Chronicles of the Knights Simplar
Looking for Logic on the Liberal Left...this may take awhile

You Can't Stop Running Water

Monday, August 22, 2005
Peanut and I are off to the dusty prairie of Crawford, Texas for our next quest. There seems to be some hullaballoo going on down there about one protest or another, but I'm off to see the splendid and wonderful Joan Baez. With some 50 albums and over 23 songs to her credit, Joan is a one woman power house of acoustic soprano folk music. Praise be to our good Lord in Heaven!

Alas, I arrived too late, having just missed her performance by days (Peanut is not as young as he used to be). But I did manage to catch up to Joan and have a few words.

"Harketh to thee m'goode ladye Joan! I bringeth goode tidingse to thee and thine. My fierce destrier and I have travellede w'out delaye nee ony taryenge fore manye a mile, with grete swete and no respyte so thate we maye give goode wytness to thoust mynstrall showe, but alas we are too late (sic). I praye thee, and offer thee mine skyne of wyne to slayke thine thyrste ('tis verye berrye flavoure), so that we coulde begeth yon to syng a sweete, sweete songe of joye or woe?"

"Why the hell are you talking like that?", she said, moving away from me cautiously. "Er, sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes," I replied, as I dismounted.

"Anyway, the show's over, and I have to get going, besides, my guitar is already packed up" she replied, "but I'm sorry for your troubles."

"Thank you. You could strum my lute...I'd be tickled," I said, holding out the instrument, "Perhaps just one song? How about 'If I had a hammer?" "That was Trini Lopez-I'm Joan Baez" said Joan Baez.

"If I had a hammer, I'd smite some evil-doers right in the kisser, that's for sure," I proclaimed fiercely, punching my mailed fist into my mailed palm.

"Maybe you should go across the road then, there are plenty of evil-doers over there, well maybe not evil, but certainly misguided," she said pointing to a few people standing in a ditch across the way, in what I suspected was an effort to get me away from her. "Whatever do you mean ?" I replied as I assessed the possible field of battle (or ditch of battle as it were) "they look like pretty good people to me."

"THEY are the pro-war group, WE are here to protest the war", she said, her voice tensing. At this, Peanut bucked and whinnied not a little, kicking up dust. "Good lady, please be careful what thou sayeth in front of my charger, Peanut, for he is a warhorse, and not a young one at that," I cautioned, as I patted Peanut's neck, calming him down, "if not for war, then what will he do? He can't exactly get an office job, for he has no curriculum vitae or opposable digits".

"Sorry," she said "but like I told the AP, it was the final tear..."

"Tear...is someone crying ?", I queried "Do they need a Kleenex?" "No, it's a metaphor...an idiom" she sighed. "Well, there's no reason for name calling, but I think I have one here somewhere," I mumbled as I searched through my saddle bags, "let me see, long sword, morning star, flail, Peanut's dress shoes, mace, pepper spray...you can't be too careful these days you know...ah, here it is, one fresh robin's egg coloured Kleenex."

"No," she said in exasperation, pushing the kleenex away, "I was saying it was the final tear for the overflow and you can't stop running water...". "Running Water..." I said in alarm, scanning the horizon, "are there Indian savages on the prowl ? I mean, peaceful Native American casino owners?"

"No, I meant..." she tried.

"My Indian name is 'Runs with Scissors" I interjected proudly, puffing out my chest, "It used to be 'Throws like a Girl', but I got better."

"I'm talking about actual water, running water..."she spurted.

"Did you try jiggling the handle," I offered helpfully, "or a bucket! Peanut, did we bring the bucket? Let's see here, longsword, morning star, flail..."

"No, you idiot" she yelled before catching herself, "war is bad, can you understand that much?" At that she stomped off in a huff into the dusty haze of the Texas dusk towards her chariot, as I stared after her blankly, my gaze clouded by a tear. It seems she might be right after all, I thought, perhaps you can't stop running water. Wherever did I place thine Kleenex?

"Come, my trusty Peanut," I said as I put my foot in the stirrup, "let's go home, for there will be no sweet song for us here today." Obviously, I thought as we road away, Lady Joan has suffered from the heat, not having the benefit of 80 pounds of insulating plate mail-She could not have meant those bad things she said. "If I had a hammer..."

Note from the editor-
Please forgive the good Sir Tad Babbert in his follies, for he often gets caught up in the moment. We offer our deepest condolences to Ms. Sheehan for her loss, but we believe that her son's noble sacrifice saved hundreds and possibly thousands of American lives, by taking the fight to the enemy. Furthermore, Casey Sheehan re-upped in the Army for a second tour, being fully aware of the inherent dangers and risks, and he did so as an adult, of his own free accord. By all evidence, he was a patriot and a warrior, and should be honored as such.

"It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived"-George S. Patton, Jr.

For more opinions check out these links-
Chrenkoff-an excellent piece from down under
Fallen Heroes of Operation Iraqi Freedom-A site honoring Spc. Casey Sheehan
Sheehan doesn't have the corner on moral authority-By Kathleen Parker
8/22/2005 09:33:00 PM |
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