From Uranus They Come
To wit: Last Sunday, I took an early afternoon
ride on the No. 30 downtown to the Grandly Store-Closed mall where I planned to
kick the tires on a factory-new pair of midnight-black all-cotton Gold Toe
men’s socks over by the Boston Store.
Not two moments after I boarded Milwaukee County
Transit System’s finest did some piece-of-guy—baseball-capped, granny-glassed,
aging baby boomer, wild-ass beard/hair, you know, sporting the look so de
rigueur with the House of Correction/part-time aluminum-can recycler
set—turn to me from across the aisle one row up and announce, “I seen your
picture in the paper. What about the militia? We got militia in Milwaukee. Nazis. They’re
Time passed, too briefly, and then: “The militia,
here. We got Nazis in Milwaukee.
Huh?” I thanked him for the tip, assuming it was a word to the wise rather than
a proclamation of joy. Quiet ensued, and a few blocks later he got up and I
heard him ask the driver to drop him off at the Federal building there just
past Third and Wisconsin.
God bless America.
Then later that day in the night was a TV show on the
Discovery Channel where the eminent rocket-scientist Stephen Hawking—a
brainiac bon vivant whose résumé includes every goddamn thing with the
exception of a guest spot on “Dancing With the Stars”—declared that intelligent
life from other cosmos could be, well, dangerous.
He said visitors to our fair planet from outer space
could be “nomads, looking to conquer and colonize.” Yeah, focking swell. And I
agree—not just “conquer and colonize,” but how ’bout these technologically
advanced aliens might hail from a resource-depleted corner of a solar system
and so they got to be looking for new nutrient food sources.
Could we, the Sapien race of human beings, become the
chickens who be sliced, diced, chopped, seasoned and fried to be served on a
fast-food sandwich to 12-foot aliens who sport bald large-cranium brains the
size of elite university-library globes of the planet Earth?
You betcha, we can. And all I can say is it’s time to
be no longer simply Native Americans, Native Mexicans, Africans,
Euro-focking-peans, Islam-fock-you, native blah-lah and blah-blah. Time to be
Native Earthlings ’cause those alien extraterrestrials from the planet You Are
Focked Up the Ass, Earthling Losers are due any day now and the first thing
they want to do is reach up and tear our livers right clean out of our
assholes, besides screw our white women three-ways sideways ’til Sunday. Our
history as a planet ought to Amen that notion, ain’a?
What a world, what a universe, ain’a? Reminds me of a
A film crew was on location deep in the
desert. One day an old Native American what-they-used-to-call Indian went up to
the director and said, "Tomorrow, rain." The next day it rained. A
week later, the Indian went up to the director and said, "Tomorrow,
storm." The next day there was a hailstorm.
"This Indian is incredible,"
said the director. He told his secretary to hire the Indian to predict the
weather. But then, after several successful predictions, the wise Native
American was not seen for weeks. Finally, the director sent for him, and when he
appeared, the director said, "I have to shoot a big scene tomorrow, and I
need your native expertise. What will the weather be like?" The Indian
shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know," he said. "Radio
And there we go. Please remain at ease. There’s nothing us Homo sapiens can’t do, or can’t kill, these days, aliens be damned. The wonder of it all, ain’a? ’Cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.