Ah, the Blame Game. Man, I can’t get enough of it. The Governor. The Mayor. The Media. The President. And “FEMA’s finest,” Mr. Michael “Brownie” Brown. I swear, this is the lengthiest political “shit list” since the signatures on the Declaration of Independence. Guess the only difference is the shortage of balls on the current list. Is it just me or do our political leaders have an iron deficiency? I’d say they’re not getting enough fiber in their diets, but it would appear they are shitting on each other and the Gulf Coast just fine. In case you’re wondering, I haven’t blamed anyone for what happened. Truth is that, at this moment, finding someone to blame is immaterial. My city currently exists as an architectural salad of splinters, water-logged establishments, and bureaucratic bullshit that was tossed by a Category 5-dollar Slavic hooker and pissed on by her Spanish half-sister named “Rita.” Thank (insert deity here) that we can finger point. Isn’t that great? Now that someone can be blamed, everyone can finally go back to the debris where there homes used to be, have a bowl of Frosted Flakes, and watch the MLB Post-Season (actually, I seriously want the MLB part). But I digress.
I can’t even watch the final games of the reg. season! I can’t view the games because Hurricane “Margarita” got a lil’ tipsy and knocked over some power lines here in Huntsville, Texas. What is the deal with these “Women of Nature?” If Mother Nature really wanted to get me, she could do so without screwing the entire Gulf Coast in the process. All I can say is at least she shares the same “work ethic” as some other women in my life – and I’d hate for them to feel outdone.
Speaking of sluts, I’ve apparently become an insect-whore out here in the recently opened “bug season” of East Texas. Sadly, the bugs here aren’t those lovable, West Nile-carrying hoe-bags from the Mississippi River though. The bugs pissing me off are of a far different variety, usually flying stick bugs and assorted gnats. Now, I love nature – but I like it to be located somewhere natural – like outside. The power outages have spawned someone’s “great idea” of having open windows (albeit these windows have mesh – mesh with dead bugs on the inside…). Maybe Mother Nature is just not turning me on like she used to. That or maybe I just want electricity here in my “home away from home that’s also away from home.”
In closing, I’ve learned a lot about Mr. Brown. I mean Webster’s defines “brownies” as mischievous mythical creatures (who bake like miniature Martha Stewarts). Maybe they’re not cut out for managing the effective relief of a natural disaster! This snafu can’t really be the fault of one man…er…elf. It's either that or he has, in fact, besmirched the name to brownies everywhere of which the penalty is death (ironically, by chocolate). With that said, here’s what (the other) Brown can do for me: send “Brownie” a shovel, revolver, and a bullet. That way, once he’s finished politically shoveling his shit and digging his own grave, he can play the home game. I shouldn’t be so harsh to him, since his previous job as director of Keebler was a testament to his namesake and a sign he was poorly-chosen. “Brownie” may have failed along with the other contestants in the post-Katrina/Rita Blame Game, but he’ll always hold a special place in the heart of snack food fans everywhere.