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So tomorrow my students are to write an assignment, a preliminary one designed to assess exactly how structurally imaginative they are. They must answer the questions. 1) Why did/were some people evacauat(ed) from the path of Katrina and others not? 2) So, why the looting? Anywho, I thought it would be interesting to check out the local yokel's at the local wingnut pub (actually this is a redefinition of the pub, because I never thought of it this way before today) just to see what their take on the whole situation was. Like any pub there seemed to be a diversity of opinions. I'll grant them the get out of the intellectual gutter free card bearing the stamp: "some people conform to the prevailing pattern, some don't". However the prevailing mode, at least the loudest most boisterous drunkest one in the room was in no uncertain terms absolutely appalling.
To set the stage: Imagine a 100 year old or so bar, it used to be a speakeasy. There is a hallway in the front, much a like house. To the side, a front room. In the middle a pretty nice u-shaped bar. I'm on the west end facing east, eaves dropping. The flat screen to my right has on MSNBC, showing the guard deliver supplies to refugees and some vastly replayed scenes of rescues and other scenes that display the irony of all ironies-news helichoppers filming stranded and helpless people, not rescuing them mind you, just filming.
Okay, little ol' me, waiting on my pizza, drinking a Blue Moon, "no orange Thanks!" I'm watching the footage most of which I've seen throughout the day, some of it new. All of it sinks my heart a little deeper each time. On the other side of the bar, let's call them crazy man Jack, sideshow Bill, Ponyboy muttonchops, and Kenny Rogers. Ol' Muttonchops proclaims, out loud (just to be sure), "geez I guess all o' em' welfare dollars is going to sum use. Line up piggys at the trough of our tax dollar." Followed by mutterings to the next guy, I'm guessing the N'word, perhaps the word monkey thrown in there somewhere, if you catch my drift. Sideshow the enabler laughs so hard his Busch "Heavy" (don't give me none of that light bull shit), snorts through the thick bushy, non Swedish new wave rocker, mustache (so its not really cool at the moment) (It's one of those mustaches: the kind that's really only annoying on a freeper, but kind of cute on your fellow DUer country fried uncle). Crazyman Jack, the egger on, decides to go Muttonchops one step further. Jack pushes the discourse straight into Klan town, if you catch my drift. (paraphrasing this one, because by then I've slammed down one more drink then I'd planned on) "Well, at least we got rid of some of em.". By then Kenny Rogers (not the real Kenny of course, but a guy who makes all the small town 50+ divorcees swoon) is hot, I mean so hot he launches into a fantastic tirade meant for the pages of this forum. It was all that saved me from getting my behind bounced around by some swollen nutbags with a gun rack in their truck. Mr. Rogers sucked all the hear no evil, see no evil group thinkyness (mine included) out of the room. Ol' Kenny boy, obviously a newly minted anti-bush, former republican voter at least as far as he says, (I'm a hopeful one, so let's assume its true) changes the subject to three things, the profits of oil monopolies, the price of gas, and Bush's grubby and oily fingers. Muttonchops before even hearing one word out of Kenny's mouth calls "Bullshit". Kenny, as only Kenny Rogers could do, disarms both Muttonchops whose angry face at this point makes him look like a pro-war protester getting ready to beat down a preppy protest warrior, and crazyman Jack, who well let's just say he's CRAAAAZyyyyyYY!. Kenny Rogers is my hero for the day. He popped the uncomfortable conspiracy of silence the rest of us in the bar experienced (the kind where all knowing parties share parting and knowing glances, while all wanting to say something but not really sure if freeptard the bunny killer is packing heat or not). Man I miss the East Coast. But thankfully I've got guys like Kenny on my side even in this lonely red state at the red veined pub.
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