Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Friday, February 26, 2010

The Opinuary Column

The Opinion "The turn indicator switch in your car is not there for decorative purposes" has died. As it turns out, the turn indicator in our automobiles is there to hang jewelry and small scarfs upon, though it can be employed to wink at other vehicles when you are feeling horny. Seems like it was only last year when the Opinion was left on for about two hundred miles during a drive in Aunt Maude's Pontiac and expired just as she shifted into third gear. What a gal.

The Opinion was born during a simpler time in America, when racism and the subjugation of the female were a birthright of white men of all creeds, when the dream of driving a really fast car into a wall at full throttle thrilled every boy down to the bottom of his pants. America could go farther, faster, and leave a bigger stain than just about any other lover on the planet. The turn indicator was the only splotch on that manly record, as the act of letting others know just what your intentions were as a driver was a sure sign of weakness, of femininity, of repressed Democrat longings. Grandpa didn't call Kruschev on the phone to let him know when he planned to invade, and the same goes for us and that Putin guy, who Sarah Palin eyes hungrily as she watches him backing his Moskvich 410 into his garage.

Services for the Opinion will be held at some unknown date in the future, and you're just going to have to figure out what that day is for yourself. Not gonna tell you where the memorial will be held either. That would be weak. Should the services swerve into your unincorporated part of the county just be thankful it was manly enough to suppress any gay commie ideas about "sharing" and "oh, don't hit me, Mr. Big American" when it laid its rubber on your road. The next time you're on the freeway, and you feel like moving your fat ass across three lanes of traffic like a Sharpie skating across a sheet of Dundler Mifflin's finest, think about your country first, and then go for it--but don't signal. Remember: we're all in this separately.




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