Chevy Coup d'Etat and a Bench Seat
Here’s the trend then, eh? a military coup d'etat. Rogue general rises up in Libya and other general officers join him to lay some sort of stability and stomp out radical Islamists while the Obama administration falls all over itself minding everybody else's business and protesting a coup. What? Send them drones. Also to Egypt. And now in Thailand, a military coup in the midst of chaos, to set the country on the right path. More protests from Washington. Maybe that’s what we need, eh? a military coup. At the end of World War II, Douglas MacArthur and Ike Eisenhower, our two superheroes from the war, were touted for president. My mother was horrified at the idea of a general becoming president: he would establish a military dictatorship. Douglas was an arrogant essohbee but Ike made us proud. At least, I was proud. When I was at Navy OCS the summer of 1957, Ike came to Newport and we all paraded out to greet him. He stood up in an open Lincoln Cosmopolitan convertible, lifted his hat and waved at us, very tall in a brown suit. No president today would wear a brown suit, but Ike was his own man. He wasn't wearing a red tie with it, either. For a while there had been talk and uncertainty whether Ike would run as a Democrat or Republican, and seems to me Harry Truman wanted Ike for the ticket instead of Adlai Stevenson, then Ike came out Republican and we buried poor Adlai in the landslide.
It ain't fried, it's Shake 'n Bake, and I helped.
Nowadays I have this eerie dejavu about those who were so vehemently for Charlie Crist a few years ago and told me I was wrong if I was against Charlie, now the same ones are vehemently against Charlie Crist and tell me I am wrong if I am for Charlie, WTH? Were you right then, or wrong? Are you right now, or wrong again. Assure me. Let me hear you say, "you can trust me on this one." But you said that before, "you can trust me," and now you say you were wrong then? Unlike arithmetic, two wrongs don't make a right, this ain't math class, it's a bunch of political pukes. It makes no difference who is governor, he just makes noise and thinks about his future seat in the U.S. Senate. We need to go back to one term.
It ain't fried, it's Shake 'n Bake, and I helped.
Nowadays I have this eerie dejavu about those who were so vehemently for Charlie Crist a few years ago and told me I was wrong if I was against Charlie, now the same ones are vehemently against Charlie Crist and tell me I am wrong if I am for Charlie, WTH? Were you right then, or wrong? Are you right now, or wrong again. Assure me. Let me hear you say, "you can trust me on this one." But you said that before, "you can trust me," and now you say you were wrong then? Unlike arithmetic, two wrongs don't make a right, this ain't math class, it's a bunch of political pukes. It makes no difference who is governor, he just makes noise and thinks about his future seat in the U.S. Senate. We need to go back to one term.
I used to think it made no difference who was president, he can’t do a damn thing anyway because of the incompetent congress and our crippling, paralyzing federal bureaucracy that makes Charles Dickens' England look good. But then we went to war on Iraq and I saw that I was wrong, it makes a lot of difference who is president. It makes a lot of difference in whose grandchildren are alive generations later, and whose beautiful little grandchildren never even get a chance to be born, generations of Americans cut off forever like the Suffering Servant of Isaiah and the Ethiopian Eunuch of Acts.
This isn’t a political blog. I’ve tuned out all the political shriekers and put myself above it all, the rain is gone, I can see clearly now: Bubba for Presidente. Say it with a sneer, roll the "r" and put a whatchamawhitchit over the "e" but no enya. I don’t need a four-year term, I only need one day. Maybe just fifteen minutes, if Congress is in session and the army does what I say. After the army has carried out my orders, I'll need the air force with one plane and no questions asked. Well, two planes, because I'm going to watch from the E-4 about fifty miles out. Then I'm pardoning myself, coming home, and going to Gene's for oysters on the half-shell.
So, who is this, really? Some deranged soul in the dark shadows who would absolutely love to have this car, which I think is beautiful. It will have a V-32 engine with two and a half thousand hp. In it, as el Presidente' Emeritus for Life, I will drive back and forth between 2308 and Gene's, where two stools will always be reserved for me and my buddy.
but back to earth, that darkened soul actually remembers this Chevy coupe, and is already over the horizon wherever it is headed.
Yes, I do remember, you could get it in either a V8 or a Six, either automatic or three speed on the tree. The poodle skirt was way before 1959 though. Go back five or six years. Hey, baby, slide over this away, don't make me take another high speed right turn to gitchoohere.
Bucket seats? Invention of girl's fathers. Or Satan. Or the Baptists.
Anonymous+
For fear of NSA and SS, this post will never get loose
Bucket seats? Invention of girl's fathers. Or Satan. Or the Baptists.
Anonymous+
For fear of NSA and SS, this post will never get loose