway. But when I crammed my fist into my mouth to hold down a fit of giggles what was suppressed at one end found an exit at the other. Yea the trumpet shall sound!

Even that sulphurous blast could have passed for one of the signs and omens of doomsday if only my cap hadn't fallen off, causing Mrs B to rumble me and look heavenward.

"Hey Baldie, your end is in sight. And it ain't pretty."

With some effort I got down from the tree and Mrs B, seeing the funny side of things (she certainly laughed each time she looked up), helped by letting me stand on her shoulders and lowering me to the ground. It was just like the old days when we scrambled over the back wall to avoid her mother's visits. Ah memories!

"What's with all the goo on your ankles Baldie?"

"That's Vaseline honey, to help me slide back down the tree"

"Jesus you're weird"

It wasn't true: just in case the rapture really did arrive on Saturday night I'd smeared my ankles with Vaseline so Mrs B couldn't hold me back or hitch a ride.