Wednesday, June 20, 2012

June Twenty First


       There are times when a Junior Chief to the Chief  Protocol Officer's Assistant, yearns for the old days.  Slitting the throat of an innocent or two was always just so straight forward.  A little messy perhaps, but a matter of fact business, even if it usually left us all wondering what the hell it was we had just done, and why.  And in those days, so what if the field caught fire, central time turned to ash, these things were so much easier to explain away.  We were of course free back then, much happier and simpler in our ways, and so much easier to keep the young ones in line.
  
      These days, so hedged about with regulation and the inevitable confusion that results from sensitivity training, it's no wonder that hats could have been just slung up there on the fence post with no attempt whatsoever made by the Officiating Priest to demand a conflagration.  The heat sodden and doddering old fool heard, "We could burn them later." I watched him wilt, and it would have been off to vanilla ice cream with artisan raspberry sauce and carrot cake, followed by a sour dough pizza.  Fortunately wiser heads prevailed.
 





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