Fixing Our National Phallus

Jim Floyd

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From: James Floyd (jfloyd@airnet.net)
Date: Wed, 16 Jun 1999 14:45:11 -0400 (EDT)
Subject: Fixing Our National Phallus

Knowledgeable people, experts in structural design and testing, 
told us that the Washington Monument was unsafe, flawed and in 
need of extensive repairs.  The government and people rallied.  
So, visitors to the Capital, from the balconies of a thousand 
hotel rooms, can see the workers on their skeletal scaffoldings 
busily restoring our national phallus.   

The whole enterprise was rather simple; the cracks, ugly stains, the 
scars of age were evident, so plainly obvious, that nobody stood 
forward to deny the need for restoration. Equally apparent, from 
viewing the site, is the fact that they have a plan, they have 
leadership, and they have workers who know how to fix this image, 
this symbol of our perpetual reproduction.

And, to the average person, this methodical renovation affords 
reassurance that we can fix anything; we do not have to contend 
with stuff falling on our collective heads from any lofty 
governmental erection!

Oh, sweet Dionysus!  Yes, we will make you proud!  We can fix it. 
We have steam-cleaners, stonemasons, magic adhesives, jack-hammers, 
chisels, and polishers. 

Patience dear Bacchus, this image will, again, be reclaimed.  We will 
chip, replace, clean and polish, until we have washed away these many
years of neglect and disintegration.

Not to worry, dear hearts, this nation will once again have a tall, 
authentic, original organ; an instrument to, forever, symbolize our 
forefather's desires and hopes of reproducing themselves. 

So, there me stood, a lone White man, staring at a huge white penis, 
surrounded by Haitians, Asians, Mexicans, Arabs, Guatemalans, Indians 
from India, three Hasidim, lots of Blacks, and others -- a powerless 
old White man and an impotent white relic, both of which have long 
since out-lived their time.

Ah, but me thoughts were different, also.  What if, I reasoned, we 
could take the jackhammers, the steam-cleaners, the grinders etc., 
and fix the government rather than its monuments?  Oh, how I would 
delight in polishing the mangy hide off our poltroonish leaders! 
Steam-cleaning that rat's-nest of a State Department and taking a 
jackhammer to the INS, the IRS, the FBI, CIA, Treasury, Justice, 
oh sweet joys of this world, what a pleasant thought!

But, alack, it will never happen! Its too late for cleaning, too late 
for cosmetics and there isn't enough Viagra on this planet to arouse 
our impotent citizens, and worst of all, its even too late to be 
immoderate.

Drop the duplicity, to hell with the hypocrisy, paint the damn thing  
brown and have done with it!

                         from an Atlantic Ocean wetback, Jim Floyd  


"HOW TO MAKE A DEAD GRINGO"

The top slot in white-hating rap lyrics, usually occupied by black 
rap "artists," is being challenged by the Mexican rap group, Aztlan 
Nation.  The following are excerpts from their CD "Beaner Go Home".


"It all started out as a fight for the land.  
They took away Texas, and began to expand.  
Still punk rednecks say: remember the Alamo.  
They don't want to know who I am,
but let them know I'm the M.E.X.I.C.A.N.
So hit the ground and prepare for sprayin' [automatic weapons fire]."

"The only immigrant is the Atlantic Ocean wetback.  
Step back.  We say in Aztlan, there ae no fronteros, no borders . . . "

"By the year 2,000 Jack, we're gonna see who is the real wetback."

"In two-triple-O, we take it back."

"Brewed in Aztlan by home-boys who know how to make a dead gringo."

"So get blasted like a Smith & Wesson.  Learn a lesson.  Share the
oppression."

" . . . I wanna take a nine [9 mm pistol] and make their brain hang
out."



                                            Jim Floyd
                                            185 Co. Rd. 254
                                            Cullman, Al. 35057 



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