Tag: #Iran War

Girls’ School

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Girls’ School

Girls’ School

 

By John Curran

 

Hi, I’m Joe, the landscape gardener for this wealthy fat cat Washington, DC so-called power player and we are here on his beautiful estate out here in the Hamptons where he is fixing to have an evening get together for some other fat cats so called power players and their wives or servants in tow. And even though I do do house functions as well as tending to the grounds, Mr. C. has decreed that I make myself scarce for this particular gathering.

You see I am not one of those. I am just a regular ‘ol middle aged black guy from originally the deep south, Podunk, Alabama; and I know how to make myself scarce up here in the Hamptons, going invisible in million dollar shrubbery as the sun is going down over the million dollar horizon and the limousines are pulling up. I slip through the cracks, just a black man, they know what that’s all about, I guess. So, just Joe the gardener, making himself scarce. ‘An it just so happens my favorite hideaway is this cool little grotto type arrangement right outside of and underneath the dining room where the big cat gathering was gonna happen.

I tucked in there, I could hear everything, and I must say these white people just never come with a dull moment, its always entertaining. I sat right back down back up against the wall, last beams of sunlight streaming in on me, all warm and comfy, and took it all in ‘an most interesting it was, the proceedings. Early on I’d kinda’ thought this was gonna be like some big important kind of thing where the actual fate of the entire planet was gonna sorta depend on the state of these very important people’s digestion.

But no, seems otherwise, seems it was more like gonna be a party, with this comedian even, this guy, I’d heard his name, Mr. C. talking ’bout this guy, like serious. But no again, now it’s like this guy is actually the comedian, Hegseth his name I think, Pedro, ‘cept he prefers Pete, says no Pedro for Pete. One of his jokes I guess.

Anyway, there I am in position as where I can hear them arriving. And there’s the usual low murmuring thing rising now a bit in volume as more and more of ‘m pile. And then one more louder voice among the rest, damn they ain’t all even got seated in there yet, and this one guy, already starting in with a veritable non stop one liners and zingers demolition. And so I figured this must be the comedian ‘n he can’t even wait to get started and he’s getting into this theme of demolition like the way a good comic can milk a depressing subject for laughs sometimes for laughs and it becomes like a kind of therapy, facing up like to the bogeyman.

And this guy at least was coming on with it good, he actually sounded a little drunk but damn sure wasn’t stopping him until someone yells out, like a heckler would do, saying, “So Pete, tell us about the girls’ school.” And then, right then, the Pete guy, the sorta comedian, well I could hear as his whole voice tone speaking thing had bouncy along so like suddenly became more like the hissing of some reptiles I have encountered as he says back to the heckler, “okay pal, I guess you were there huh, ’cause ya sound pretty girlish to me. Well, I’m sorry I missed ya, ha ha. And man,  it got quiet in that room, and afterwards nobody was laughing much at all. White people, Lawd, I’m saying, I ain’t never gonna figure them out.

Moving On

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Moving On

Moving On

 

D. S. Mitchell

 

I went to 27 different grade schools, and it probably won’t surprise you; I’ve been married five times. The only reason I’m confiding these tidbits of ancient information is to cue you to the fact that I’m no stranger to packing up the car and moving on.

So, now you ask, “are you going somewhere?”

“Aahhh, yes, and as always, I have no idea where.”

I came to the charming Southern Oregon town of Grants Pass in 2022, lured by an older double wide mobile home on a beautiful lake front lot. I bought it and have been loving it ever since.

So, now you ask, “why would you leave; if you love it?”

Aahhh, because somewhere deep inside me there is a malfunctioning gene. A gene that will never let me be stay in one place; no matter how well things seems to be going. In fact, the better that things seem to be going all the better reason to move on. Sounds a bit crazy, doesn’t it? Well, I think you’d be absolutely correct. Unhinged, perhaps? Spoiled? Entitled? Probably all of those things and a few more unflattering descriptors, when the truth is known.

On the other hand, in two capitols thousands of miles apart, two sociopathic heads of state show their willingness to throw their soldiers and citizens into their psychopathic conflict. A war with no purpose, other than to keep Bibi out of jail and the Epstein files out of the headlines. A war that conservatively is costing the United State a fuckin’ billion dollars plus per day. That ought to make your hair stand on end as you wait in the unemployment office for an interview, or you struggle over how to pay for groceries, or fill the gas tank. A fuckin’ billion dollars a day; while rural hospitals are closing across this country. Again while Trump and Bibi burn up a billion dollars a day Health and Science Universities across the United States are experiencing dramatic federal funding cuts. Outrageous, scandalous an unbelievable middle finger to civilized nations.

For the last week I have watched near 24/7 coverage of Donald and Bibi’s War against Iran. It is here I want to say that despite all my malfunctioning genes and general bullshit over the years my craziness has never cost one person their life; certainly not 185 school girls, leveled  a city, destroyed oil fields and stored reserves,  or sank ships and their crews at sea. Why aren’t these two guys in jail or a padded cell? How does it happen that these two men, both criminals, run two of the most powerful countries in the world? Where are the restraints? What went wrong in the election? Right now we have two of the most dangerous men in history threatening the world military and economic stability.

Trump while raving illogical “short term pain and long term gain,” he and his brother in pain are  running wild with Tomahawk missiles and endless bombing raids against Iran. If congress can’t stop them, the American people and the Israeli public CAN halt this despicable activity, but that requires action. Action on the street. Protests. Screaming our damn heads off. Time to put the American people first, that means affordable housing, access to child care, universal health care, basic income, and superlative public education.

It’s time for the few remaining sleeping Americans to come out of the MAGA coma and see Trump for what he is. Show your disapproval for this president and his fuckin’ foreign wars. Register for the No Kings Protest, and turn out with whistle, drum and sign, March 28, 2026. A goal of 10 million Americans on the street will move even psychopaths to change course. Come on America, PROTEST!