Dabbling in Expressionism 101
OK, so Commissioner Runyon is not a lap dog. A gravel-voiced, Heinz-57 pedigree of mixed and perhaps hypocritical intent, but not a lap dog.And I don’t know about all of you guys and girls, but coming to terms with that concept makes me feel so much better than I normally do after an evening of drinking. I can now sleep the nights away with a pleasant smile of contentment upon my face knowing that the financial condition of Eagle County is in such poodle-free capable hands, unless of course I am awoken by the nightmare of suddenly lacking balances in the county’s general fund, in which case I then plan my day around enjoying the beauty of a gravel pit from the vantage point of a railroad bridge or, if I’m feeling especially needy, drive down to Garfield County and stare at Rancho del Bair from a nice distance along an Interstate 70 pull-out while sipping my Eagle County-purchased, and therefore taxed, mocha latte that helped pay for it all.Then we have the brilliantly conceptual Nixon-esque thoughts of construction moratoriums through the rationing of building permits and such, which would work perfectly if only there did not already exist the precedent of every single total failure in an economic sense of every single price-freeze, building-freeze, employee-freeze, etc., ever conceived by every single politician worldwide who thinks they have the ultimate solution to equitably spending OPM.Talk about violating ethics codes.And while on the subject of questionable ethics, Pat Robertson is every bit as guilty of using religious babble to incite the faithful to act morally repugnant as that Osama fellow, only Robertson does it to an unfortunately more receptive and even more gullible audience that is only too willing to slip on new Nike’s while sampling the Kool-Aid.Robertson is in the same category as James Dobson, Jerry Falwell, Ralph Reed, Rick Santorum and all Islamic mullahs in a pious race to see which mystical deity can return us to the Middle Ages first. To paraphrase the good reverend himself, “Somebody needs to take HIM out.”What a hypocritical buffoon.And speaking of clowns, unless her goal is to completely eliminate any possible reason or greater cause for her son to have unfortunately sacrificed his life in combat, as well as every other American that has paid the ultimate price over the last 229 years, Cindy Sheehan needs to shut the hell up and go home to her divorce-filing soon-to-be-ex husband and the rest of her family that wants nothing to do with her political grandstanding. Her mind-numbingly selfish acts are painting an ugly black stripe across the coffin flag of every fallen soldier. Although she has every right to vocalize her anger, the same rights exist for the rest of us to wrap a giant roll of duct tape around her obnoxious head.Speaking of loathsome doublespeak, whether it be mistaking a screaming German’s knock on the door for their daily delivery of socialized meds, the French still refuse to accept reality even when it has slapped them across their intolerable mouths seven deliciously sweet years in a row. Repeat after me: “Armstrong won and he didn’t take drugs (except to beat cancer) … Armstrong won and he didn’t take drugs (except to beat cancer) … Armstrong won and he didn’t take drugs (except to beat cancer) …The amazingly successful American athlete is retired now; get over it already. Speaking of sports retirement, running back Ricky Williams returned to the Miami Dolphins after a year’s absence saying, “I don’t remember leaving. Hey, anybody got any brownies?”I’ll be surprised if he has half a season’s worth of leg and yardage value before he quits again and moves to a Jamaican commune to raise his dozen or so illegitimate kids just before another judge demands he pay back the $8 million signing bonus. Speaking of judgmental babble, all this intelligent design nonsense and the best response the faithfully ignorant can come up with is to imply Sheriff Bubba from Hazard County will toss a few really corny cliches in my general direction followed by my incineration in some metaphorical bad place synonymous with being locked in a closet with Cacioppo for eternity? Oh please, and just at what exact boiling point of my blood does the miracle occur and the rest of you are saved from hellfire and damnation and whatever other guilt-ridden paranoias you have sadly accepted as fact over the centuries?Come on, everybody (those with more brain capacity than the label on this brown bottle of rejuvenating liquid currently sitting in front of me), express yourselves! Call, write, email, amplify your anger, exaggerate your emotions, imply logic where none existed before, open up a window and scream! There now, doesn’t that feel sanctimoniously better?Richard Carnes of Edwards writes a weekly column for the Daily. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. This column, as with all personal columns, does not necessarily reflect the views of the Vail Daily.Vail, Colorado
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