Fri Jul, 03 2009
"Maybe A Few Fireworks."
"'Look,' one of the goons explained to him, 'you know we’re the nicest crime family around. I mean, honestly, would you rather pay tribute to one of those other families? You might think we’re bad, but you ever hear of the Bonanos? Those fuckers would take six hundred a week. No joke. And the Lucheses? The Lucheses would be all over that cute little daughter of yours. Up the ass every night. She don’t like it up there? Don’t matter. The Lucheses get what the Lucheses want.' The goon took a step closer, the smell of sausage pizza emanating from his breath. 'When you get down to it, Saul, you’re living under the best crime family in the city. So show a little gratitude. Make things look nice. Maybe put up a picture or two of Mr. Gambino. Maybe a few fireworks.'Don Emmerich dons gay apparel in the spirit of the season. Not.
Fireworks, he thought—I’ll give you bastards fireworks! But, of course, he was all talk. Because, when you got down to it, there was nothing he could do."
I only wonder what sort of grease will come slithering out of Obama's face tomorrow. He's gotta crank up some kind of rubbish for the annual show. I'm interested only to the extent of noting advances in euphemasia: the murder of truth by dissociation of the language from reality. Naturally, this has been going on for decades in the matter of Independence Day, so the grease is traditional by now, but I look forward to considerable evolution of the mendacity.




