Tag: midnight cowboying

The way you drive today will not be the way you travel in 10 years. Unfortunately, there will no be Jetson cars, lifter technology is still in its infancy. But by around 2012 a transformation will begin to happen to our infrastructure that will be a much needed breath of fresh air.

Follow me while I futurize:

A Labor Day Special, a real political essay by yours truly.

Posted early because it was a long Labor Day weekend and I gotta turn in early.

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Frontier Populism is relatively new school of thought, mostly being hammered into a political philosophy by young Texans. The aim is to create a society without systems for political, economic and social hierarchies controlled by the few, while still keeping true to the rugged individualism that is rampant in the Lone Star Republic. It is an answer to our years of displaced wealth in the arenas of politics, culture and economics.

The basis of this new society is that all citizens will have true and equal access to the tools of information and production, allowing for a realistic chance at the American dream. And if that fails to take hold across the nation, at least create a brand spanking new Texas one. It is basically time to end the nightmare that is imperialism cloaked as a capitalistic democracy.

How to Create a Modern Aristocracy

Nothing sets the tone that we are a nation of people instead of a nation of law by having said people steal the election. Also, by having the highest court involved, you can demonstrate to the masses you also have another branch of the trinity of our democracy in your pocket. And for extra style points, appoint your strong man who stopped the democratic process in Florida to the United Nations as an ambassador.

Now have the puppet you installed never veto a single bill and you can demonstrate to the citizens that all three branches, even legislative, are now under the law of a few select people, who are now above them all.

The rummy stumbled out of the cafe, no one cared enough to call him a cab. Left at the table was an oddball pair, looking at the havoc their dinner party had wrecked before them. It had been quite a party, but now the waiter was coming with the bill, and there was awkward silence.

Decadence and disregard for the price of the meals and drinks and debauchery had been immense, and the check had quite a few zeros on it. Long gone were the guests who ran up this outrageous total, leaving the last two to settle and square away the bill at Democracy’s Cafe.

You have to give it Rove, his last kiss good-bye was one of the sweetest. The news cycle this week was suppose to be non-stop coverage of a resigning Attorney General. You know, a monumental event as the keeper of the rule of law steps down in disgrace, one of the highest position in the land. Roberto Gonzalez was the purest symbol of the utter contempt the Bush Administration had for the Constitution and our collective social contract. He deserved to be roasted in the international, national and local press as the subservient lackey of cronyism that he was. 

But Karl Rove had his boy’s back. He had an ace in the hole that would kill any and all discussion of Gonzo by the talking heads. He had something that involved at least a few of the meaty morals Americans love. The fall from grace of a powerful figure. Adultery. And best yet, gay sex in a public space. It was even signed sealed and delivered by a Guilty plea and fines paid. He held it in his sleeve till Roberto was ready to meet him in Texas. He had been sitting on for months.

Stingray and I had been long hauling in the jungle for a solid month at this point. The mysterious bug bites and shady comidas had been worth it, we had found what we were looking for. But that is easy when you have a map, especially one from NASA. Hidden in plain view in the mountains of their forefathers, there were still Mayan temples with pre-Columbian pottery on the ground. We had not come to loot, we had only come to see, and that’s why we were welcomed. And even lead.

We had met Poncho down in the valley where I do my best work, on a barstool in a cantina. When he saw our map and gear he knew we were serious and lead us deep into vines and history, all the way to his village. All the way till we were the first gringos seen, all the way to the lands where they don’t even speak Spanish.

The funniest part of this trip, before we hunted the monster, occurred 150 feet inside a mountain miles away from anything that resembled civilization. And as usual in this part of the world, it involved gold.