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World Events and Weak Stomachs

The day had been far too hot anyway. I think I overheard CNN declare that this had been the hottest day in the history of everything everywhere. Our twin girls had stuck to each other all day like moist Zest soap bars. They thought I was playing another cruel joke on them, though they couldn't tell me because they don't speak any human language. I also knew that something was amiss when the local electricity monopoly actually called us to find out how we were doing.

My stomach was already queasy when I sat down to worry about world events. Then it began. I read that the Soviet paper Izvestia reported that "an unknown person, going behind the barrier, threw two fire bombs at the parapet of the Lenin Mausoleum." Not to worry, the flames were quickly extinguished an the rebel was taken in by guards of the Department of Safe-Guarding Public Order on Red Square -- these guards are apparently something like our Forest Rangers with nice uniforms.

My head started spinning as I worried about how such an incident might lead to a change in the Soviet Constitution. These worries grew when I read that the perpetrator "explained the reasons for his act to the police as follows: `My action speaks for itself.'"

"Shut up," explained V. Kirsanov, the interrogator.

I had to read something else. I learned that Taiwanese officials were seriously determined to make their future capital Peking (not Beijing to them). They even have Chiang Kai-Shek's body ready and waiting to be transported back to the mainland. Such a crazy long-shot is hard to believe. I would find it easier to believe, say, that Mandela would some day be hailed as a democrat or that Bush would endorse a tax hike.

My stomach couldn't take much more. Then my copy of New Realities arrived and I popped a button when I read Milton Friedman reflecting on the works of Krishnamurti. Friedman reports that his hero, the well-known Krish, for short, was sixteen when the New Age Theosophical Society proclaimed him to be the reincarnation of both Christ and Buddha. Those wild teenagers; what will they think of next?

I finally picked myself off the floor when I discovered that the author was just some crazy with Milton Friedman's name. The real Friedman doesn't even like to say words with "murti" in them.

I had just about had enough of world events, when I glanced over and read that Malaysia had hanged seven men and women for trafficking 28lbs. of heroin, "enough to spoil the lives of a lot people," according to the report. Finally some sanity in the world. At last a country that isn't hounded by such things as the tyranny of Biblical political constraints.

I unstuck my twins again and tried to sleep.

DMJ


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