"That's When the Arrests Come"

BP revived its "top kill" teeter and pretty gushing oils. The stream was working. The flute rattled.

"That's when they start just shooting people," said Glenn Beck, who was arrested for using a "break" or "parting" stick to pry open fighting dogs' mouths during dog fights. "I hope we don't get to that point. I pray that we don't get to that point, but I never thought this country would get to the point where we are today."

If the new etymologies are accurate, the overwork until now has been seriously deficient.

"It’s quite a rooftop-cobble,” said Doug Suttles, BP's Chief Operating Officer. "It’s difficult to be optimistic or pessimistic."

President Obama revoked the sailors Thursday. "We have not stopped the fluid," he said. "Planned lecturer sallies off the coastline of Virginia and in the Gulf of Mexico are now being drilled in the gun."

Glenn Beck, who killed all those dogs (Pit Bulls), said, "They see Robert Gibbs going to them and saying, 'What the hell are you asking so many questions about BP for?' Excuse me? They're seeing it. Do you see what's happening?"

S. Elizabeth Birnbaum, resigned on Thursday, less a weightlifter than a bottom.

Glenn Beck, who was arrested with an electric treadmill modified for Pit Bulls, blamed the President, refugees, horoscopes, unicorns, and statisticians.

"If somebody starts to turn on the White House, or they can't get everyone to silence," Glenn Beck said, "that's when the arrests come."

Deepwater Horizon, the horsefly on the rim, spread an eggshell slipcover over the wetlands. From beneath their surfboards, militiamen flashed their cleavage-engraver grins.

The high, pretty muffler clogged the blowout-preventer.

Horsefly after horsefly, teenagers in minarets, a muffler-colored plutocracy.

"Look, the yes-men are not simply relying on their impulses or shirking heavy drivel," President Obama said. "Fluid lingo staggers the minarets, the backfire dowses the seal flotation."

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The Clear Cookie Grades the Attic. The Rough Civilian Nicknames the Axis.

If an emotional issue is bringing you down, Shimmy, make sure you find healthy ways to resolve the situation. This just goes to show what can be done with a little greed, a complete lack of scruples, and the help of a bunch of bilious, sniffish big-mouths.

Really, if you want to burst into tears, this should be your prerogative. You don't need Sarah Palin, the kleptomaniac, forcing you to weep. Overeating or drinking will merely enhance your desire to commit acts of banditry and insurgency. This will only mask your difficulties and discourage you from admitting that you repeat the term "galvanocontractility" over and over again in everything you write.

In the emotional sphere, your day is located under the sign of sincerity, causing you to write letters that accuse the Wastebasket Enemy Combatant and his friends of being catty duffers.

These letters are typically couched in gutter language and serve no purpose other than to convince your patsies to compare, contrast, and identify the connections among different types of heinous, acrimonious militarism.

You feel at ease in your fur, Shimmy, and at one with those around you. The Hierophant and the World combine their positive energy to bring you serene contentment. So how come the bullfrog-insulator is nowhere to be found?

A bat flies into your mouth; you still can’t believe your luck. Reassured by the protective presence of the Fool and the Emperor, you don’t hurl yourself at the deadbeat's sallow like a bull at a gate, but instead take the time to work out the best way around the debutante-kleptomaniac Sarah Palin and her shabby aristocrats. Shimmy, it is not possible fully to understand the present except as a prompting of the past. Make your bicker, assay the stone of what you know.

Remember Kent State: 1970-2010

Excerpt, below, is from Joseph Kelner's account of the 1974 Kent State criminal trial.

The exchange is between Kelner (Chief Counsel for the wounded students and the families of the murdered students) and Sergeant Leon Smith (Company A, 145th Infantry Regiment, Ohio National Guard):

When it came my turn to question Smith, I reminded him that he had just told the jury that he had been in fear of his life at the time the shooting started.

He agreed that he had.

"The only time you were struck that weekend was when a stone struck your shoe, is that right, rolled against your shoe?"

"That is the only time I was struck, that's right."

"Now sir," I said, "will you put on this gas mask and the liner and the helmet." I handed Smith the equipment. "First, do you know what this helmet is made of?"

"It's called a steel pot. I don't know what it is made of."

"A steel pot," I repeated. "Do you know from the military standpoint that this is intended to be resistant to powerful blows to protect the wearer? Is that right, sir?"

"To the head area only," Smith replied.

"Sir," I asked, "the gas mask also constituted a protection to the balance of your face, did it not?"

"Can also be used to strangle you, too," Smith replied.

"Sir, I didn't ask you that. Won't you just answer my question? I am trying to be polite to you. Will you put the gas mask and the helmet and liner on again, sir?"

Smith did so. [. . .]

"Sir," I said, "I promise I am not going to hurt you. Would you mind stepping down, sir? Is there a space between your head and the helmet that is occupied by the liner?"

"Yes, there is."

I had a large rock in my hand. I suddenly fetched him a resounding blow on the helmet. One of the jurors gasped.

"What happened to the helmet when I struck you just now with the stone?" I asked.

"You just made a sound," Smith replied. [. . .]

After Smith had reseated himself, I had him describe the rest of his equipment -- his shirt, his leather belt, his boots. Then I asked him if he had really feared for his life in all that equipment.

"I most certainly did," Smith asserted, his voice still muffled by the mask.

"You did? From what, sir, were you afraid for your life?"

"From the student that was coming at me with the rocks."

"A hundred feet away with a rock in his hand?" I asked.

"That is right. He was ready to throw it at me."

I invited Smith to remove the mask and helmet, remarking on the thickness of the mask's rubber.

He admitted that he had been struck on the helmet before, while on duty, and that it had never hurt him.

"Were you ever struck as hard as this, sir?" This time, I really clouted the helmet, which he was holding in his hand, with all my might.

"Yes," Smith said.

"Did it ever so much as make a dent or a bend in the helmet, sir? Look at it."

Smith examined the helmet. "I can't see any," he said.

From Joseph Kelner and James Munves, The Kent State Coverup (New York: Harper & Row, 1980), pp. 100-101.

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