I Love the Smell of Napalm in the Morning
Today is Thursday, 1 January 2009.
As usual, some of the "responsible" adult male delinquents in our hood thought it was so clever, a few moments after midnight, to unloose, in our street, before our house, a barrage of firecrackers and a few Roman candles, thus driving every dog and cat in the hood into abject terror.
For next year, I'm considering mounting some speakers on the front porch, and, when they begin their "fun", letting loose with:
And then, out of the smoke from the smoke machine I'll need to rent, HH appears, in a tux, spraying foam from a fire extinguisher, and screaming, in stentorian voice (an Iliad reference), "I love the smell of napalm in the morning! That ... gasoline smell. Someday, this war's gonna end!"
Who the Big Dog and Cat now, little men?
Happy New 2009 Year to one and all from The Museum of the Bourgeois.
As usual, some of the "responsible" adult male delinquents in our hood thought it was so clever, a few moments after midnight, to unloose, in our street, before our house, a barrage of firecrackers and a few Roman candles, thus driving every dog and cat in the hood into abject terror.
For next year, I'm considering mounting some speakers on the front porch, and, when they begin their "fun", letting loose with:
And then, out of the smoke from the smoke machine I'll need to rent, HH appears, in a tux, spraying foam from a fire extinguisher, and screaming, in stentorian voice (an Iliad reference), "I love the smell of napalm in the morning! That ... gasoline smell. Someday, this war's gonna end!"
Who the Big Dog and Cat now, little men?
Happy New 2009 Year to one and all from The Museum of the Bourgeois.
posted by HH at 12:31 AM
3 Comments:
How interesting. You have gone from inspirational poet in your last column to the crabby old man who yells "You kids get off my lawn!" in this one.
Let me contemplate that while I read Wordsworth and pop the tab on another beer.
(Yeah, I like the variety.)
Yes, observer observes well.
I think, HH, that either (a) the cops would be called you, (b) YOU would become the neighborhood weird guy, or (c) both.
Lots of people pop off firecrackers on New Years Eve. Lots of dogs go crazy. It appears that canine bread "HH" reacts in that manner.
Happy New Year!
They were adults and not on my lawn.
Wordsworth and BEER? I need scotch, maybe even a double Stoli on the rocks to go there.
The point: to create stupid juvenile male "fun", one of our canine companions was cowering, shivering, next to Ms. HH for the next hour.
Suggestion: spare the critters --- stick your fingers in your ears, or even another space, and imagine the Big Bangs.
Happy New Year!
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