Richard M. Nixon, Rot in Hell
Today is Wednesday, 22 April 2009.
Where were you when?
Henry the 8th died, JFK was shot, Ferd Burfle ... you get it.
On this date in 1994, Mrs. HH and I went to the hospital in NYC where Richard M. Nixon was dying. Given my history with the man, I felt it only meet that I should pay my disrespects, on behalf of the millions he helped to murder.
We joined the media scrum, and, mayhap next year, when I learn the photo upload thing, you'll see the pic of moi at the hospital. A dog walked by in the background as Mrs. HH was about to click: "There's a dog in the picture! Do you want it?" Moi: "Yes! It's the ghost of Checkers!"
I was dressed to the nines, fine suit (Hart, Shaffner, and MARX - get it?) and tie, and refrained from use of the "F" word. I was interviewed by NBC, BBC, etc., but, it seems, in retrospect, I ought not to have said "Nazi bastard" so many times, as none of the interviews aired.
After, we dined in Greenwich Village, then, in the cab going home down Broadway, news over the radio the Nazi bastard had died. At least the grace to hang on until I could dis him one last time. Would have been better had he been conscious, but still ...
And the hell with you, also, Bob Dole:
Yes, Francisco Franco is still dead. Richard M. Nixon is still dead. And here's a song for someone not, Radical Rachel, and ain't it a caution - HH's therapist in Greenwich Village, Patricia of blessed memory, was in the same building on Broadway as the Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, with whom the students of Lang College once marched on DC in the days of that other Nazi bastard, Reagan:
That man haunts me yet - still downloads his funeral instead of: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxjMWsM5uH0
Where were you when?
Henry the 8th died, JFK was shot, Ferd Burfle ... you get it.
On this date in 1994, Mrs. HH and I went to the hospital in NYC where Richard M. Nixon was dying. Given my history with the man, I felt it only meet that I should pay my disrespects, on behalf of the millions he helped to murder.
We joined the media scrum, and, mayhap next year, when I learn the photo upload thing, you'll see the pic of moi at the hospital. A dog walked by in the background as Mrs. HH was about to click: "There's a dog in the picture! Do you want it?" Moi: "Yes! It's the ghost of Checkers!"
I was dressed to the nines, fine suit (Hart, Shaffner, and MARX - get it?) and tie, and refrained from use of the "F" word. I was interviewed by NBC, BBC, etc., but, it seems, in retrospect, I ought not to have said "Nazi bastard" so many times, as none of the interviews aired.
After, we dined in Greenwich Village, then, in the cab going home down Broadway, news over the radio the Nazi bastard had died. At least the grace to hang on until I could dis him one last time. Would have been better had he been conscious, but still ...
And the hell with you, also, Bob Dole:
Yes, Francisco Franco is still dead. Richard M. Nixon is still dead. And here's a song for someone not, Radical Rachel, and ain't it a caution - HH's therapist in Greenwich Village, Patricia of blessed memory, was in the same building on Broadway as the Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, with whom the students of Lang College once marched on DC in the days of that other Nazi bastard, Reagan:
That man haunts me yet - still downloads his funeral instead of: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxjMWsM5uH0
posted by HH at 3:44 PM
3 Comments:
HH -
I love you, man. Now, please, move one.
Might I move two, if it's all the same to you? : - )
Correction - "Now, please, move on."
Operator error.
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