The Fable of Greebey Vather, Time Traveler Extraordinaire from Jesus' General
by nezua limón xolagrafik-jonez [I see a screenplay blooming. Dealing with a favorite theme: time travel. You now think you'll steal this zeitgeisty gem from me, but you cannot because in the future, I have already finished it, and am mailing it to myself yesterday in a walnut sealed in Presidential earwax and pressurized to resist even election-year terror alerts.] OUR TALE BEGINS with a man who desperately seeks an answer to his deepest, heart-sprung questions, headed up by the quintessential and Googlicious How Do I Get Rid of the Mexicans <http://www.theunapologeticmexican.org/elgrito/2006/12/ask_nez_1_how_do_i_get_rid_of_the_mexicans.html>? You see, our protagonist feels his very nation is under dire attack by the filthy mongrel hordes from the South, those who bark that most Arrogant and Sickening <http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-thompson23dec23,1,6505648.story?coll=la-headlines-nation&ctrack=2&cset=true> of Languages—Español, those who dare to settle into his beautiful nation, hellbent on storming the kitchens and fields and meatpacking plants and canning plants and steel factories <http://www.reuters.com/article/domesticNews/idUSN2946397520071230> ...or to otherwise seek to implement that most foul of Mexican behaviors: the trading of work for pay. Let's call our protagonist "Greebey." Let's call him "Greebey Vather." Let's pronounce that "Vay-thur." Let's make his middle initial "N" and then let's give him two rags in his back pockets, one on each side. One is the confederate flag, which he never uses to blow his nose. The other is the one he uses to blow his nose. But he always carries both. No, make that confederate flag a stars N stripes. but with the circle of stars, not the rows. No, make it a Budweiser eagle bandanna, yeah, bleached from too many days in the sunlight falling upon his cracked dashboard, where it usually rests. Render Vather's bandanna Made in China. We don't need a label. Wait, make it a bleached-out watermark on the bandanna. Only Vather never looks close enough to see it. Okay, so Greebey N. Vather, being an amateur culture-healer, has diagnosed the trouble with his nation. It's not greed, it's not war, it's not ignoring the sick and the weak and the poor, no, it's nothing like that. In fact, Vather has a name for it, and he calls it "Immigration-Stress Syndrome." <http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/opinion/editorials/stories/DN-parkland_30edi.ART.State.Edition1.36f219b.html> To tell you the truth, Vather is pretty proud of himself. After all, he comes up with the name after simmering on the couch in a chunky stew of flatus barely penetrable by the hyper-acidic rays of TV punditry and a well-aimed onslaught of advertisements that urge him endlessly to Please Check With His Physician if he suspects he is coming down with "Thoughty Head Syndrome." (Which he scoffs at, of course.) In Full: http://patriotboy.blogspot.com/2007/12/fable-of-greebey-vather-time-traveler.html
