Sunday, February 10, 2008
so i'm walking around my neighborhood (kalorama) the other night with a friend when i stop to point out the french ambassador's house. i'm bothered by the loud hum of the gas guzzling engines of not one, not two, but three chevy suburbans idling on the street. and it's not like they are waiting to pick someone up, these guys have been there for hours, days maybe. the dashboards are littered with empty potato chip bags and big gulps and greasy hamburger wrappers. engines, running. it was cold so there was a nize carbon monoxide haze coming out of the mufflers. i say, a little too loud "good thing our boys are in iraq fighting for oil, eh?" a few feet away, a guy comes out of his house, taking his trash to his garage, gives me a pretty dirty look. oh crap, that's donald rumsfeld! i try to hide behind a bush, he continues his business. he leaves his front door open. rummy has some FUGLY carpet in his stairs. this nasty green wallpaper in the kitchen. you'd think he would have better taste. then i think back to his legacy, eh, obviously not.