-
- Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
- The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
- I can think of no reason
- Why the Gunpowder Treason
- Should ever be forgot.
- Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t’was his intent
- To blow up the King and Parli’ment.
- Three-score barrels of powder below
- To prove old England’s overthrow;
- By God’s providence he was catch’d
- With a dark lantern and burning match.
- Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
- Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Happy Bommy Night to all and sundry!
I would have neglected to remember this delightful conspiracy-based holiday and its wonderful macabre traditions if not for my pal Jason’s timely reminder. If you ask me, every conspiracy deserves commemoration in so elaborate a fashion as the Gunpowder Plot, but then I guess we’d do naught but perform bizarre rituals and go wild 24/7.
I finished Bradbury’s Death Is a Lonely Business today at work and, if not up to his early pulp standards, a damn sight better than his more recent efforts and lovely overall. The killer was who I thought it was (take my word for it, if you feel like it), but the act of seeing that name in print still came like an electric shock. As for our incumbent, I couldn’t bring myself to look at a newspaper, but heard His Holy Name spoken hundreds of times over the course of my 9 hour stint at the sushi counter. I finally read it, ineluctably, on a button, but what really did me in was hearing a person I greatly admire, and had pegged as some kind of uber-anarchist with a golden bullshit detector, declare, “We won,” and an acquaintance remark on the Democrats’ grip on the House and Senate to the effect that, “Checks and balances are important, but ultimately they slow things down. A lot more stuff will get done now.”
Yup.
For the record, I didn’t bring up the election to anyone today, except to vent to the Guatemalans upon arriving, and I didn’t tweak, though I admit to laughing maniacally in the restroom when that, “I’m so happy to be stuck with you” song came on.
Bommy Day at Whole Foods was a zombie fiesta, a nonstop conga line of willful naiveté, which presented numerous challenges to chat honestly and jocularly with folks deeply in thrall to the God Emperor without tweaking or upsetting them. Good practice for the coming months, at any rate. My only regret is that I refrained from gambling on a wide-margin win for our Lord and Savior, as I could have totally cleaned up and at least have had some fiat currency to show for my psychic trauma.
Knowing, as they say, is half the battle; putting your money where your mouth is would seem to be the other half.
This one’s for you, Guy.