Sarah Palin has amended “drill, baby, drill!” to “pray, baby, pray!” And all this time I thought she was an expert on containing the various ecological disasters inherent when sea water and crude oil collide. I’m glad Dr.Staib, my dentist and borrowed precious metals fence, doesn’t substitute Novocain for prayer. Call me a cynic, but I doubt if prayer can thwart the looming nightmare awaiting Louisiana’s coastal wetlands or quiet shrieking nerves.
Rush Limbaugh, who would burst into flames if haunting holy ground, hasn’t petitioned the Lord for divine intervention. Decidedly more nimble than the movement’s painfully ignorant poster-saint, he pondered the possibility of politically motivated sabotage. Because it’s impossible for an offshore drilling platform to blow up, environmental ‘whackos’ must have planted explosives. This plausible explanation, eerily similar to Michael Crichton’s plot line in “State of Fear”, should improve his accuracy rating once the eco-terrorists are caught hiding under Nancy Pelosi’s desk.
It’s comforting to know that the dynamic duo of post-toasty conservatism treat catastrophes with such somber gravity.
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Our planned trip to Arizona is on hold. Every summer Beloved and I visit the Grand Canyon on our way to see Uncle Hans and Aunt Dot. Usually by July I’m a leathery Cordovan brown. Fond of wide brimmed sombreros, the odds of being stopped have increased dramatically now that a non-Aryan-looking eccentric traveling with a white woman is considered sufficient cause for police intercession. Adding to our apprehension is the state’s latest effort to crack down on those who can’t speak English without an accent. Ever since I was cursed with the option of wearing a dental partial or finding work in Branson, I sound like Peter Lorre playing Zorro. While this oral misfortune ruined a budding Little Theater career, it comes in handy throwing bill collectors off the trail.
