Political Litter Box

Politics are complicated.  I am a cat, you see, and I have little respect for most humans in any given situation.  However, I am opinionated and cantankerous when it comes to human power struggles and their precarious results throughout the world… so, I am going to say my piece, and I doubt that you will hear much purring going on here.

~ Bob

 

From the Political Litter Box I

It was a hot one last night.  I decided to go to Bozo’s Bar for a cold one.  I used to hang out in Bozo’s on hot nights… strut up and down the bar with my tail high and lap up some suds and conversation.   I still go there, and some of those whiskey heads can still see me!  Bo is the owner and barkeep, and he is a strong advocate of allowing folks to talk about anything and fight about nothing.  This is always a good place for talking politics and last night was no exception.

Bozo’s is a long, narrow place with the bar along one side, and a rail and stools along the other.  All up and down the length of the place there were bozos leaning left and leaning right, and staggering back and forth in between. Everyone on the left was always right, and everyone on the right was never wrong.   In the back near the crapper there was Jack, a stubborn jackass snorting his platform to Al, an old pachyderm who wasn’t listening but was memorizing Jack’s name, face, age, SSN, phone number, address, and brand of whiskey… and replying “NO” to every verb that Jack voiced.  Jack was standing at the bar. He would get excited and bellow an opinion or two while kicking his heels and stomping the floor.  Al would gulp up some peanuts, adjust himself on his disproportionately   small bar stool, look irritably at the left half of Jack’s reflection in the mirror, then declare that every word was nonsense… he was in control of the truth.  Jack would respond contemptuously proclaiming that the truth was subjective, and most certainly it was a jack-asset of his.  No wonder they were at the far end of the bar near the crapper.

I purred up to a lonely, exotically  attractive, moderately intoxicated lady that was not expressing her opinion to anyone.  Her name was Nanette and she was quietly drinking a Compari and soda.  She bought me a saucer of milk, stroked me, and told me she didn’t care a hoot about politics.  “Politicians are all crooks”, she whispered in my ear as she fondled it affectionately.  I had to agree with her.  I found her agreeable.

~ Bob

 

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