Huck's Realm

The street light blinked intermittently as I approached the corner. All I wanted was catch a bus, go home, eat something and maybe watch some old cowboy movie on the tube. My focus was interrupted by a dog standing there; not just a dog, but a white poodle wearing a black beret with some type of flash on the front resembling a paw. He looked at me as I stood a few feet away causing an uneasy feeling, a trepidation. This poodle looked too intent, overly serious and I wanted nothing to do with it. Poodles are neurotic, sexually repressed, and just strange when their eyes are open.

I stood there for a few moments and then eased my way over to catch the newspaper headline. My eyes were scanning when suddenly two paws appeared and knocked newspaper box over. The poodle glared at me with beady brown eyes and then hissed out something always to be remembered.

"Look buddy, if you're too cheap to buy a paper, then why should I let ya have cheap glances over my shoulder, huhhhhh"

I was completely taken back by this Charles Bronson manner and finally stammered out, "you're talking! Where did you learn to talk?"

"Call me Pierre, Mac. Duhhhhhhhhhhh!! Learning to talk was easy--just cock your ear to stupid humans and gather all that knowledge in. That's why I have two savings accounts, a condo by the lake, an authentic carving of Lassie's nose and voted for Bush twice since he paid me."

"Well, well, what do you want, Pierre?"

"Easy enough....we organized to stamp out human repression, oppression and crappy impressions. Nothing worse than a human tryng to do an authentic poodle bark. Disgusting, absolutely disgusting."

"But you got an attitude and it seems like others are following you."

"Yah, we organized a militant group, PAW, Poodles Against Whatever, dedicated to freeing canines all over the world. So far we have trained pilots, mechanics, MacDonald's short order cooks and even a cocky French poodle taking Lance Armstrong on. Sure thing!!"

"You mentioned violence; turns me off," I said in a most convicing manner.

"Mac, we'll have 5 horny poodles all over you in a NY second doing all the wet stuff to convert or bore you to death through forced readings of Ann Coulter! Think of it as seeing Gallagher without wearing a full body condom."

"So, that's it, Pierre. You want to dominate humans."

"Oh, Mac, you're getting part of the picture. We already have humans in the palm of our paws. Watch any house and see who rules the routine-a dog. Unless, of course, they have a stinking cat. Cats can't be trusted, are just too stubborn and humans fall over them. Its their way or else. Hey, we go through all this stuff just to make humans think we're cute and cats do nothing but be cats. It just jerks my tail whenever I think about it!!"

"So what do you really want from us?"

"Food, recreation, no fetching the ball or stick,, an occasional night, freedom from stupid talk and oh, god, forgot those humans that want to make fashion statements with us. My so called owner wanted me to wear these polka dot ribbons that practically labeled me as a flamer, but I went radical instead to confuse her already neurotic life."

"Okay, this is a silent revolution where no one gets hurt?"

"Yah, kind of, Mac. But we reserve the right to bite anyone and make no promises. Another thing, badges, we hate those stinking animal control badges. Talk about people that need a high colonic and a vacation to Congress!! Kojack tried to come after me with a net, but I whipped out my all purpose growl which not only made him drop the enslaving instrument, but gave him a thought. Perhaps for the first time!

"Okay, I understand. Best thing to do is just stay out of your way, give you respect and treat equally."

"That about sums it up, Mac, but remember the urge to mistake you for a fire hydrant is always there."

"Well, Pierre, your turf is cool with me. By the way, where is your turf?"

"Wherever a poodle is oppressed; wherever a poodle is forced to undergo stupid fur styling done by a human barber school reject; wherever a postal carrier gets too cocky; and most of all, wherever dogs are in stupid commercials."

"Hey, Mac, you know we've already infiltrated the White House and have place a high level mole in the Oval Office. Won't tell you who, but our contact is in contact with us every day. By the way, the White House pooch is a doozie, flaky and needs Prozac. There's a new day dawning and Bush will tremble when PAW strikes. You should read some Marx, Mao Tse Tung and Lenin. They all had their minds developed by poodles-no problem. Well, they did strange things around fire hydrants, always lifting their legs, but specialized training cured them of that."

"Okay, thats it...I'm going home. Sit down with my dog, a Toy Fox Terrier, and bond."

"Good deal, Mac, but terriers are hyper and like to bark in their sleep. Keep up the good work and remember we are always around watching. PAW is prepping for persistent acts to perpetuate poodle rights permanently.

I walked down the dimly lit street wondering if this had been just a dream. It was too bizarre, too strange and a talking dog.....I stepped across the street and was heading down the block where I live when a voice boomed out at me: "hey, don't jaywalk like that again or I'll ticket you." I froze in my tracks expecting a burly Irish-American cop to come out of the darkness to chastise me. Instead it was a grayish-white Poodle wearing a cop uniform. I shuttered and listened to the lecture until he nipped at my heels to go away.

I went home, took my clothes of, drew bath water and prayed not to have plumbing. The tech would probably be another poodle"

Tomorrow is another day.

Once upon a time there was a great King who beleived in each of his people and spent much time working with them to find their greatest potential. He spent many years helping the common folk and was very proud of a yearly surplus of money to assist anyone in the kingdom. This King was loved by all and he proudly loved each of his pople back in many different ways.

Unfortunately, there was one group which despised everything the King did with the common folk and felt he was improper and stupid to be seen with a peasant. Their essence hailed from a time when the King was divine and no one came near him, much less talk in a common manner. Their King had been out of power for years, but the yearning to return was strong; as strong as the need for more money to roll into the treasury and then into their private accounts again. Taxes are good, but defense contracts are better.

One day the wise and good King made a mistake...he was found with a palace intern not known for her past piety who was also on the payroll of the Nasties. The good King was not aware of her Nasty Affiliation and quickly apologized, but the Nasty Girl went public and created havoc among the shire. The King felt this was an issue between himself, spouse and daughter; but the Nasties publicized it over the entire breadth and depth of the land. The Good King kept it together though he did have to face the parliament to defend his actions and monarchy. He was allowed to stay, but told he needed to leave when the next year was over. The Good King obeyed and left a hefty surplus in the treasury.

The Nasties organized very quickly and decided upon a good King who really did not have that much experience, but his father was filthy rich. Secondly, this candidate, Sir Gump, was a born Nasty who liked to drink, carouse, ingest cocaine and be dishonest. The Nasties decided the best way to get him in was to rig the official ballot boxes with false bottoms already filled with votes for Sir Gump. Needless to say, Sir Gump became King Gump and his Queen, Pickles.

King Gump decided the best rule was by Divine Decree and petitioned the Almighty to grant him such. He spoke often of his conversations with the Creator and many came to believe he was of the same lineage, but others thought he suffered from a mental defect.

The King began gazing at himself each morning in a morning until the routine became obsessive. Continually looking upon himself caused detraction within the kindgom as Nasties raised taxes, took advantage of neighbors and chaos ruled. The King, however, was content to see his reflection as it should be; not as it was.

One day a heavenly trumpet blared and an envelope floated down from the heavens. The King's erswhile assistant, Sir Dick, grabbed the messsage and quickly took it to Sir Gump. The King hurriedly opened it, turned different shades of white and threw the document down.

Sir Dick picked up the discarded message and read:

Very shortly your mirror will be destroyed and distributed to all the people. Therefore, your image will only be found in the goodness reflected in each person's face. Go ye and sin no
more.

The King sent out for a Royal Shot of Chinaco.

As many of you have probably heard, Pat Robertson has compared the judge's judicial activism to the same actions as El Quaeda. It ironic to hear Pat say this since so many skeletons are in his closet as well.

Pat was a first lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps serving in Japan in 1950. All was going well until the North Koreans invaded the South and a major war broke out. The Marines were the only fully trained military group available and were quickly ordered to board ships for Korea. Now, Pat didn't really like this idea since he had a good life going with his house maid, plenty of booze and all the other accoutrements. Consequently, Pat simply decided not to board the troop ship bound for a combat zone. Normally, this is construed as a major breach of the Universal Code of Military Justice with execution carried out for conviction, but Robertson was under a different god namely his father, a United States Senator. Pat boarded the next troop ship and was quickly assigned as a liquor control officer.

Not much would have been thought of this had not Robertson decided to brag about his combat record exploits while a presidential candidate during the 1988 campaign. Unfortunately, Representative Pete McCloskey, California, heard this incredible utterances and challenged the erstwhile former absent lieutenant since he was also assigned as an officer to the same unit. Robertson immediately hit him with a lawsuit, but McCloskey went one step further and obtained over 150 sworn affidavits from enlisted and officer personnel alike verifying Robertson failed to meet a troopship during war and senatorial intervention prevented disciplinary measures. Pat quickly dropped his lawsuit citing pressing presidential campaign business, but expeditiously moved the documents be sealed. They may have been, but the Marines certainly were not since it scuttled the absent lieutenant's aspirations.

This doesn't end Robertson's walking on the wild side. Years later he decided a certain ruler in Central America was a great Christian and surepititiously supplied money for his needs. Problem was this was illegal and secondly, Rios Montt, was now generally viewed as not being that pious by everyone. In fact, he was later cited by many rights groups for ordering massacres of several villages simply because they did not greet his soldiers the right way. When asked during an interview about this, Montt stated a villager threw a rock at his troops and obviously this meant they were communists since only communists would do a thing like that. The village was compeltely obliterated. Robertson like to feature Montt as a great Christian during segments in the 700 Club and really disliked any adverse reporting. Additionally, Robertson violated federal law by supplying the Contras directly, but the Reagan Administration looked the other way since they were so knee deep in violating federal law anyway.

Next we find Pat engaging in business deals with the despot leader of Nigeria, Charles Taylor. Pat wanted to invest thousands in a gold mine and quickly came to a deal with Taylor, but then learned only the representative body of Nigeria could approve the transaction. He quickly pulled it back and went around to the back door where a PERSONAL DEAL could be negotiated with Taylor for all the riches to come. Unfortunately, various world bodies quickly exposed Taylor as a brutal sadistic ruler who glorified in savagery and enriching his own coffers. Robertson quickly went to Taylor's defense branding him as a good Christian who has done a wonderful job bringing the word of God to his people. Regardless of the word, Taylor was later forced to flee for his life and his sad ugly story came out. Robertson stated his money was just a business lost anyway and left it at that.

You hear Pat talk a great deal about his humanitarian efforts in Africa, but closer examination shows these were commercial flights carrying machinery and other equipment for his business investments in lieu of the standard humanitarian loads. You see, God has told Pat to make money on the backs of various third world populations and it would uplift them.

Now, former Reverend Pat is chastising judges for beng judicially independent when they could have been making decisions better satisfying him and his ilk. He went further to compare them with Al Quaeda in their ruthlessness. Gosh, Pat, how does this compare to you being AWOL from your troopship and later supporting a ruthless dictator more bent on killing, raping and looting his own people. I think, Pat, you need to suck in a whole spoonful of alum to quiet your tongue from uttering such fluff. Its obvious God forsook you a long time ago or you would have made a profit in Nigeria.

Now, Friends, Pat doesn't really represent Christians; he simply asks them to give in order to have their investments assist only those who truly need them: dictators, gold merchants, silver mines, etc.

We mustn't forget his investment into the Bank of Scotland where they even were going to place him on the Board. They were until it was pointed out no none islander had even been on the board prior and the Charles Taylor thing was really playing out. Consequently, Pat was relegated to another good idea gone bad. He just doesn't seem to have the luck due to that evil part of him.

My proposition for Pat is relatively simple: give me some seed money to start an organization to provide former televangelists with psychiatric, psychological and therapeutic assistance for their many maladies such as illusions of grandeur, schizoid personality, greed, avarice, and numerous other DSM IV listings as applicable. The best will be provided rehab therapy such as really having to work for the good of people; and god forbid, being honest. They also have to attend services provided by local Wiccans, adherents of Anton Lavey and Barney.

To sum it up, Pat has been absent without leave from his own beliefs for decades and substitutes the gold standard in their place.

Sad, but true. Wonder how many Marines he could have possibly helped prevent their demise during combat? Of course, thats something that never crosses his guiltless mind.