McDonald Land

It won’t be long before the USA falls into the control of McDonalds, and Mexico becomes a thriving democracy. I see myself running to the Mexican border only to be stopped by our own Wall. A net is cast and I fall to the ground entangled in a red and yellow lace. “Get your filthy paws off me you damn dirty Clown.”

“Okay, Vince.” He says. “Aren’t you getting a little too old for this?”
My captor knows who I am. My whole life history flashes on the inside of his helmet visor, linked in from a database that joins the Global Tracking System (GTS) signal radiating from the implant in my brain. No DNA required although that data is available too. No need for an ID chip--just a simple GTS node and a unique personal frequency.

I am dressed in nothing but a black pair of bikini underwear. “Why are you dressed like that?” He says.
“Why are you dressed like a Clown, you over-weight Mayor McCheese wannabe.” I reply.
“Okay, we know you’ve been blowing your tokens on underground rabbit meat. Now all you got left to your name is a pair of black floss. What’s wrong with our McBunny sandwich? It tastes better than a real rabbit. “
“It does NOT you freaky brainwashed cartoon character! It tastes more like a nutty synthetic pork chop, you sick pufnstuf!”
“Now we know better than to talk offensively, don’t we? You’re already banned from McMilk Shakes. I’m afraid you just jeopardized your McChocobar privileges.”

I’m stunned. He knows McChocobar is my weakness. That scumbag. So I plead, “You can’t take that away. That’s the only real food you got. You can’t take that away.”
“Well, what can you give me to make me forget this little incident?”
“What do you mean? You know all I got left is this old pair of floss. What do you want? “
“I want you to tell me who sells you the rabbit meat, the EuroChino Union will be obliged to you.”
“But I’m no fink. I can’t rat out on the only family I got left.”
“The Corporation is your only family: Remember that.”
“Okay, okay. Just wait a minute. Okay, it’s John McCain, our president. He’s the one. And he has a Spanish girlfriend on the side.”
“What? Damn! This information is useless to me, McCain has immunity you know.”
I take a shot, “I’m useless to you too, believe me. Let me go. Let me go to Mexico.”
Then I hear the magic words, “Okay Vince. Go! Go find your freedom. And toss me over a burrito every now and then will ya? And don’t miss the McChocobars too much. They're made of recycled Starbucks coffee cup holders anyway.”

Suddenly a realization. “Bless you my son. I heard legends about you--a direct descendant of Jesus and Mary Magdelene. But how do you pass detection?”
“It’s the food.” He shrugs. “It has altered my DNA so I’m no longer traceable; but how did you know it was me?”
“I recognized your sandals.”

I climb over the wall into Mexico with the help of a well placed eucalyptus tree. I drop down and see some old graffiti. It depicts Bush shaking hands with Ronald McDonald. The beginning of the end…

The Monkey King

It’s a good day, but I sense it’s the last as life as I know it. I’m sitting in my spot, high above the camp overlooking my happy tribe. But I am uneasy, and not feeling as content as I do usually. Then I see him in the distance. This time he is not alone, he has five other ruffians with him. They move with fierce intent, building up their confidence along the way. Knocking over and challenging everything in their path--and they're moving rapidly and without pause.

My adrenaline is peaked and I put on a show of dominance as they arrive. But I am older now, and my display has left me a little exhausted. He has challenged me several times before and failed, but this day he is determined. He is young, strong, and relentless. Everyone watches in awe and horror. I am defeated within minutes and outcast into the jungle.

I’m shaking now. I peer through the leaves from afar and see him sitting in my spot, overlooking my tribe. The five hoodlums are already ravishing my daughters. Then my favorite wife comes up to him, bends over and offers him her posterior as a gesture of total submission. This is his reward. This is what he lived and fought for. What he was born to achieve. My other wives line up and follow suit. Like a string of harlots bowing down to the jungle while he samples them from behind.

Oh, what’s this dripping from my eyes? It’s clouding my vision. Everything is a watery blur and I can no longer see the terrible scene through the leaves. I’m still shaking. I feel numb and alone. I think of my mother who dreamed of me becoming King. But did she know this day would come? She had to.

If only I was smart enough to make a gun, then I would have had a fighting chance. But then, they would make guns too. Maybe I could have made something stronger like a bomb or a nuclear bomb! And just have made more bombs then they could. Then I would still be King.

I am alone, but not. Something is there with me, embracing me, healing me--but what? Who is out there watching me? How is he penetrating my soul with such loving warmth? My eyes fill with water again. But I hear the birds singing. I see some bananas and a clear flowing stream. I am so thirsty. There is life all around me. I see a path through the jungle, no doubt paved by a herd of elephants. If only I were smart enough to make a motor bike. Then I could ride the path and see where it takes me. That would be fun.

Postponed

Well, I had to postpone my Butterfly Expedition to a future date. Unfortunately we arrived in Sydney on Easter Sunday, and someone had the bright idea of an Easter egg hunt. We thought it would be good practice for our butterfly hunt—so we took it on-- but it took us the full two weeks to find all the eggs. The stupid “someone” had hid them all over Sydney!

When I bumped shoulders with someone in Australia, they said, “Sorry mate.” In Asia, they would say nothing and keep on moving. I guess it’s so crowed in the cities there in Asia, that if you were to say “sorry” every time you bumped shoulders, you’d lose your voice before noon. In the US, when I bump shoulders with someone I have to get ready for a fight!

I quit smoking, but I had to try some Australian tobacco ( I was on vacation!) Their government warnings are much larger than in the US and it really gets in your face. That's a picture of a clogged artery on the bottom right. I’m telling you right now, that the tobacco company that labels their cigs “POISON” or “TOXIC” with a skull and crossbones logo to compliment the Government “SMOKING KILLS” label—then they will make a KILLING!!! I mean I would have bought 100 cartons of those. So if there are any Phillip Morris executives reading this; then hire me right now!!! I got more ideas that will help you make Big Oil look like child’s play, and the Black Death look like a minor flu bug!