All Entries in the "Fractured Opinion" Category
My Night on Camp Bird Road
It was a dark and stormy night or maybe it was the perfect summer evening. I really don’t remember. All I know is that I was hungry, that being redundant since I am a healthy, five-year-old, 300 pound black bear. The heavy rains have netted lots of berries but how many berries does it take to fill the stomach of a bear as big as me? Every so often I need something more substantial, something that sticks to the ribs, as they say.
Wait, there’s a cabin at the end of this lane and no light on. I wonder if anyone’s home? I wonder if the door is locked? It doesn’t matter since I am a bear and doors mean very little, even though we bruins know full well how to open them. Maybe I should break through a window and check out the provisions. It could be trouble but no one’s around and I am big and hairy.
I approach from the wooded side of the cabin and get up on my hind legs to have a sniff around. Boy, someone should firm up this porch. It barely holds my weight. I peek into the kitchen and notice that the furniture looks rough. The couch looks like second-hand but I don’t plan to take a nap. I plan to eat! These humans could really use a decorator.
If I exert just the right amount of pressure on the glass it will give in. A light push…There with a little crash I’m inside.
Now to the important part without further delay. I wonder what kind of grub these absent humans have stashed in the cupboards. The fools always leave something around in case of a big snow. Dispensing with formalities I tear off the cupboard door. Cheerios! I love Cheerios. The only thing better than cheerios is Sugar Crisps, which have a bear on the front of the package.
Now where have they hidden the honey? These kinds of humans always have honey around in one of those plastic bear jars for some reason that escapes me. They should have plastic bee jars. The jars are always real sticky and it’s hard to get the lid off without any thumbs on my paw. Here it is in a small cereal bowl. Real easy to eat. Now I have a feast and there are some grapes in the refrigerator too. I think I’ll go back out on the porch and chow down. Ahhhhh….
Moments after eating I hear a rustling in the bushes. What? It’s one of those humans with a cooking pot and spoon in her hand. Now she’s banging the pot with the spoon. What’s she trying to do? Wake up the whole neighborhood? If she thinks I’m going to run off because she’s banging around, she’s nuts.
Now she’s staring at me. Doesn’t she know how dangerous it can be to make eye contact with a bear? And why isn’t she wearing bells? Didn’t she read the little books that the rangers give out at the cute little campsites?
I stand and give her my best growl. Usually this works. Now she’s gone into the house. Maybe there are a few more boxes of cereal inside. I crawl back through the broken window taking care not to scrape myself on the jagged glass. Look, there are cans of soup but no opener. There’re marshmallows. And what’s this? Coffee? Bears don’t usually like to eat coffee but we eat garbage. I’ll try anything once. Now I hear the human upstairs on the phone talking about me. She’s telling someone on the other end of the line that there is a bear in her kitchen.
In a mater of moments a mob of these funny creatures is at the gate. One has a gun. They all look mad. I hope he’s not stupid enough to fire that thing near the house. Someone could get shot. Apparently he does not realize how dangerous firearms can be in the hands of a human. Now he’s aiming the gun in my direction. He lifts it and fires into the air. I charge without hesitation. I’m a bear, you know.
Despite their sophisticated technology the humans scatter. The bluff worked. I knew they weren’t really a threat. I quickly scamper across the yard and into the black timber and up the hill to safety. I’ll have to go back another night to finish the rest of the groceries. It’s nice to know they are there.
That was fun.
Snowpack demand in US creates cocaine wars down south
(Miami) The continued demand for cocaine in the US is the overwhelming reason for violence and ecological disaster in Colombia say leading international justice concerns.
Colombians are killing each other to determine who sells coke to the gringos. The only effective war on drugs is legalization, which is not profitable to the politicians in either country. Never mind the coke hounds in the US that effectively destroy their lives to snort the shit.
“People all over the world think we’re narcos,” said one taxi driver in Rio Negro. “We’re not. We’re just trying to survive like anyone else. The desire for the drug in the US and Europe feeds the production monster down here.”
Usage in most South American countries is dwarfed by consumption in “more developed countries. Most travelers will rarely come across the drug in most of Colombia and Ecuador, unless, of corpse, seek it.”
Meanwhile the situation is getting much darker while the nose pigs throw their dollars and Euros at the wretches of society who are becoming quite wealthy and more powerful in the exchange.
-Oral Waters
The Fisherman
Although I can see him still—
The freckled man who goes
To a gray place on a hill
In gray Connemara clothes
At dawn to cast his flies—
It’s long since I began
To call up to the eyes
This wise and simple man.
All day I’d looked in the face
What I had hoped it would be
To write for my own race
And the reality:
The living men that I hate,
The dead man that I loved,
The craven man in his seat,
The insolent unreproved—
And no knave brought to book
Who has won a drunken cheer—
The witty man and his joke
Aimed at the commonest ear,
The clever man who cries
The catch cries of the clown,
The beating down of the wise
And great Art beaten down.
Maybe a twelve-month since
Suddenly I began,
In scorn of this audience,
Imagining a man,
And his sun-freckled face
And gray Connemara cloth,
Climbing up to a place
Where stone is dark with froth,
And the down turn of his wrist
When the flies drop in the stream—
A man who does not exist,
A man who is but a dream;
And cried, “Before I am old
I shall have written him one
Poem maybe as cold
And passionate as the dawn.”
TAYLOR HALL SELLS FOR $2.6 MILLION
(Gunnison) In what appears to be a case of mistaken identity Taylor Hall was yesterday purchased by a Kansas couple. The buyers, who refused to be interviewed, will take possession of the property in early 2022.
Taylor Hall is the oldest building on the campus of Western Colorado State University. It currently houses most administrative offices including admissions, the college president’s chambers, alumni affairs, classrooms and many student support services such as a hair and body piercing salon and a state-of-the-art shooting range in the basement.
Myrna Beckerman, the Realtor who first listed then sold the hallowed hall, said she mixed up the property in a zip code meltdown and this week’s pandemic.
“How was I to know?” she whined. “Those photos in the Multi-Listings are always faded. They look like shots from a Manson family photo album. Who can blame me for doing my job. The price tag was negotiable.”
Prices for living eunuchs in Gunnison County have been in a mysterious upswing of late despite the high cost of survival and the lack of decent jobs.
“It’s not our fault,” said Beckerman. “It’s their fault.”
She did not elaborate or clarify to whom she was referring. In a canned statement her words were bottled up and somewhat jarred…all but recycled, clearly partisan.
As a result of the transaction the current residents of Taylor Hall may be looking for new digs come December. Although an appeal is in progress some there are dreading a move in the middle of winter.
“I have a nice little two-bedroom duplex on North Wisconsin that might be in their price range,” said Beckerman. “Otherwise I suggest checking out those cute storage units over by the airport.”
– H. L. Menoken
Why can’t the White Right
blacken its faces
and sit at the table
in the hall of the races.
Illegal juniper plants net bust
(Gunnison) A Western Colorado State University student was arrested this morning and charged with growing juniper plants in his basement apartment at an undisclosed location. Local police units say they raided the premises based on an anonymous tip. Soon after arrival they confiscated over 400 plants with an estimated street value of $100,000 in unprocessed and illegal and untaxed gin.
When contacted, attorneys for the man whose name has not been disclosed either, say they were not aware that the cultivation of juniper bushes was against the law in Colorado
“Sure a bi-product of the juniper is gin but at this stage the authorities will have to prove intent to distill and distribute. Our client does not have any of the apparatus associated with distilling or bottling the final product. He had five empty bottles in his entire house that were confiscated during the raid.
Meanwhile the suspect is being held at the local jail awaiting a preliminary hearing on Friday. The plants, which were uprooted at the scene, will be given to a local nursing home for replanting.
-Paula Pervenue
“Think it’ll rain?” – really bad pickup line in Sechura Desert near Piura, Peru.
Feds to tackle dependency on foreign olive oil
(Italian Mountain) Movers and shakers within the Biden Administration say they hope to reduce the nation’s dependency on foreign olive oil by 30% over the next few years. Adding that reserves already on our soil must be tapped they insist that drilling operations must be allowed in urban areas, especially in Mediterranean neighborhoods.
Although it is not clear where vast deposits of olive oil might be hiding, the Biden people hope to celebrate the nation’s diversity while improving its diet.
We think there are major inventories of olive shale all over the Rockies and, thanks to laws regarding the ownership of mineral rights we have direct access,” said one Department of Interior bigwig. “These stockpiles may be just under the surface or deep down in the ocean but we plan to harvest what we can so as to get the country moving in the right direction.
Phase two of the program calls for the planting of 3.5 million olive trees and the construction of pressing and processing plants along the Confront Range and in Utah. In order to flourish olive trees need just the right mixture of soil and sunshine. The Rockies provide both.
“Small farmers, many who have been cut out of the American Dream by large corporations are anxious to get into the action,” continued the source. Small batch olive oil production is controlled and limited allowing for more mom and pop players.
“We will not sit by and watch out population deprived of a Sunday drive, a nice fresh salad or an organic massage,” said one tired Democrat attempting to calm fears and assure that everyone an participate and benefit from these detours.
Olive oil cartels in Greece, Italy and Spain have been gradually increasing the price per barrel causing prices to drastically increase in this country. Combined with taxes and more taxes the average price of a liter of olive oil has jumped 45% since 2018. Unreliable sources within the Biden Administration contend that unless we wake up, the demand for the foreign substance will increase, placing “unholy pressures” on an already burgeoning trade deficit.
“We could even run out which would spell disaster for our vegans, chefs, vegetarians, restaurant aficionados and the newfound health-driven economy,” said the spokesman.
Olive groves, of corpse, provide lucrative targets for terrorists and others intent on disrupting our system, say the officials. Plans to unleash Homeland Security agents and paramilitary teams to guard the oil producing trees may be implemented just as soon as the picked-green-on-the-vine tomato crop arrives from Mexico.
White House whispers suggest that in Iraq, where insurgents have blown up olive fields, the situation has improved.
“We are seeing a return to normal there as the population has begun embracing Democracy and rejecting radical margerinism in their kitchens,” said the source. “We are assured that our allies in the Mediterranean will stand fast but freedom doesn’t come cheap and there are many crutons to overcome.”
– Suzie Compost
“Pray to Jesus. So are they.” – Colonel Edgerington “Dutch” Kahildegrand, moments before leading his Tommies over the top at the Somme in 2016.
