I must confess I worked with Joey (Smith) longer than usual to fathom this snippet from “The Moronic Verses”, a recent addition to the Book of Morons. The two of us, un-typically after a quick lunch of salmon, rushed over to the All Saint’s Day Ladder-Day Sale in Brownsville, TX, where once a year, a selection of the 2,793 ladders confiscated from wall-climbers are sold at 50% off list, or in the case of crude wooden contraptions, at ‘firewood by the cord’ prices. These relics are the main net-profit from the old 18 foot border-fence with Mexico. Yes, Vincente Fox is ‘paying for that fucking wall’ at least in lost aluminum and wood. His successors are stepping up production of 33′ extension ladders as we speak…
But none of that helps demystify the holy inspired phrase here. Joseph Smith the Elder’s gr-gr-grandson is gr-eat at translating gibberish; especially if no one ever gets a glimpse at the ‘lost’ original.
 But who is ‘DEB, alias ‘KC’, why is her awareness in question, and what function is served by God’s reminding us of her mammal-hood?    She seems to have a low opinion of the new ‘beautiful, trust me’ Great Wall. Perhaps her Mother, to whom she seems to be complaining, is already sick of the commotion, the drones crashing in her garden, the tunnel exits mistakenly sprouting through her lawn: (“Oops, lo siento mucho! Damn GPS!”
And now Joey takes one last towel-shrouded private look at the document. Sure enough, bingo. Reptiles seem to be having no problem burrowing under or scaling The Donald’s Potemkin Fiasco. But mammals, that’s another story.
So there you have it, backwards and forwards. The FTA’s staff (those who haven’t yet quit in disgust) are, as always, busy charging admission (small unmarked bills) to the abortion which was once the proud USA, a beacon, a lamp unto the nations.
And the Angel Moroni is slouching back toward Bethlehem to do a major re-write.

Note: I try to write for ‘everyman’, yet I don’t often furnish links to the cultural references herein. Try ‘Salman Rushdie’, ‘Latter Day Saints’, Brownsville, Yeats.. Oh, and the front page of any paper, any day, in this critical (as in ‘critically-injured’ election season. At least ‘DEB’ voted for the best woman/mammal on the ballot/ JS/ Tel Aviv


2 thoughts on “

  1. Roadkill Spatula

    I think Deb may have once been KC of the Sunshine Band, who has undergone gender-change surgery and in his/her geriatric years leads the (possibly imaginary) Sunset Orchestra at her “rest home”, which is within eyeshot of the border. S/he made sure to get working mammaries as part of the surgical package.

    Or quite possibly I may be reading too much into this.

    1. solberg73 Post author

      Bravo; your ‘backstory is as credible as anything I could come up with. There is a proven neurological hard-wire in humans to ‘see’ meaning in the meaningless, to see faces on Mars, or the Moon. And I/we enjoy diddling with the wires. Whole novels “V’ (Pynschon) have been written on the same theme, and thanks for your contribution.
      I do enjoy continuing the millennia-long tradition of out-of-work rabbis who believe (pretend-to in my case) that there’s just gotta be a profound meaning in any random cryptic scrawl from Mt. Sinai, Kumran, or my bed at night a stones-throw from both the former.
      great to hear from you/ JS


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