The Long, Hard Slog

Today I had the pleasure of using one of my favorite modern conveniences: the escalated staircase. I knew I would need of it later in the day, since I'd scheduled an appointment to have my Panama hat resized at the haberdasher's. So you can see why my expectations might be understandably high. Humming with brio, I stepped briskly to board the top of the narrow escalator down to the hatter's, but before I could do so, I was confronted with three gently mounded loaves of shit piled directly in front of the entrance. At first I hopefully imagined it to be the work of someone’s dog, but the hefty diameter bespoke a more expansive origin. Someone's wingtip had squashed a conspicuous print in one of the semisoft briquettes, and its moist, cashew-colored interior told me it hadn’t been there for long. There was an offensively savory odor.

Since I couldn't keep the hatter waiting, I had no choice but to hurdle the little fallen henge, hoping to extract for myself some measure of joy from the escalator ride – again, my favorite mechanical conveyance. It’s simply as close as we will ever get to riding the Krispy Kreme donut machine. But as my thoughts drifted to the short, eventful life of the donut, I spied at the base of the stairs a baked good of another kind. Yes, there was another mottled, mahogany turd, this one rolling lazily on the lower lip of the escalator as a cheddar and bean taquito might spin on the hot roller at 7-11. As I prepared for another leap, I became acutely aware of a 4-inch dark streak on each step of the escalator. Suddenly the plan of the unknown shitter was clear to me: he hadn’t merely fouled the entrance, only to be hopped and forgotten; he’d shat on the escalator itself so that its riders would be forced to confront it throughout the length of their journey! I tipped my Panama hat to the man, for his both his plan and his shit possessed an admirable doughy tenacity. I then used the hat again, this time to swat away the soft flies who brushed my cheek as my passage disturbed their jubilations.

My point is this: in the War on Terrorism, at best, liberals are only prepared to jump the first pile. Real Americans know that we're in this for the long haul. That means jumps, odors, stripes, more jumps, and yes, flies. Now that we're on Iraq's shit-covered escalator, there is no turning back. I encourage you, therefore, to show your continued support by attending this remarkable benefit concert. Sacrifice begins with you, citizen-soldiers.

Sean Hannity with Hank Williams Jr. and Lee Greenwood

To my friends: in the Long War, keep your Panama hats on tight. Western Civilization demands no less. And to this morning's anonymous shitter: You gave until it hurt. History will not forget your message of resolve.

Steadfastly yours,
AGH