Showing posts with label UFOs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label UFOs. Show all posts

Tuesday

Peter Kent: Lost in the Ozone

Here I was, duct tape wadded round my snout to bung yet another frothy yowl on the political class. Although. Truthfully, dignifyin' 'em with the epithet "class" twists the facts awful hard. Screw it. Twisting fact has become their standard operating procedure.

Ergo I rant. Bear with me.

Back in Alberta, even now, remain fans of a last-century band of psychedelic rockabilly space cowboys called Commander Cody And His Lost Planet Airmen.

They're an acquired taste. And perhaps better known for other songs. But us coyotes wish to dedicate Lost in the Ozone Again to alleged federal environment minister Peter Kent.

Who didn't seem to be an idiot back when he read the news on TV. Shows what half-assed-decent research and scripting departments can do for a guy... and, whoopsy, there's my tradmark digression. Blink and ya miss it.

As a news person, Kent was about getting facts right. Now that he's federal environment minister, and so a front-row sock-puppet for the Stephen Harper Information Torquing machine, not so much.

Pete is lately pinned in the high beams of an expert advisor's memo that, ummm, pretty much negates his excuse for axing half of Environment Canada's critical ozone monitoring system. He says both parts are the same, so he'll cut one. Since Kent has so far not proven that he even knows what the hell ozone* is, this does not comfort. Especially since the actual, ummm, expert, is adamant there's no duplication: both form halves of a coherent whole.

Coherent? Can't have that! Whenever Harper Government spin faceplants against reality, the first instinct is to kill it, and the messenger, to remove any threat to his beeyootiful conservative ideomythology. It's Statistics Canada and the long form census all over again. Harperites don't seem to care how bush-league lame they look while they put the boots into reality. And citizens. And really, the whole planet.
* For the science-illiterate among our federal ministers, ozone is a type of oxygen molecule in the high atmosphere, that reflects a whole lot of the ultraviolet rays in raw sunlight. Which prevents people and other living things from suffering multiple horrible cancers whilst frying and dying from solar radiation. At least on my planet...

Thursday

Peter MacKay...



...Never a man to back away from a Challenger...

Wednesday

Bring on the holy tacos

Yeah, yeah. I know Michael Jackson posts are already about passé. But I've been busy. And even at 3,500 feet, where the air is rare, the horizon blessedly wide, nightly howl-ups with my coyote brethren loud and yappy, and the Internet is dial-up and crappy, the King of Pop's sad death did not escape my notice.

Neither I'm sure, will the ensuing tawdry burlesque. It is, after all, one of the Independent Observer's favourite states for a reason.

Jackson's life was pure tabloid: a slow-motion circus train wreck. How would his dying change things? Especially with Joe Jackson, the ever-classy Rev. Al Sharpton, a cawing murder of publicity-hungry lawyers, the odd cellphone-camera totin' ambulance attendant, carpet-bombing Fox News 'reporters' and hordes of opportunistic alleged insiders, all gyrating out of the worm-riddled woodwork.

I'm not cynical or anything. Ummm, okay, maybe a little... I digress. But I figure we have only nanoseconds - maybe less - before the end game.

Which, if I read the signs aright, will be sightings of Jackson and Elvis, still alive. Eternally cruising the American heartland together in a white '68 Cadillac, leaving humongous tips with awestruck night shift attendants in isolated Seven Eleven gas stops. Who will sell their amazing stories to tabloid TV.

After that, it's a short inevitable hop to tales of corn tortillas adorned with the King of Pop's likeness. Blessed with miraculous powers. Oh, and steep admissions for supplicants that wish to bathe in their curative aura. Later to be hawked on eBay for thousands of bucks, and displayed in a highly legitimate casino museum on Sunset Strip.

Which reminds me. My breakfast Fritos this morning? I chanced upon this amazing silhouette of Michael Jackson on one of the chips. Hallelujah! I'm pretty sure it cured me. Of cynicism. Oh, yes. It's a freakin' - and I use that term advisedly - miracle! Bidders...?

Tuesday

Change we really could believe in


Took a Tuesday evening stroll to Parliament Hill to see how preparations for arrival of the world's Political Elvis are shaping up. I snapped a few photos and was later amazed to discover the tiny speck hovering next to the Peace Tower was a strange-shaped craft!

Yes, Ottawa is being buzzed by UFOs... well, at least one flying saucer, on the eve of Barack Obama's visit. What can it mean? Are the aliens curious about this charismatic new leader, getting ready to follow Obama's every move during his first international whistlestop?

Or are they taking pity on Canadians, deciding to spare us grave embarrassment during Obama's stay by pre-emptively whisking our less-than-interstellar political leaders back to their home planets?



















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