Merry Bushness

By Keith Hupp

Well here it is again. The silly season full of all those feelings we have kept dormant these last 10 months or so for the sake of fighting terrorists and keeping the world free. So while we take a break from maneuvering for world domination and concentrate on the warm home, hearth and family that this time of year inspires, the cold hard realization that this is BUSH world cannot be escaped. Wars are raging around the world some as close as Mexico , while George is seen serenely smiling malevolently, mouthing the slogan “stay the course”.

As Nero played while Rome burned, George smiles and waves to all us wage slaves telling us “the economy is strong, keep the faith”. At the same time,  thousands of jobs disappear weekly. Legacy financial institution’s are folding and begging for help from the fed while you and I have had bankruptcy protection scaled back at the behest of the same institutions that are now pleading for bailout. Wall Street’s bad business practices have created a worldwide catastrophe, yet Teflon George seems to think all that has come to pass has little to do with him.

Somehow it seems a little too convenient, that fuel prices have fallen in this the month before our national elections. Enron whores have fucked us raw, with little more than a shrug and  a straight face, claiming free market supply and demand have determined the gouging that we all have had handed to us on a greased platter. (Have you ever stopped to consider the billions that Enron stood to extort under the Bushworld Plan, had they not gotten caught up in troubles just prior to 9-11). Hi Ho.

While the gist of this rant appears to be just more gratuitous Bush bashing; and I suppose that at its heart it is; but I did have a point.  The holidays are upon us now, and it’s time to bring the kids home for Christmas, Kwanza or Chanukah, whatever blessed time it is for you. We are faced with the overpriced, unduly harassed, underserved, privilege of long waits for over booked flights and missed connections that our de-regulated (DE-REGULATION is good for the consumer) air carriers have created for us.

Which means, all is as it should be is this the era of gotcha capitalism. Miss your flight?  Need to re-book? No problem, just pay all applicable fees and penalties and you can be on your way with an undetermined wait as all flights are overbooked. Have a nice day.

Or my personal bitch.  Last Christmas, my son,   man that works hard as a diver in the Gulf of Mexico had bought two round trip tickets for his sweetie and himself  on CONTENTIAL airlines to come home to Alaska for Christmas. But as life is known to do, he got a swift kick in the balls.  Upon coming home to Louisiana from a month of  working offshore; just a week before his planned trip home to Alaska for the holidays; he discovered his girlfriend screwing another guy in his bed.

Needless to say he kicked the faithless bitch out. The really sad part is, after getting fucked over by Sally Rotten Crotch, CONTINENTAL airlines refused to refund the ticket or credit him.  Just too fuckin bad kid.  The ticket is in her name and she can use it as she pleases.  Thank you. Come again. Is that screwed up or what?

As this silly season drew near, the wife and I began looking at airfares for bringing home the other youngsters.  We were still trying to digest what the cost of flying a kid home has risen to, when we both came to an agreement. We would just a soon send the $1,200.00 to the kids to use as they see fit as opposed to giving it to ANY airline; particularly CONTENTIAL. So, while we may not get to see the kids this year for Christmas, I can sleep at night all snug in my bed with visions of sugar plum fairies dancing in my head, knowing that once and for all this should be the last Christmas we will have to suffer under the blight of George W. Bush. AMEN!

Until Next time

Keith Hupp

About karlsie

Some great perversity of nature decided to give me a tune completely out of keeping with the general symphony; possibly from the moment of conception. I learned to read and speak almost simultaneously. The blurred and muffled world I heard through my first five years of random nerve loss deafness suddenly came alive with the clarity of how those words sounded on paper. I had been liberated for communications. I decided there was nothing more wonderful than writing. It was easier to write than carefully modulate my speech for correct pronunciation, and it was easier to read than patiently follow the movements of people’s lips to learn what they were saying. It was during that dawning time period, while I slowly made the connection that there weren’t that many other people who heard the way I did, halfway between sound and music, half in deafness, that I began to understand that the tune I was following wasn’t quite the same as that of my classmates. I was just a little different. General education taught me not only was I just a little isolated from my classmates, my home was just a little isolated from the outside world. I was born in Alaska, making me part of one of the smallest, quietest minorities on earth. I decided I could live with this. What I couldn’t live with was discovering a few years later, in the opening up of the pipeline, which coincided with my first year of junior college, that there were entire communities of people; more than I could possibly imagine; living impossibly one on top of another in vast cities. It wasn’t even the magnitude of this vision that inspired me so much as the visitors who came from these populous regions and seemed to possess a knowledge so great and secretive I could never learn it in any book. I became at once, very conscious of how rural I was and how little I knew beyond the scope of my environment. I decided it was time to travel. The rest is history; or at least, the content of my stories. I traveled... often to college campuses, dropping in and out of school until one fine day by chance I’d fashioned a bachelor of arts degree in psychology. I’ve worked a couple of newspapers, had a few poems and stories tossed around in various small presses, never receiving a great deal of money, which I’m assured is the norm for a writer. I spent ten years in Mexico, watching the peso crash. There is some obscure reason why I did this, tightening up my belt and facing hunger, but I believe at the time I said it was for love. Here I am, back home, in my beloved Alaska. I’ve learned somewhat of a worldly viewpoint; at least I like to flatter myself that way. I’ve also learned my rural roots aren’t so bad after all. I work in a small, country store. Every day I greet the same group of local customers, but make no mistake. My store isn’t a scene out of Andy Griffith. The people who enter the establishment, which also includes showers, laundry and movie rentals, are miners, oil workers, truck drivers, construction engineers, dog sled racers and carpenters. Sometimes, on the liquor side, the conversations became adult only in vocabulary. It’s a good thing, on the opposite side of the store is a candy aisle filled with the most astonishing collection, it will keep a kid occupied with just wishing for hours. If you tell your kids they can have just one, you have an instant baby sitter; better than television; as they agonize over their choice while you catch up on the gossip with your neighbor. We also receive a lot of tourists, a lot of foreign visitors. They are usually amazed at this first sign of Alaskan rural life style beyond the insulating hub of the Anchorage bowl. Many of them like to hang around and chat. They gawk at our thieves wanted posters. They laugh at our jokes and camaraderie with our customers. I’ve learned another lesson while working there. You don’t have to go out and find the world. If you wait long enough, it comes to you.

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