Morning Of The Macadamians

by
Florence Ondré

Last night when I went to bed, I didn’t know if we’d wake up to nuclear war or not wake up at all.
I shrugged and thought, as I performed my evening ablutions, “Well, if we’re facing a boatload of nuclear substances sailing into wackadoo North Korea, it really doesn’t matter if I shave my legs.”
I usually don’t listen to news at night (don’t want to have freakazoidmares) but last night the tube was on at 1 A.M. and I caught the drift of the ‘breaking story’ wherein a very stone faced reporter intoned the impending doom of a ship carrying possible nuclear stuff heading into North Korea. This, following that country’s July test-firing a barrage of missiles and performing a nuclear explosion on October 9th, 2006.
Ah, the stuff of dreams, eh?
I’d heard the news this week of the chief North Korean Walnut refusing to be part of peace talks; ranting threats to the Imperialists (they don’t call that, U.S., for nothing) like a bully in the international schoolyard, “If you put financial sanctions against us, we’re gonna blow you up…” (Notice there’s no thought that the radiation cloud blows right back onto your own people.)
There’s a tired variation on the old, ‘I’m taking my ball home if you don’t play my way.’ We’ve heard untold slants on that theme so often that we’re like weary elders sighing and saying, “You get a time out.” Then we go to bed thinking, ‘Hey, if you’re gonna be a brat, you’re gonna be one. Zap. Poof. There goes your allowance until you quit it.”
And bingo! I do wake up this morning. There still is a world and, lo and behold, President Peanut says, he’s sorry. He’ll talk nicely now. Did his honorable Mother China wash his mouth out with soap? Or was it venerable Father China taking away his spending money so he won’t go out and throw it away on weed or weapons of mass myopathy?
Geepers! If I had a nickel for every time a big bag of wind farts in public, I’d be able to fund safe housing, medical treatment, education and art for the entire world!
Which brings me to our own homegrown Main Macadamian, who I read in the headlines (which are more arselines, due to lack of cerebral portion of the anatomy engagement) announcing that he’s campaigning for ALL his minions of Cashew candidates; including the outed, perverted, pedophile Pecans, to get re-elected to office. (Yeah, that’s what we want. Years more of bad boy B.S.)
Are you as tired of this ignorance and arrogance posturing as leadership as I am?
The assorted salty snacks of in-flight meals are cha-cha-ing out of the can and the cracker factory doors are open wide.
I’m weary just thinking about how much energy it takes to be, or behold, an unsalted schmuck.

I’ll probably have to shave my legs now.
There might be a tomorrow.
Nuts!

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