Chris Christie—let’s face it—weighs in at about 400 meaty beaty big & bouncy pounds.
We know from Einstein that mass—and 400 pounds is a lotta mass—can fuck, sometimes seriously, with both space and time.
And so we know that when the fat man screamed till his lips bled that all New Jersey/New York roads must be closed that might in any way be connected with any Traitor that did not support his meaty beaty big & bouncyness swallowing whole gargantuan a second gubernatorial term, he ripped with his massive mass a massive hole in space/time.
He in this way became Responsible for much of what now recently Puzzles people.
As they scratch their heads in befuddlement, the people . . . well, the fat man, he but splashes, frustrated, impotent, in the tub . . . .
Let’s take a for instance, of what the fat man has wrought.
Malaysia Flight 370. Where do it be gone?
It went clean out of this universe. Sucked through a ripple opened via the space/time rupture of the fat man.
It may still be flying on. That plane. Out there, in some other universe somewhere.
Or, as I earlier suggested: in my universe, it landed, gently, just across the street.
Then there is Ukraine.
The fat man’s bodaciously lardalicious buttocks struck the earth of that nation, and thundered it into pieces.
Already the people of Crimea have retrieved and clung to a wild hair, and remembered that from 1917-1954 the Crimea was part of Russia: until Nikita Khrushchev—himself Ukrainian—gifted the place to Ukraine. A little present for the homeboys. Now, thanks to the fat man’s buttquake, the Crimeans have joyfully returned to the Russian bosom.
Next, Ukraine itself may soon, at last, naturally, split into its two organic halves—one facing east, one facing west.
Ukraine: the land itself has been populated by humans for 44,000 years. But not until 1990 did it become an independent country. With borders, like the borders of so many nations on this planet, completely wrong and ridiculous and out of whack. Created by drunk and deluded and disturbed individuals drawing lines on maps that had nothing to do with the Realities of the people “on the ground.”
Western Ukraine has for centuries crawled across cut glass to be of the people of the Pope.
Eastern Ukraine has for the same centuries crossed its bosom to kiss the beard of the Patriarch.
It is a stitched-together country; it is doomed; it is Fail.
And this is sad. Because, once upon a time, Ukraine offered some of the richest agricultural soil in the world. Until: Chernobyl: the nuke rain did fall. And because, once upon a time, Ukraine offered some of the most beautiful free and feisty women in the world. Until grinding poverty sucked so many of the nation’s x-chromes into the international forced sex trade.
But what the hey. Probably it’s good that the fat man fucked with his lard-butt all of space/time, and thereby broke loose Ukraine.
Had to happen some time.
And with this piece we re-learn that is easy to explain, in one neat little package, all and recent every, when once one has drifted loose, from the moorings of “sanity.”
As St. Jerome did say:
once in a while you can get shown the light
in the strangest of places
if you look at it right
the more that you give
the more it will take
to the thin line beyond which
you really can’t fake
As for the fat man. He himself has always said he’s always just wanted to be Bruce Springsteen. That, then, is what he should have done. Never ever ventured into such a false and fatal poisonous swamp as “politics.” Kept, instead, always, his eyes on the prize.
she’s the one . . . .