Recently a very serious situation has developed in the Senate and one of our dearest and most ancient demagogues has become seriously endangered. Senator Addison Mitchell (Mitch) McConnell Jr. is now facing a heated battle being opposed by Alison Lundergan Grimes the crackerjack, feisty Secretary of State of Kentucky. Fortunately Mitch has a crack team of garbage digging cohorts who are scrambling to insure his survival, albeit for the time being, by slinging dirt and generally being the most unwelcoming of opponents possible.
You may recall that Mitch had suffered an apparent ‘Nixonian bugging’ of his office. This happens when you receive a small Nixon doll in the mail, place it on your bookshelf, and the next thing you know Mother Jones is hawking stories about how very evil you actually are with an honest recording of your thugs plotting against anyone who dared to thwart your despotic behavior. Yes Mitch was ‘tricky Dicked’! Now the Federal Bureau of Investigation has taken over. Taxpayer money at work doing the important things like protecting our venal elected despots and preserving their right to preserve their particular special interest group unfettered by ethical behavior and such trifles.
Maybe fellow libertarian/republican junior Senator from Kentucky Rand Paul and ‘Ole Mitch’ can hole up together! They can collect guns, swig whiskey, swap wives and trade stories about shootin’ those yonder revenooers! The Nixon doll will have to go of course. They might be happier with an Ayn Rand doll and maybe a Raggedie Ronnie Reagan. Pull the string on Ayn and she says: “The question isn’t who is going to let me it’s who is going to stop me!”. Ronnie exhorts when you drop him on his head: “Facts are stupid things!”. Why they can amuse themselves in lockstep together as they contemplate how to hold democracy hostage for their own selfish desires. That is of course after they do something important like blocking any common sense bill on gun control or the possibility of raising the minimum wage etc. etc. etc!
It was a brilliant spring morning the breeze blowing gently in off the coast. The dew drops drying in a slightly sticky way on the end of the juniper branches. She flew as she always flew on these mornings to the clusters of flowers that her sisters had told her about. Working tirelessly, churning and gathering masses of pollen from the bright yellow flowering squash plants that swayed seductively in the sunlight. Growing slightly drunk from the work and the pollen as well as the heat of the late spring morning. Soon she was headed back to the hive with the results of her gathering. The golden rays on her shoulder and the trail of scent in the air let her know she was going the right way. Back and forth she swayed magically through the wafting heat from the meadow.
The hive was bustling today. She flew in to the mad frenzied dance of her extended family. On to the honeycomb to regurgitate her prize. As she flexed and regurgitated her pollen she noticed a strange feeling, the back of her head felt sore. She had not noticed this feeling ever before and it itched uncomfortably. After she deposited her treasure she noticed her sisters seemed strange as well. Something wasn’t right, something had changed. The hive was not playing the right jazz she had become accustomed to. The jazz was disjointed, the dance had become slower than it should have been. The honey was wrong. It was tainted. It was as if someone had introduced an insidious poison into their unwitting midst. She flew away without recharging. She need to escape this feeling on the back of her head. Maybe if she flew fast enough!
She flew as this great feeling of dread crept over her. The sun had become darker even though it still shone brightly. The world was harsh and sharp, it cut into her perception like glass. She headed for the blue on the horizon. Maybe the blue would still the dread and kill the buzzing inside her head. Her wings seemed to move without her conscious thought. Somehow they seemed to be slowing down but in actuality they were speeding up. Over the junipers she soared, higher than she had ever flown before. Over the black top road along the shore where the heat now rose in billowing zephyrs. The sand now beneath her like an endless ribbon bordering the blue, the blue. The salt pierced her eyes and nose now. She was miles from the hive but she did not care. Only to escape the feeling in the back of her head, that’s all that mattered.
The sound became muffled and slowly faded to silence. Her energy now ebbed and a dying calm came upon her. Things were dimming, dying, darkening. The engine sputtered as the train ran out of track. She hit the hot sand just as a wave from the incoming tide broke over the masses of her dying sisters beside her. There was nothing now but the rumbling of surf and the churning of sand. Her sisters and herself no longer.
“Honeybees are responsible for approximately 80% of all fruit, vegetable and seed crops in the United States.” — Beebrothers.org