Hot Dogs

Are these the dog days? Why do I see dogs sleeping on raised and rickety porches in the Deep South, where the heat and humidity melt asphalt? Strange visions in a strange time. For all I know it’s raining in Savannah and the dogs have taken shelter. Out here in the dry, dry west, one hundred miles north of Los Angeles, where the beautiful people come to relax and play, it’s another warm and beautiful evening. State Street, our shopping Mecca, is hopping and bopping as if the price of gas is $1.29 a gallon and home values are still in the stratosphere. The beautiful young have credit cards with available balances, and line up to buy Coach handbags, Juicy sweatpants, and $300 Versace sunglasses.

President Bush lectured the Chinese about human rights the other day, without a trace of irony, in fact, though everybody in the world knows that Bush is the great American jailer, sponsor of torture and an all-around despot. Bush lecturing anyone about human rights is like Darth Vader preaching non-violence. The Chinese know Bush lost all credibility long ago and that nobody pays any attention to him. Every time Bush appears in public and opens his mouth Republican Party bosses wince and hold their breath. “What drivel will the fool spew this time? Will he assert that the US is winning the war in Iraq? Will he say that the American economy is fine, just fine, humming like a top? Will he claim that global warming is a myth of the ‘liberal’ media?”

Bad times, dark days. Israel has the bomb and Iran wants the bomb and Bush doesn’t care how many innocent people die in a “pre-emptive” conflict to insure that Israel remains the Middle East’s sole nuclear power. Hell, do they even bother to count dead Iraqis anymore? Americans, yes -- Iraqis, who cares! Pile their dead bodies like cordwood and never mind the weather! The important story of the day is John Edwards and his love child!

I’m sad that Hunter S. Thompson is dead and gone -- we need his crazy energy more than ever. Hunter would stare down the barrel of the upcoming election and give us the deal without all the watered-down mainstream media “analysis.” Matt Lauer would give his left testicle for one-eighth of Hunter’s political acumen. We need Hunter to stride into his pasture at two a.m. with a loaded .357 Magnum and pump a round into a 55-gallon drum full of jet fuel; Hunter to snort coke and throw butter knives at his housekeeper; Hunter to rail against the death of freedom and the police state that America is in danger of becoming.

Ah, but Hunter’s drinking with the Gods and no one can fill his sneakers here on earth. We’re on our own with the plutocrats, Bush, the Chinese, and the sleeping dogs.