Thursday, February 5, 2009
Nomenclature and a Name;
To re-certify his 5t trust, Sam had decided to tell her his Name. "I have almost NEVER told anyone this before," Sam promised, "but my REAL name is Trey." She looked at him quizzically, "What were your dad and Granddad... Ace and Deuce of Spades?" "You're on the right track," he concurred agreeably, "But no, they were Samuel Clementine and Sam Clementine Junior. I hope you can feel part of the family in spite of your immigrant status. The song 'My darling Clementine,' was written about an actual Clementine." "I don't guess I ever doubted such a thing," she replied. "Well, you have to allow it might have been a pseudonym for a really good muse," he rejoined, demonstrating a modesty rare in his Texan experience. "Our family goes back to the days of Washington BC," he added proudly. She saw that he had truly made a gaff, but his recent efforts on her behalf argued kindness, and she decided to be ruthful. "Did you mean Washington DC?" she asked helpfully. "No, not the comic book superhero, the REAL Washington... the General." Her amusement at his audacity was tempered by respect of her own. "You mean POTUS e 43?" "Yeah," he admitted. "George is such a common name. I can't even REMEMBER how many KING Georges there were back in the old country." This comment strangely drew her displeasure, but she set him straight directly. "Keep your attention to chronology CORRECT," she warned. "The Control group for the Experiment." He was not INTERESTED in trouble with Ursula, but he felt he NEEDED the time, so he played a non-sequitur gamely. His purchase was one of need from invented necessity, not an impulse buy. "How many 'e's are you willing to pre-pend?" he asked noncommittally. Her sense of humor invoked a mutual hatred of the monarchy. "Samuel Clementine the THIRD!" she roared. He was unconcerned, "Yes Dear?" he answered. Her eyes twinkled and she shared a disarming grin. "Three, no more than three, and nothing less than three!" she gave in trade. "Did you Major in Law in school?" this led him to ask. "I'll cite you for a T_icket," she replied. "I Minored in T_ympany... I was a majorette!" She giggled and he chuckled until they both roared with laughter. "You want to marry in Valentine or Happy?" he demanded. Her answer marked her difference from the Sheila. "I think the world capital for all Valentine's Day celebrations would be TOO ostentatious, but I want WITNESSES!" she bargained. "Happy's just my speed!" He felt that they had bothered Chronos enough for one day, and wisely proceeded to keep his own counsel. She kept her peace in turn, and together they contemplated which hunting season might be open - the full moon was coming.
The imprimatur of the Stars;
As she rolled up their sleeping bag, and stuffed in it's duffel sack, Ursula was satisfied that this erstwhile stranger had a commensurate libido. She got out her Ten Gallon hat and set her cap for him. She delighted at Sam's evident shock. "Before you ask, I cannot be persuaded to act non-Texan either," she preempted him. As Sam strove for new oxygen, he mentally reviewed Melbourne's Guppy imitation, and repented of his own unrelated Goldfish impression. "WHY would an AUTHENTIC Texan DO such a thing?" he finally ground out. The non-mining adult Minor contemplated the newly evident morning star, and could in NO WISE offer a legal interpretation of her innocence. "Not guilty," she pleaded. Tears started in Sam's eyes. "Are you some kind of Authentic GENUINE True Texan?" he cried. She temporarily contemplated relenting, but spoke without remorse. "You CHAUVINIST _Pig_!" she exclaimed. Sam knew many metaphors about bacon, along with not a few pejorative allusions, but he had never heard of them being used to vilify CHAUVIN! He struck out tentatively, having been put on the defensive. "Pigs are CLEAN animals at least, and don't make mud baths where they EAT!" he shot back. "Tell that to a JEW," was her retort. He gathered steam. "Chauvin wasn't JEWISH," he countered, "...and not a PRUDE Either." "He probably wouldn't even date women named PRUDENCE," she rejoined... "How EXACTLY does this make him respectful of WOMEN?" Sam decided to emulate the inscrutability of his Chinese laundry man if possible and took a different tack. "Prudes don't love women, and Chauvin DID. He thought that they were less warlike than men, and that they OUGHT to be in GOVERNMENT." He warmed to his subject, and the heat of his temper at his Ursuline mistress was tempered with physical respect. "For this reason, the more Chauvin loved a women, the more he respected her, even going so far as to physically stand at attention in the presence of random beautiful women in his lifetime." She was more than satisfied... she was GRATIFIED. She proffered him an olive branch without observable thorns... "Do you think I'M beautiful?" she asked. "Oh Ursula," he groaned, "Your beauty is as timeless as the stars." It was chilly, and she donned sweatshirt. He scanned the sky apprehensively. "Looks like rain," he muttered. "Don't worry about it," she comforted him. "In Texas, if you don't like the weather just wait ten minutes... it'll change." Sam gave her a besotted look, and began to puzzle if Mercury could possibly be influential in the weather on Venus. He decided it could not, and this too puzzled him. "Don't be trite," he pleaded. She knew that she had stirred his affections deeply, and also roused his ire. She decided it was prudent not to continue drawing it, and took him in her arms repentantly. "I'm really a true Texan," she begged him to believe her. "I just got HONESTY in my BONES!" Her tears were genuine, her love true, and her attractiveness indisputable. His heart melted with authentic affection. "I won't expose your secret weaknesses EVER," he vowed. "Will you marry me?" As he held her, his emotions spanned the astronomical range of the constellations.
She hadn't answered immediately, but her request for a ring had been so just, that any consideration of rudeness was dispelled. It wasn't possible for two people to GET any closer, and they were soon dangling their feet from the tailgate of the pickup as a kettle heated for coffee over a temperate fire. Ere long he was handing her a cup of coffee, strong and black. She blew across the top, cooling it, because good Americans make their coffee hot! She shared a joke with him. "Did you know that at one time Jack-In-The-Box franchises labeled their coffee cups 'Caution, hot coffee is HOT.'?" she chuckled. "No," was his truthful reply. Being from Texas all her life, Ursula knew that for a Texan to tell the truth was a notable occasion, and observed the common practice. Her mild, "No lie," was no tribute to his Texan machismo, and he wondered what had got into him. She didn't tax his patient intellect further, but lapsed into a shared communion of silence that underscored their mutual solitude without detracting in any way from the song birds now in evidence.
She hadn't answered immediately, but her request for a ring had been so just, that any consideration of rudeness was dispelled. It wasn't possible for two people to GET any closer, and they were soon dangling their feet from the tailgate of the pickup as a kettle heated for coffee over a temperate fire. Ere long he was handing her a cup of coffee, strong and black. She blew across the top, cooling it, because good Americans make their coffee hot! She shared a joke with him. "Did you know that at one time Jack-In-The-Box franchises labeled their coffee cups 'Caution, hot coffee is HOT.'?" she chuckled. "No," was his truthful reply. Being from Texas all her life, Ursula knew that for a Texan to tell the truth was a notable occasion, and observed the common practice. Her mild, "No lie," was no tribute to his Texan machismo, and he wondered what had got into him. She didn't tax his patient intellect further, but lapsed into a shared communion of silence that underscored their mutual solitude without detracting in any way from the song birds now in evidence.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
A Yellow Rose with a RED streak;
"Did you hear about the Aggie..." Sam could hardly believe his ears, and his overflowing joy spilled out anew. "Who what?" he replied delightedly. "Who was trying to measure a flag pole with a yardstick?" "What happened?" he asked, enjoying the flavor of this fisherman's bait. "He kept starting at the bottom and counting as he went up... one, two, three... and then he couldn't reach any higher."
"Well, predictably, along came a Longhorn and solved his problem without even trying to. He plucked the flagpole straight up out of the ground, and proceeded to measure the yardstick along its horizontal length. One, two, three, four, five, he counted. 5 X 3 = 15, it's fifteen feet long."
"'Well you are no kinda help,' rejoined the irritated farmer. 'I don't want to know how WIDE it is, I want to know HOW HIGH IT WILL REACH!' U T?"
Sam's laughter was unforced. This one had been really well told. "Ursula, you are my new project to show the world how good a friend I can truly be. I think you will have to be Asparagus to my old friend Melbourne's Cobra." "I LOVE snakes," Ursula responded ingeniously. She was hardly an ingénue. "What does that have to do with Asparagus?" "A Cobra's hood that it displays at full erection when it is roused, is EXACTLY like the tip of an asparagus spear." "Do you suppose B.S. knows that?" Ursula returned knowingly. This was cause for pause to the male 5t, and he took a moment to note it because this was as close as he ever came to experiencing real Prejudice. He didn't relish the feeling, but filed the sensation away for later, and rejoined in turn, "I know you shouldn't hold ANYONE's initials against them, but isn't the old 'BS in charge of BS' usually reserved for an Aggie, a poor bastard or an Old Fool?" She knew his favor to be genuine and didn't take offense. "Brittany SPEARS," she explained, "BS in charge of Asparagus!" His burden lightened, knowing that they were not going to have to fight. "Is she Texan, or overseas assigned?" he asked. Ursula, for her own part was glad to talk to someone from a different cadre. His ignorance of her information might be complemented by novelty or variety of his own. "She's from Mark Twain territory," Ursula replied. "The stories I could tell her about OTTERS," Sam intoned. The pleasure of the company of a fellow secret society member was like illicit sex; that's probably why the French were so supportive of their partisans.
For the sake of something to talk about (he rarely rattled his teeth for the pleasure of it,) he launched out in an obvious vein. "Are the Minor family miners?" She felt her own blush of pleasure run through her, starting at the extremities and ending in the middle, with a temporary visit south of the northern border of her loins. "You have no idea how many stubborn dolts I have had to explain about the plenitude of minors the world over," she explained. "I LOVE talking about mining." Sam waited patiently, his question still in evidence. When it was obvious that politeness was no longer the issue, she continued. "We started out in Russia, back in the day. Although we are immigrants, we are Texan immigrants, and didn't stop until we were well and truly South of the Red River. Our specialty back in Russia was Salt." "Well I have to admit that practically FORCES you to appreciate the dignity of labor, so humble are those beginnings." “You have no IDEA!” she agreed. “STRIP mining was a step up both in safety and in dignity.”
"I VALUE Salt, too," he continued. "Salt licks are invaluable for wilderness reserves, and good for baiting Deer as well." "Oh Sam, FRESH water comes from wells," she teased. He briefly wondered if she was baiting him already, but, being himself a master of the art, he didn't dwell upon it. "You seem awful GENUINE," he asked in a suspicious departure. "Are you sure you are a TRUE Texan?" She tumbled to his question instantly, and showed knowledge in her response. "Well I'm sure as hell not an AUTHENTIC Texan," she growled. "Does this hair look as if it's been styled by a Ten gallon HAT?" "You got Ropers on, so that surely IS cowboy boots, making Authentic Texan a possibility, but I didn't accuse you of any other thing than being GENUINE." Their eyes met in understanding. If a Genuine Texan will do most anything for free, even give you the shirt off his back, it is his aversion to lies that makes him a danger to security the world over. On the other hand, if a True Texan will not do ANYTHING for free, and if he DOES do something for free it's a pretty good indication he's NOT a TRUE TEXAN, where were they going to stand in the sack? It was her turn to talk, so she lied accordingly. "I bet I'm better in bed than anything you ever had!" she asserted. "Two bits - there's the bank." He didn't even care who won. She showed character by demonstrating a singularly competitive streak. They celebrated with a Fosters.
"Well, predictably, along came a Longhorn and solved his problem without even trying to. He plucked the flagpole straight up out of the ground, and proceeded to measure the yardstick along its horizontal length. One, two, three, four, five, he counted. 5 X 3 = 15, it's fifteen feet long."
"'Well you are no kinda help,' rejoined the irritated farmer. 'I don't want to know how WIDE it is, I want to know HOW HIGH IT WILL REACH!' U T?"
Sam's laughter was unforced. This one had been really well told. "Ursula, you are my new project to show the world how good a friend I can truly be. I think you will have to be Asparagus to my old friend Melbourne's Cobra." "I LOVE snakes," Ursula responded ingeniously. She was hardly an ingénue. "What does that have to do with Asparagus?" "A Cobra's hood that it displays at full erection when it is roused, is EXACTLY like the tip of an asparagus spear." "Do you suppose B.S. knows that?" Ursula returned knowingly. This was cause for pause to the male 5t, and he took a moment to note it because this was as close as he ever came to experiencing real Prejudice. He didn't relish the feeling, but filed the sensation away for later, and rejoined in turn, "I know you shouldn't hold ANYONE's initials against them, but isn't the old 'BS in charge of BS' usually reserved for an Aggie, a poor bastard or an Old Fool?" She knew his favor to be genuine and didn't take offense. "Brittany SPEARS," she explained, "BS in charge of Asparagus!" His burden lightened, knowing that they were not going to have to fight. "Is she Texan, or overseas assigned?" he asked. Ursula, for her own part was glad to talk to someone from a different cadre. His ignorance of her information might be complemented by novelty or variety of his own. "She's from Mark Twain territory," Ursula replied. "The stories I could tell her about OTTERS," Sam intoned. The pleasure of the company of a fellow secret society member was like illicit sex; that's probably why the French were so supportive of their partisans.
For the sake of something to talk about (he rarely rattled his teeth for the pleasure of it,) he launched out in an obvious vein. "Are the Minor family miners?" She felt her own blush of pleasure run through her, starting at the extremities and ending in the middle, with a temporary visit south of the northern border of her loins. "You have no idea how many stubborn dolts I have had to explain about the plenitude of minors the world over," she explained. "I LOVE talking about mining." Sam waited patiently, his question still in evidence. When it was obvious that politeness was no longer the issue, she continued. "We started out in Russia, back in the day. Although we are immigrants, we are Texan immigrants, and didn't stop until we were well and truly South of the Red River. Our specialty back in Russia was Salt." "Well I have to admit that practically FORCES you to appreciate the dignity of labor, so humble are those beginnings." “You have no IDEA!” she agreed. “STRIP mining was a step up both in safety and in dignity.”
"I VALUE Salt, too," he continued. "Salt licks are invaluable for wilderness reserves, and good for baiting Deer as well." "Oh Sam, FRESH water comes from wells," she teased. He briefly wondered if she was baiting him already, but, being himself a master of the art, he didn't dwell upon it. "You seem awful GENUINE," he asked in a suspicious departure. "Are you sure you are a TRUE Texan?" She tumbled to his question instantly, and showed knowledge in her response. "Well I'm sure as hell not an AUTHENTIC Texan," she growled. "Does this hair look as if it's been styled by a Ten gallon HAT?" "You got Ropers on, so that surely IS cowboy boots, making Authentic Texan a possibility, but I didn't accuse you of any other thing than being GENUINE." Their eyes met in understanding. If a Genuine Texan will do most anything for free, even give you the shirt off his back, it is his aversion to lies that makes him a danger to security the world over. On the other hand, if a True Texan will not do ANYTHING for free, and if he DOES do something for free it's a pretty good indication he's NOT a TRUE TEXAN, where were they going to stand in the sack? It was her turn to talk, so she lied accordingly. "I bet I'm better in bed than anything you ever had!" she asserted. "Two bits - there's the bank." He didn't even care who won. She showed character by demonstrating a singularly competitive streak. They celebrated with a Fosters.
Luke Warm Revenge;
They arrived in Paris without further incident, and began to collect odds and ends together for a Red Ribbon Bow made of Bureaucratic tape. Melbourne had started making an ostentatious study of all things yellow, and they duly discussed Yellow Ribbons. Sam even attempted a rendition of the song, but Andrea reviewed him dully, and they agreed to specify Red tape for the marriage.
Outside a seven-eleven they observed a small gang, chain smoking. "Those guys smoke like chimneys," Melbourne noted, with colonial choice of metaphor. "One of them's a girl," Sam added point blank. "Womyn," Andrea corrected him coldly. Unperturbed, Sam retaliated without even taking a new breath, "... with a hymen." Melbourne interrupted further possible hostilities with the 411, "There was actually no Tobacco in Europe before Columbus discovered America." Sam was truly intrigued. "America, as in Amerigo Vespucci, the Italian?" he asked. "I've always wondered how many Pizza's you would need to make a tower." Before he could stop himself, Melbourne had already had a terse discussion on the engineering qualities of Pizza for architecture, disambiguated them from infrastructure and reviewed the purpose and need for 911. The segue of his return to his topic of interest was worthy of documentation. "The Italians got tomatoes out of the deal, as well as corn for flour, but my point before was that the New World gave us Tobacco as well." Sam was still not in FULL possession of the knowledge, but followed closely with the query, "So they smoke a lot in Little Italy?" Andrea's interest had been whetted too, and Melbourne continued, a little doggedly. "Cigarettes, Pipes and Cigars too," he persisted. Andrea had some fire left in her belly, and attempted verbal theft of his thunder. "That lead to a lot of Cancer?" she asked. "Close but no cigar," thought Melbourne. "Exactly!" he said aloud. "The Caucasian came to... Oklahoma, and took all the Indian's land and made treaties with the Red Man. He didn't honor the treaties, and didn't treat the Red man with honor, and all the Red Man has ever had in compensation is..." he paused until they leaned toward him, telegraphing their interest. "…Red Man's Revenge!" "I can see that wasn't very White," Sam allowed meditatively. Andrea shot him a black look, as he ran his hand through raven hair. Melbourne contemplated the Judge's ebony desk... she was a VERY nubile Nubian. "I'd like to get a marriage license please," he finished.
The Judge regarded him evenly, and said "I don't see why not. The scales of justice cannot be tipped by sight." Sam moved quickly to dispel any misunderstandings. "The license is for HIM," he stated clearly. "HE'S going to marry HER, it's NOT going to be him marrying US. SHE'S NOT marrying ME." "I WILL, I WANT him to," Andrea added, underlining her consent. "I AM Australian," Melbourne admitted apologetically, adding "The US and Australia have aborigines in common."
This particular Judge was a young and liberal one, and simply contemplated with interest which word in the pledge of allegiance was most pertinent to the present discussion. Being a liberal, she soon concluded that "Liberty" was it, and signed the paperwork. The happy trio took their leave somewhat more politely than they had arrived, and the departed bound for a traditional Wedding Chapel. Since he was in a better position to be emotionally detached, Sam denoted the severance of the relevant tape for the ribbon, but they all soon agreed that this was part and parcel of the process, and the Minister who performed the ceremony didn't have to chase them far before they had signed the forgotten form. Andrea shook out auburn tresses, and announced to all and sundry that she had a NEW hard and fast rule. Never drink ANYTHING harder than a Fosters.
To Sam's amazement everyone AT the wedding had marriage on the brain, and a sweet young thing practically adopted him. He had been a late bloomer and she had developed a taste for older men, so they decided to wait at least until May. Melbourne pointed out that a June bride was more traditional, and Andrea advocated for December, but Ursula Minor was adamant... "He MAY by May, I won't make him wait longer."
They parted company by unhitching the pickup from the hummer, and Mr. and Mrs. Melbourne Sheila Sydney rode of into the sunset with cries of "Westward Ho!" while Ursula urged Sam to take her shopping for new threads in the pickup; she had a yen to celebrate her birthday sartorially. She didn't seem to mind that his replies were made out of whole cloth. Her glass had been half full and his had been half empty, but together they were overflowing with joy. They spent the night at the local Hilton, and Sam sent himself a self-addressed-stamped-envelope with the legend "We'll always have Paris." No reason a person shouldn't be sentimental now and then.
Outside a seven-eleven they observed a small gang, chain smoking. "Those guys smoke like chimneys," Melbourne noted, with colonial choice of metaphor. "One of them's a girl," Sam added point blank. "Womyn," Andrea corrected him coldly. Unperturbed, Sam retaliated without even taking a new breath, "... with a hymen." Melbourne interrupted further possible hostilities with the 411, "There was actually no Tobacco in Europe before Columbus discovered America." Sam was truly intrigued. "America, as in Amerigo Vespucci, the Italian?" he asked. "I've always wondered how many Pizza's you would need to make a tower." Before he could stop himself, Melbourne had already had a terse discussion on the engineering qualities of Pizza for architecture, disambiguated them from infrastructure and reviewed the purpose and need for 911. The segue of his return to his topic of interest was worthy of documentation. "The Italians got tomatoes out of the deal, as well as corn for flour, but my point before was that the New World gave us Tobacco as well." Sam was still not in FULL possession of the knowledge, but followed closely with the query, "So they smoke a lot in Little Italy?" Andrea's interest had been whetted too, and Melbourne continued, a little doggedly. "Cigarettes, Pipes and Cigars too," he persisted. Andrea had some fire left in her belly, and attempted verbal theft of his thunder. "That lead to a lot of Cancer?" she asked. "Close but no cigar," thought Melbourne. "Exactly!" he said aloud. "The Caucasian came to... Oklahoma, and took all the Indian's land and made treaties with the Red Man. He didn't honor the treaties, and didn't treat the Red man with honor, and all the Red Man has ever had in compensation is..." he paused until they leaned toward him, telegraphing their interest. "…Red Man's Revenge!" "I can see that wasn't very White," Sam allowed meditatively. Andrea shot him a black look, as he ran his hand through raven hair. Melbourne contemplated the Judge's ebony desk... she was a VERY nubile Nubian. "I'd like to get a marriage license please," he finished.
The Judge regarded him evenly, and said "I don't see why not. The scales of justice cannot be tipped by sight." Sam moved quickly to dispel any misunderstandings. "The license is for HIM," he stated clearly. "HE'S going to marry HER, it's NOT going to be him marrying US. SHE'S NOT marrying ME." "I WILL, I WANT him to," Andrea added, underlining her consent. "I AM Australian," Melbourne admitted apologetically, adding "The US and Australia have aborigines in common."
This particular Judge was a young and liberal one, and simply contemplated with interest which word in the pledge of allegiance was most pertinent to the present discussion. Being a liberal, she soon concluded that "Liberty" was it, and signed the paperwork. The happy trio took their leave somewhat more politely than they had arrived, and the departed bound for a traditional Wedding Chapel. Since he was in a better position to be emotionally detached, Sam denoted the severance of the relevant tape for the ribbon, but they all soon agreed that this was part and parcel of the process, and the Minister who performed the ceremony didn't have to chase them far before they had signed the forgotten form. Andrea shook out auburn tresses, and announced to all and sundry that she had a NEW hard and fast rule. Never drink ANYTHING harder than a Fosters.
To Sam's amazement everyone AT the wedding had marriage on the brain, and a sweet young thing practically adopted him. He had been a late bloomer and she had developed a taste for older men, so they decided to wait at least until May. Melbourne pointed out that a June bride was more traditional, and Andrea advocated for December, but Ursula Minor was adamant... "He MAY by May, I won't make him wait longer."
They parted company by unhitching the pickup from the hummer, and Mr. and Mrs. Melbourne Sheila Sydney rode of into the sunset with cries of "Westward Ho!" while Ursula urged Sam to take her shopping for new threads in the pickup; she had a yen to celebrate her birthday sartorially. She didn't seem to mind that his replies were made out of whole cloth. Her glass had been half full and his had been half empty, but together they were overflowing with joy. They spent the night at the local Hilton, and Sam sent himself a self-addressed-stamped-envelope with the legend "We'll always have Paris." No reason a person shouldn't be sentimental now and then.
Monday, February 2, 2009
A red rose with a yellow streak;
Andrea was not willing to give up entirely on Sam, and was willing to carry a balance of a small deficit of credibility on his behalf if it would help him out. "What were the Russians doing in 1953?" she asked. Sam's spirits lifted at her solidarity, and he immediately couldn't care less if the Enquirer was educational anymore. "Making a brand new batch of virgins, just like always." "I suppose these alleged virgins were to be born naked and ignorant, too?" inquired Melbourne severely. Sam's six-gun stare fixed itself on Melbourne temporarily, and Melbourne truly quailed before Sam's eyes returned to the road. "Yes, but I'll not neglect to remind you of that when you've said 'I DO.'" he ground out, with the intonation of gravel, and the diction of sand in his teeth. "Be considerate Melbourne," Andrea scolded him... "No telling how many babies you'll be responsible for!" Melbourne looked duly chastened, and volunteered to be chaste.
"They were also enriching all manner of nukes as fast as they could. Why do you ask?" "I'm not sure... I was wondering if the educators in question might have been Russian," she expounded. "After all, the Chinese have their big experiment, and the Germans have theirs. Why couldn't the Russians be trying something similar?"
Melbourne was well aware that an inner ear infection could make one dizzy for weeks, and he felt the need to get one or the other of his friends to keep his outer ear occupied temporarily until he could get the inner one back in line. "Could you please be as specific as possible about the relevant experiments?" he rasped, dryly.
Andrea and Sam exchanged a knowing glance, and she began. "You may have heard of 'The Great American Experiment,' of 1776?" she asked. Melbourne was ready to kick himself already, but bravado gave him courage. "...and the German one?" "The Chinese Experiment," supplied Sam artfully. "The CHINESE experiment?" Melbourne was unabashedly incredulous. "I thought the CHINESE experiment was the _r-e-l-e-v-a-n-t_ experiment on Colonial soil BY said CHINESE!" "You've been misinformed," explained Sam. "The Chinese experiment was a flirtation with Marxism-Leninism, heavy on the Mao. It's remarkable that in a single country, acting in political unison, they have so many acronyms for government. They have PRC as officiators of the experiment, but the control group was never properly designated. There was a popular 'KMT' but a more commonly accepted 'ROC.'" "Right there, you've got to agree that the old experiment of everybody jumping up and down at the same time, like militiamen doing jumping jacks to the beat of the same drum, would help them understand that cooperation makes a group united and strong," Melbourne stated.
Sam nodded agreement, and continued. "One of their more famous Generals even invented the concept of Political Asylum, and sought refuge in a breakwater off the coast. The island put him up (and the women put up with him,) until he finally breathed his last, and is said to have expired. They put him in a cemetery just like everybody else, which was different from the way they treated Old General Grant, and the more recent Chairman Mao; Lenin too, but I digress. This KMT General left instructions just like Joseph in the Old Testament, that his bones should be buried somewhere East of Egypt. Someone forgot to pay the bill at the Motel where he was staying, and they are still feuding over whether his stay in the Cemetery is temporary or permanent." "Seriously?" Melbourne responded. "Well, you've got to keep in mind they are POOR over there... Proud, but poor too. For example, if they have to execute a dissident so his family can sell his kidneys, the Government bills the family for the ammunition." "In that context, I can see how a motel bill would become a matter of diplomatic dispute," Melbourne murmured, "It wasn't a NoTell motel was it?" Sam was not sure if the NoTell franchise extended that far east, but spoke with confidence despite this specific doubt. "Truth to be told, in that part of the world Red Light districts are mostly used as dark rooms, for film fanatics, but the General wouldn't have hung out in a run down neighborhood like that unless circumstances were TRULY dire. Meanwhile the Ghost of General Chiang guards the entire nation from hurricanes, just as any patriot would."
"Do you suppose Friedrich Engels knew what he was starting when he put Marx and Lenin up to it?" "He might have... the Nazis were certainly known for their record keeping." Melbourne did not clearly see the exact connection of record keeping to experiments, and took a different tack. "How do the Germans get away with shit like that?" "Not quite sure, but in the continental United State's territory it's been tradition to let every immigrant population make its own contribution to the melting pot." "Please go on, I'm all ears," Melbourne assured him.
"[When aboriginal Americans welcomed the Pilgrims, the Pilgrims brought horses (or had you forgotten?) The next wave were the Puritans, with the stoicism, and the heavy Religious moral message. The Dutch made rocking chairs from Pennsylvania, the Germans of Texas introduced Ranchers to farming (and don't even get me started on wire-cutter laws.) The Slaves didn't have much, but they shared the Spiritual as a cultural institution, and made themselves indispensable in the cotton industry. The Irish became policemen; the Chinese built the rail-road, and started every respectable dry-cleaning establishment east of the Mississippi... I could go on.]"
"I think I get the gist of your point," Melbourne assured him. He turned significantly to Andrea and asked, "What of wire cutter laws?" Sam could tell that Melbourne was about to take offense, and briefly contemplated Hamilton and Burr, but assured her that he would carry his own water with the words, "Speak nothing if not the truth." She took a cleansing breath and launched out. "You may be sure that in all collections of stupid laws, Texas maintains its own presence. The main bait is the old saw that it is still illegal in Texas to carry a pair of wire cutters in your back pocket." "I'll play your foolish game," thought Melbourne, and underlined it aloud with the words "I'll bite. Why isn't that stupid?" Andrea could not turn back now, and continued. "If you are carrying them in plain sight, anyone can remark upon it and stop you. If you conceal them, you are being discreet, and not using them too awful much, but when you finally get to the point that you NEED them in your back pocket for CONVENIENCE, even the farmers get mad, and You HAVE to be arrested." Melbourne mulled this over for fully a minute. The silence fit like a new boot, and EVERYBODY was uncomfortable. "Am I to understand that the law about wire cutters was pre-emptive, and that ALL occurrences of ACTUAL WIRE CUTTING were prosecuted to the FULL EXTENT of the LAW?" Sam saw his opening, and offered a thorny olive branch. "I haven't seen a lot of mercy in the Texas Justice system," he said. "It's a fairly JUST state that way." Melbourne inhaled deeply, and addressed them both evenly. "I want it understood from now on that I regard the Yellow Rose of Texas to be Friendly because it is cowardly in malice!" Sam made his first down payment on his newly conceived debt of betrayal with the words, "There is no way in HELL the Russians were behind it." "Virgins ALL, just as you were observing," Melbourne said, his Aussie voice box remarkably matching the Texan's earlier braggadocio in timbre and gravity. Andrea felt very small, and was quiet as a Church mouse for the duration.
"They were also enriching all manner of nukes as fast as they could. Why do you ask?" "I'm not sure... I was wondering if the educators in question might have been Russian," she expounded. "After all, the Chinese have their big experiment, and the Germans have theirs. Why couldn't the Russians be trying something similar?"
Melbourne was well aware that an inner ear infection could make one dizzy for weeks, and he felt the need to get one or the other of his friends to keep his outer ear occupied temporarily until he could get the inner one back in line. "Could you please be as specific as possible about the relevant experiments?" he rasped, dryly.
Andrea and Sam exchanged a knowing glance, and she began. "You may have heard of 'The Great American Experiment,' of 1776?" she asked. Melbourne was ready to kick himself already, but bravado gave him courage. "...and the German one?" "The Chinese Experiment," supplied Sam artfully. "The CHINESE experiment?" Melbourne was unabashedly incredulous. "I thought the CHINESE experiment was the _r-e-l-e-v-a-n-t_ experiment on Colonial soil BY said CHINESE!" "You've been misinformed," explained Sam. "The Chinese experiment was a flirtation with Marxism-Leninism, heavy on the Mao. It's remarkable that in a single country, acting in political unison, they have so many acronyms for government. They have PRC as officiators of the experiment, but the control group was never properly designated. There was a popular 'KMT' but a more commonly accepted 'ROC.'" "Right there, you've got to agree that the old experiment of everybody jumping up and down at the same time, like militiamen doing jumping jacks to the beat of the same drum, would help them understand that cooperation makes a group united and strong," Melbourne stated.
Sam nodded agreement, and continued. "One of their more famous Generals even invented the concept of Political Asylum, and sought refuge in a breakwater off the coast. The island put him up (and the women put up with him,) until he finally breathed his last, and is said to have expired. They put him in a cemetery just like everybody else, which was different from the way they treated Old General Grant, and the more recent Chairman Mao; Lenin too, but I digress. This KMT General left instructions just like Joseph in the Old Testament, that his bones should be buried somewhere East of Egypt. Someone forgot to pay the bill at the Motel where he was staying, and they are still feuding over whether his stay in the Cemetery is temporary or permanent." "Seriously?" Melbourne responded. "Well, you've got to keep in mind they are POOR over there... Proud, but poor too. For example, if they have to execute a dissident so his family can sell his kidneys, the Government bills the family for the ammunition." "In that context, I can see how a motel bill would become a matter of diplomatic dispute," Melbourne murmured, "It wasn't a NoTell motel was it?" Sam was not sure if the NoTell franchise extended that far east, but spoke with confidence despite this specific doubt. "Truth to be told, in that part of the world Red Light districts are mostly used as dark rooms, for film fanatics, but the General wouldn't have hung out in a run down neighborhood like that unless circumstances were TRULY dire. Meanwhile the Ghost of General Chiang guards the entire nation from hurricanes, just as any patriot would."
"Do you suppose Friedrich Engels knew what he was starting when he put Marx and Lenin up to it?" "He might have... the Nazis were certainly known for their record keeping." Melbourne did not clearly see the exact connection of record keeping to experiments, and took a different tack. "How do the Germans get away with shit like that?" "Not quite sure, but in the continental United State's territory it's been tradition to let every immigrant population make its own contribution to the melting pot." "Please go on, I'm all ears," Melbourne assured him.
"[When aboriginal Americans welcomed the Pilgrims, the Pilgrims brought horses (or had you forgotten?) The next wave were the Puritans, with the stoicism, and the heavy Religious moral message. The Dutch made rocking chairs from Pennsylvania, the Germans of Texas introduced Ranchers to farming (and don't even get me started on wire-cutter laws.) The Slaves didn't have much, but they shared the Spiritual as a cultural institution, and made themselves indispensable in the cotton industry. The Irish became policemen; the Chinese built the rail-road, and started every respectable dry-cleaning establishment east of the Mississippi... I could go on.]"
"I think I get the gist of your point," Melbourne assured him. He turned significantly to Andrea and asked, "What of wire cutter laws?" Sam could tell that Melbourne was about to take offense, and briefly contemplated Hamilton and Burr, but assured her that he would carry his own water with the words, "Speak nothing if not the truth." She took a cleansing breath and launched out. "You may be sure that in all collections of stupid laws, Texas maintains its own presence. The main bait is the old saw that it is still illegal in Texas to carry a pair of wire cutters in your back pocket." "I'll play your foolish game," thought Melbourne, and underlined it aloud with the words "I'll bite. Why isn't that stupid?" Andrea could not turn back now, and continued. "If you are carrying them in plain sight, anyone can remark upon it and stop you. If you conceal them, you are being discreet, and not using them too awful much, but when you finally get to the point that you NEED them in your back pocket for CONVENIENCE, even the farmers get mad, and You HAVE to be arrested." Melbourne mulled this over for fully a minute. The silence fit like a new boot, and EVERYBODY was uncomfortable. "Am I to understand that the law about wire cutters was pre-emptive, and that ALL occurrences of ACTUAL WIRE CUTTING were prosecuted to the FULL EXTENT of the LAW?" Sam saw his opening, and offered a thorny olive branch. "I haven't seen a lot of mercy in the Texas Justice system," he said. "It's a fairly JUST state that way." Melbourne inhaled deeply, and addressed them both evenly. "I want it understood from now on that I regard the Yellow Rose of Texas to be Friendly because it is cowardly in malice!" Sam made his first down payment on his newly conceived debt of betrayal with the words, "There is no way in HELL the Russians were behind it." "Virgins ALL, just as you were observing," Melbourne said, his Aussie voice box remarkably matching the Texan's earlier braggadocio in timbre and gravity. Andrea felt very small, and was quiet as a Church mouse for the duration.
A clean bill of health for Ben Franklin;
They had barely made it up to highway speed before Melbourne felt it necessary to ask Andrea for a refund. "I don't think I can afford the purchase of your story," he explained. It had been less than 20 minutes since the transaction, and this was clearly a matter of an impulse buy, and not buyers regret, so she amicably ventured, "You got a better idea?" Melbourne had some experience of the financing necessary for fertilizing an imagination, and the bank account in Sydney was FAR FROM BROKE. The seeds of doubt had germinated quickly by the following mechanism. "What if the whole thing is a Mafia money laundering strategy instead?" he asked. Sam could see how this advanced his own theory. "They'd be subsidizing public education then," he submitted. "How do they do it?"
"[First off, the Mafia owns the whole shootin' match outright, with Lieutenant's, Accountants and Delivery Boys. They'd buy the worlds cheapest newsprint, the cheapest ink, and print the cheapest stories, with the cheapest shots about the cheapest stars. The drug distributors would provide baggies in exchange on trade for certified current copies. Every issue would have a different date, and only be good for exchange until the expiration date. Meanwhile, the Mafia would take in advance payments of all cash tender that other Cartels needed laundered. Then, under the guise of washing them in a money laundry such as Sam worked at, they'd deposit it in the bank as a cash transaction profit from their rag. They'd make the press copy counters show as many copies as they needed to account for all the profits, and meanwhile use the actual over-runs as tinder in the furnace at the physical plant. Every quarter they would claim it all as income, and pay taxes on it as they needed. If the State used only Sales Tax, all the better... the cost of doing business is ostensibly taken care of right up front. Time lag would be a problem, but the money in the bank would be unimpeachable from an IRS standpoint. Use wire transfers to pay back the competition, and collect props from all the other criminals for the quality of their services.]"
"That's actually called 'integration,' and they've used it at Six Flags Over New Jersey for forever." Sam agreed. "Instead of making the press copy counters corrupted, it's the turn-stiles." Andrea contemplated her nails for a minute or two. "Put me down for 7 or eight tons," she finally ventured. "That may be a little strange to experienced Texans, but it'll sell like hot-cakes in Canada. They have no real experience of true integration!" "Be kind," Sam said reproachfully. "They never had segregation in the first place." "Yeah? Well they never had dollars either, and their Euros come in dollar coins they call 'Looneys.'" "In all profit there is risk," Melbourne sagely added. "I can't eat self respect," agreed Andrea capitulating. Sam had been ginning the seeds out of the cotton of this discussion and finally made his own admission sorrowfully. “Maybe the Mafia charges the Church of Scientology a nominal fee to use the rag for Church Bulletin content,” he lamented. “That would be the very DEATH of my education theory.” Andrea took his hand gently and held it comforting him. “Good application of out-sourcing,” Melbourne concluded. A passing Eighteen Wheeler pealed a substantial blast on his fog horn and Sam felt better.
"[First off, the Mafia owns the whole shootin' match outright, with Lieutenant's, Accountants and Delivery Boys. They'd buy the worlds cheapest newsprint, the cheapest ink, and print the cheapest stories, with the cheapest shots about the cheapest stars. The drug distributors would provide baggies in exchange on trade for certified current copies. Every issue would have a different date, and only be good for exchange until the expiration date. Meanwhile, the Mafia would take in advance payments of all cash tender that other Cartels needed laundered. Then, under the guise of washing them in a money laundry such as Sam worked at, they'd deposit it in the bank as a cash transaction profit from their rag. They'd make the press copy counters show as many copies as they needed to account for all the profits, and meanwhile use the actual over-runs as tinder in the furnace at the physical plant. Every quarter they would claim it all as income, and pay taxes on it as they needed. If the State used only Sales Tax, all the better... the cost of doing business is ostensibly taken care of right up front. Time lag would be a problem, but the money in the bank would be unimpeachable from an IRS standpoint. Use wire transfers to pay back the competition, and collect props from all the other criminals for the quality of their services.]"
"That's actually called 'integration,' and they've used it at Six Flags Over New Jersey for forever." Sam agreed. "Instead of making the press copy counters corrupted, it's the turn-stiles." Andrea contemplated her nails for a minute or two. "Put me down for 7 or eight tons," she finally ventured. "That may be a little strange to experienced Texans, but it'll sell like hot-cakes in Canada. They have no real experience of true integration!" "Be kind," Sam said reproachfully. "They never had segregation in the first place." "Yeah? Well they never had dollars either, and their Euros come in dollar coins they call 'Looneys.'" "In all profit there is risk," Melbourne sagely added. "I can't eat self respect," agreed Andrea capitulating. Sam had been ginning the seeds out of the cotton of this discussion and finally made his own admission sorrowfully. “Maybe the Mafia charges the Church of Scientology a nominal fee to use the rag for Church Bulletin content,” he lamented. “That would be the very DEATH of my education theory.” Andrea took his hand gently and held it comforting him. “Good application of out-sourcing,” Melbourne concluded. A passing Eighteen Wheeler pealed a substantial blast on his fog horn and Sam felt better.
An example of an outside influence;
When it next came time to change drivers, Melbourne once again exited the freeway. Andrea began participating economically in their affairs by filling the tank with gas. Melbourne had made mention to her of his gratitude to Sam for participating in the commerce of friendship with him, and she was ready to join in. Sam still believed that gift giving was a hunting test of the element of surprise, and it was hard to enjoy the anticipation of his philanthropy, but his actual participation was undeniable and could not be ignored. When Melbourne returned, she assured him she would soon be back from making a deposit in the porcelain bank account, and left him to his own devices. When she returned, Sam and Melbourne were studying a periodical of the tabloid variety. He brought her up to speed quickly, by explaining that he had known that news rags were used as organs and propaganda vehicles ever since Gutenberg's invention, but that the Tabloid was new to his experience. "I thought that the tabloid was the official way for the British Royal family to communicate with the Public." she replied. "How can you possibly expect me to believe that a member of the Commonwealth doesn't know what a tabloid is? They've been around since Polaroids!" "My Dad was in the Salvation Army, and my Mom was in the Peace Corps. We just used regular newspapers for packing material, and never spent the extra scratch on color printing." "Hmmmm," she replied pensively. "I guess between Iceland in the 70's and farming Rhino's in Africa you must have stayed pretty busy," she agreed. "What's so special about this one Sam?" "Well, for ONE thing it's from outside TEXAS," he began, "and so it's almost as good as Reuters. News is News, and us Texans can't afford to let the world pass us by. This particular one is big on education. Their main ad line is 'Inquiring minds want to KNOW... _I_ want to know!'"
Andrea smiled for a moment and turned to Melbourne. "It's not educational so much as it is RELIGIOUS."
It was Sam's turn to do a double take. In the Cosmos, justice can be difficult to observe, but at this time they had finally all three been equally surprised: Melbourne that there were tabloids in Texas, Andrea that the Enquirer was educational, and Sam that it was Religious. He proceeded as usual, trusting but verifying. "What Religion is it for?" he asked. "It publishes bulletins from the Church of Scientology," she explained. "I think they are believers in Nikola Tesla. He was trying to reach an ancient (literally 80 B_illion years old) alien civilization by sheer animal magnetism! It's a little like trying to start a population explosion in China by the power of your own libido, if you ask me, but there they go, not even trying to use a radio!" This did not directly contradict anything Sam had ever heard about Scientology, and he was willing to use it for theoretical purposes. "Is that why the Enquirer publishes all that stuff about alien abductions?" "I'm pretty sure it is," she said, catching Melbourne's eye and trying to draw him back in to the discussion. He obliged by asking, "Is Area 51 a sacred site of religious devotion to them?" "I wouldn't call it sacred, but they DO make pilgrimages there," Andrea replied. "Did L. Ron Hubbard educate the founder then?" Sam asked, pursuing his own agenda. Melbourne had turned his attention back to reading the words beside the pictures, and soon added "They've only been a tabloid since 1953... before that they were a news organ started by William Randolf Hurst. He was BIG back in the day, probably equivalent to the 5ts, but for this purpose he brought in talent from OZ itself." "Who was he?" asked Sam. Melbourne attributed conflation by replying, "Neither Houdini nor Whereishe, but rather William Griffin!" Andrea looked at Sam significantly. "Griffins are badass," she admitted. Sam looked Melbourne in the eye respectfully. "You can use my props for any theater production you need when it comes to Griffins," he said seriously. "I guess Elron was just a scam artist mooching off the genius of Tesla." "At least he left Marconi alone," Andrea commiserated. "How do you come to the conclusion that Elron wasn't a believer?" Melbourne asked Sam. Sam had been taking his turn reading the periodical in question, and easily replied. "Not only is the Church Bulletin a fee based publication, the whole Church itself is a for profit entity, like an LLC." "I can see how that would make you doubt him," agreed Melbourne congenially. Andrea shrugged apologetically. "They ain't NONE of 'em from Texas," she rationalized. Sam took the wheel and a minute later they were underway. Melbourne wondered if he should have invested in some Preparation-H. His hemorrhoids were on steroids.
Andrea smiled for a moment and turned to Melbourne. "It's not educational so much as it is RELIGIOUS."
It was Sam's turn to do a double take. In the Cosmos, justice can be difficult to observe, but at this time they had finally all three been equally surprised: Melbourne that there were tabloids in Texas, Andrea that the Enquirer was educational, and Sam that it was Religious. He proceeded as usual, trusting but verifying. "What Religion is it for?" he asked. "It publishes bulletins from the Church of Scientology," she explained. "I think they are believers in Nikola Tesla. He was trying to reach an ancient (literally 80 B_illion years old) alien civilization by sheer animal magnetism! It's a little like trying to start a population explosion in China by the power of your own libido, if you ask me, but there they go, not even trying to use a radio!" This did not directly contradict anything Sam had ever heard about Scientology, and he was willing to use it for theoretical purposes. "Is that why the Enquirer publishes all that stuff about alien abductions?" "I'm pretty sure it is," she said, catching Melbourne's eye and trying to draw him back in to the discussion. He obliged by asking, "Is Area 51 a sacred site of religious devotion to them?" "I wouldn't call it sacred, but they DO make pilgrimages there," Andrea replied. "Did L. Ron Hubbard educate the founder then?" Sam asked, pursuing his own agenda. Melbourne had turned his attention back to reading the words beside the pictures, and soon added "They've only been a tabloid since 1953... before that they were a news organ started by William Randolf Hurst. He was BIG back in the day, probably equivalent to the 5ts, but for this purpose he brought in talent from OZ itself." "Who was he?" asked Sam. Melbourne attributed conflation by replying, "Neither Houdini nor Whereishe, but rather William Griffin!" Andrea looked at Sam significantly. "Griffins are badass," she admitted. Sam looked Melbourne in the eye respectfully. "You can use my props for any theater production you need when it comes to Griffins," he said seriously. "I guess Elron was just a scam artist mooching off the genius of Tesla." "At least he left Marconi alone," Andrea commiserated. "How do you come to the conclusion that Elron wasn't a believer?" Melbourne asked Sam. Sam had been taking his turn reading the periodical in question, and easily replied. "Not only is the Church Bulletin a fee based publication, the whole Church itself is a for profit entity, like an LLC." "I can see how that would make you doubt him," agreed Melbourne congenially. Andrea shrugged apologetically. "They ain't NONE of 'em from Texas," she rationalized. Sam took the wheel and a minute later they were underway. Melbourne wondered if he should have invested in some Preparation-H. His hemorrhoids were on steroids.
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