by Frank Paynter on July 18, 2006
by Frank Paynter on July 18, 2006
Don’t get me wrong… some of my best friends are felonious merchants of death, but today as I shopped for some XL/tall undershirts in Marshall Fields I looked around and got the insight that the place must use the Federal Witness Protection Program as a staffing agency. Where else did they dig up the deeply tanned, deep cleavaged, zaftig woman in the brightly colored skimpy summer outfit, a little wisp of lace modestly applied across the bosom, dangling red ball earrings about the size of ripe crap apples accenting the crimson lipstick so masterfully applied that none had found purchase on a front tooth? How else to explain the guy in black denims with the long sleeved black shirt and the graying full head of hair, lined and craggy face, just standing there folding and refolding summer-stocked short sleeve polo shirts? I was waiting for him to say “Hello. I’m Johnny Cash.” And there were other dodgy characters ready to serve. There was the white collar criminal… everybody’s favorite alky accountant dressed in a suit that hung awkwardly on his skinny frame, white face, bald patch, glasses I think, but maybe not… fairly nondescript, except you could tell the mob was looking for him by the way he looked this way and that, darting glances all over the men’s furnishings section like he was afraid someone would pop out of the necktie display squeezing grease from an Uzi. Reminded me of Olmert, to tell the truth. These people all belong in Las Vegas, except that would be sort of an in-your-face witness protection strategy.
I ended up buying the Jockey’s since they didn’t have any Hanes. I think they’re all made in the same Chinese owned factory in Honduras anyway but the Hanes are cheaper.
Bruce points out that the Middle East explosion was scripted ten years ago by the Project for a New Apocalyptic Century. Don’t get me wrong… some of my best friends work for the Mossad, I think; but, wouldn’t it be good if we could all get on the same page and if we decide to run plays out of the PNAC playbook, at least not have Karl Rove calling the signals? A couple of yupsters were pawing the rack of Ralph Lauren undershirts nearby. The Polos are made in that same Chinese factory in Honduras, but cost a little more than the Jockeys and a lot more than the Hanes. I overheard this conversation:
“What do you hear from the G8 Summit?”
“Not much, you?”
“Not much. Really, I’ve been too busy wondering if the Israelis are going to nuke Damascus.”
“Not to worry, that’ll be the October surprise. Help us keep our minds off the elections.”
I don’t believe one word of it. If you listened to the conspiracy theorists you’d think that the shadow government had their Mossad moles in Hezbollah kick off the fighting just as Rove was staging the First Fuhrer Pork Roast auf Deutschland. You’d think these events were coordinated on the world stage and that ineffective socialist leaders in Syria better watch out ‘cuz big oil is coming to get ‘em.
