May Day is approaching with the inexorability of a black hole eating our planet, with many of the same physical effects being predicted, when the alien invaders auger their way into our fragile fabric to rend it asunder.
With all that in mind, Friday was a hard day of errands in my small town on the tattered edges of the big nowhere.
Everybody was talking about the great day of reckoning expected on Monday, from si to shining si as one wag put it so grandiloquently, and most decent folk were taking absolutely no chances in their preparations.
as I pulled into the feed store I noticed that the spaces were just about all filled up. and as soon as I walked in I got an earful from Bud, the harried owner.
"Folks are loading up on cat and dog food, getting ready for Monday's madness," he told me, waving his arm at the people clogging the aisles. "You never know how long these illegals could interfere with interstate commerce. 'Course nobody, let alone Congress, will interfere with them," he smiled.
Certainly not, Bud, not in today's political landscape, they're too valuable a commodity to tinker with.
When I stopped at the control booth at the dump, the elderly comedian who resides there hurriedly queried me about my arrangements for Monday and asked if I was doing anything special.
"Not so far," I added.
But he went on about how you could never tell and how many illegal immigrants were already loose out here and how the governor was doing nothing about it and that he was threatening to veto the bill calling for folks to produce identification in order to vote and that he was Democrat like all the rest and on and on.
"Hey," I asked, "where's your usual sense of humor?"
"It left with the rule of law," he replied as I drove off to deposit my old shingles, household trash, cans and bottles in the proper areas.
Whoa, maybe he's on to something.
Leaving the dump I passed the gun shop and noticed a large crowd of cars in the lot as I slid across the gravel in the Jeep to test the waters and gather more neighborhood intelligence.
"Yo, what's cooking?" I queried, and found a good sized crowd, primarily purchasing ammunition, while a few well dressed folks, your basic upscale townies and transplanted big city folk, examining hand guns.
The owner, who had once charged me far too much to change stocks on my shotgun, and had received more than an earful in return, explained that folks were just, "buying insurance," when it came to Monday's forthcoming events.
"You can never be too safe when the hooligans are on the rampage, immigrants or not, even with the Mexican government coming to La to lay down the law," he explained.
The crowd at the market was another affair altogether. a large group of zealous shoppers had heedlessly occupied the establishment well over the limits of the fire code and were busily stripping the shelves of milk, water, bread, peanut butter and jam - the usual storm staples, always swept up before the arrival of every nor'easter.
"Do you have enough water?" the cashier asked me.
"Oh, yes, I have a brook behind the house, if things get really bad," I answered.
"You're so lucky," she concluded, "the water will be the first thing to go."
as I passed through town again, on the way home, I passed one of the town cops at a fender bender.
"You guys all set for Monday," I hollered as I inched by.
"Monday," he spluttered, "We'll be lucky if we can get folk home today, Sa'dy and Sunday, the way things are goin'. We've had two accidents already. People are just going crazy, what with the nice weather, the baseball game at the school and this May Day business."
ah, this May Day business. and we're way up here in God's country.
I wonder how the other half, the people in Los angeles and Houston, are doing, as they get ready for the real onslaught - the day of judgment said to bring the entire nation to the brink, destroy the economy, bring Congress to its knees, prove Ted Kennedy right, demonstrate that Hillary's version of the Scriptures was a spark of the divine, that John McCain is a genius, illustrate ever more clearly that each illegal immigrant is a beautiful person worthy of instant citizenship and that america will be a happier place with untold millions of brand new voters in our volatile mix.
Forty years ago I'd be shocked to think that there'd be this much heated folderol exhibited by so many brilliant solons over plain lawlessness and why didn't we just arrest them all.
But a guy can be way out of touch. Even in small town New Hampshire.
Let's see, what else do I need to survive May Day's coming cataclysm?
I'd better call my wife.
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