Gastrointestinal Noises

I’ve been reading a wide range of articles this morning, most of which have made my stomach turn sour. I should know better than to eat prior to reading about our Community Organizer In Chief; but I’m a glutton for punishment.

Maybe you’re familiar with the movie, Contact, with Jodie Foster playing the lead role. There’s a noise which lands on the massive radio gathering array at Arecibo, millions and millions of tax dollars spent to listen for “little green men”, as her character’s quest is maligned by those in a position to destroy her career. She’s got a set of headphones on, her eyes closed as the cosmos is probed and stalked by huge telescope receivers aimed to the farthest reaches.

Suddenly she hears the awaited “contact” from a distant civilization, an odd distortion of sounds which crackled out prime number sequences, such sequences guaranteeing a higher intellect sent them rather than being coincidentally manufactured. “Occam’s Razor!”, always wanted to say something scientific; “Global Warming?”; but now I’m getting carried away with myself.

I read where some folks might have been put off or insulted by the lack of social graces Obama has shown while accepting his Nobel Peace Prize and yet skipping out on formal gatherings normally associated with such an honor. While reading the article I heard that same distortion of sounds, the ones that came from somewhere in the cosmos near the Vegan star group; except this sound came from my abdominal area.

Never mind Obama’s warning to the Senate to hurry up with Cap & Trade legislation or the EPA would start imposing “command-and-control” in ways that would hurt business . No, that wouldn’t be enough to roil my gastrointestinal system; had to be more than that.

Perhaps it had to do with reading about “the complete devaluation of the currency and the destruction of the economy on the road to enslaving the populace…” Third World County , as have many others, attempted to warn of the effects as Obama and his minions implement and use the Cloward-Piven Strategy. No, that’s couldn’t be what has me holding my legs together against the building pressure. It could be I caught that “nasty bug”, the one Lucy had a couple of days ago and had her down and out, belching the most obnoxious fumes imaginable around the clock.

We used to have an expression, common and hardly worth sharing in polite society; but when ever a night shift officer excused himself to use the restroom, it wasn’t unusual to hear another officer remind him, “Flush once for the Chief’s office, twice for the Mayor”. You’ll have to excuse the brevity of my article; I’ll remember to flush a “few” times and wash my hands real good before returning.