My dear readers,
Our visit to Bermuda was filled with great pleasure. Mr. P rested and relaxed which was one of his two desires. I returned with no tan lines which was his other desire. ODT, Father M., and Christine, we were delighted to hear our cards and little parcels had made their way to their intended destinations. I do so like it when the Royal Mail behaves like it used to.
It was amusing to return from holidaying among the monarchists to learn we not only had but one, but two new reigning monarchs at Patum Peperium. Fido Castro cashed in his political chips making Mario Mandingo and The Maximum Leader winners of Patum Peperium's Ghoul Pool. This entitles them both to be King for the day here (on different days), royal proclamations (2 or 3), and maybe, just maybe, if I can get the my mind out of vacation mode, which may prove impossible as this vacation really did adjust my attitude, a little something from the kitchens of Patum Peperium. Though the kitchens of Patum Peperium did not do anything for our previous monarch, Christine the Good, so it might be wrong if the kitchens began passing out treats now.
Our new leaders have been alerted to their win. They both were under the charming impression that they did not win because Fido had not actually died. It is at times like this when Patum Peperium proves just how in touch with reality it is. It is true that Fido Castro did not die. But that was only because Fido cheated. Imagine that one? Fido cheating. Positively astonishing isn't it? Fido cheated when he was on his deathbed last summer. He did not call in a Cuban doctor to cure what ailed him. Instead he called in a fleet of Spanish specialists to cure what ailed him (physically, not mentally as the ship carrying his sanity sailed more than 50 years ago). It is considered cheating because Fido would never allow any Cuban who was feeling a bit under the weather the freedom to do the same thing. Fido has always said (most fervently too) and that Oscar and Cannes-winning filmmaker twit, Michael Moore has agreed with him (most fervently too) that the Cuban medical system is the finest in the world. Yet when on death's door, Fido did not avail himself of the medical establishment he created. Adding insult to injury to the Cuban doctors, the Spanish doctors showed up in Hermes ties, belts, and loafers because unlike the Cuban doctors, Fido had to pay the Spanish doctors. And pay them well. Therefore those doctors can afford to dress well, unlike Cuban doctors. Though the Cuban doctors can take comfort in knowing that wearing Hermes is not considered dressing well. It is considered dressing like the mafia.
Because Fido Castro did not die, he revolutionized the role of ghouls worldwide. Ghouls, before they hand in their feedbags, make peaceful transitions of power that warm the cold, cruel hearts collected around the horsehoe table at the U.N. I understand when peaceful transfer of power in Cuba was announced, the collective exhales in the faculty rooms of Harvard, Yale, Columbia, and Oxford was not only strong enough to blow out the marijuana cigarettes but extinguish the bongs as well.
So, since the days have passed of ghouls staying in power until death removed them, and since the CIA isn't allowed to do their job and snuff them out, The Ghoul Pool must adapt to the new world realities or it too will die. Ghouls no longer need to die. He/she/it just needs to hand over the reins of ill-gotten power. Since Mandingo and Maxy have won, this means everyone who wants to play is allowed to pick a new ghoul or stay with the one they have (record yours in the comment thread, even if you are keeping the same ghoul).
I am going with the one ghoul left who is a ghoul of the old school. She will depart her stolen throne feet first, HM Queen Elizabeth II. The mesmeric, myopic monarchists that inhabit these gentle waters will say of course, this is because she is truly regal. No, my mesmeric, myopic monarchist friends, this is because she is truly German and never gives up. Remember the Third Reich and their carpet chewer? In his final days, he sent out 12 year-olds in lederhosen armed with sticks to defend Berlin from the advancing Soviet tanks. However, I will grant the mesmeric, myopic monarchists the fact that HM has done a fairly good job of pretending to be regal, particularly with her choices of pocketbooks and the breeding of such slow children. Any of you are free to choose HM as well, because like the Europe of old, there's always much fun to be had when lots of Kings and Queens are roaming around Patum Peperium kicking the cats, wiping their hands on the dogs, and tripping over their coronation gowns.
Though if you want to win, choosing Chavez may be the wiser choice this morning.
Proving my grandfather was right when he told me things always happen in 3's, there were two other deaths during our absence. First, William F. Buckley. We were not personal friends with Mr. Buckely. But our friends were. They miss him already. We will miss him too.
On a much, much happier note, Hillary Rotten Clinton died. Though I told you she had died in January. Admit it now, most of you doubted me then, some of you even questioned my sanctity and others of you went so far to call me at home to question my sanity. And I know most of you are now saying "Mrs. P, she's not dead! She's alive! More than than, she's standing right behind you with a big butcher's knife!" No, she's not. She may technically be alive. Alive in the same technical sense Castro is, which is a Hell of a life, I might add, now that his power has been transferred. Hillary Clinton is as dead as Castro is, politically. For her to win the White House she needs her husband to call up his *friends* and get them to get the dead, as well as abandoned parking lots, stray cats, dogs and parakeets to cast their votes for her. So, this primary season has established beyond a reasonable doubt that the world's smartest woman and leading feminist, Hillary Clinton only rose as high as she did by marrying the sleaze she did. (Don't you just adore the First Amendment?) More than that, Hillary, to get the chance to run for president (and promptly fall flat on her face) had to sacrifice her feminist principals, relinquish her dignity as a woman, and take all of her husband's abuse publicly for more than 2 decades while saying she loved him. What makes her death (or transfer of power) all so much more delicious is that she is being beaten by a carbon-copy airhead candidate of her husband, complete with the angry, Ivy League-educated wife. So we cheer the dead woman walking, Hillary Rotten Clinton, on as she will now, once again for the 2,345,725 time, go back on her principals and try to seat the Michigan and Florida delegates so that she can finally take the sack full of wet sand to the back of Obama's head at the Democratic National Convention. As the ladies at NOW are so fond of screeching "You go girl!"
Here wishing Babalu Aye to come to the people of Cuba, as the Clintons were fond of saying, sooner rather than later: