Daily Archives: September 2, 2013

John F. Kennedy and Barbie go to Boston – 1962 – The rest of the story

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

I promised the other day that I’d relate one more precious memory of John and Jackie Kennedy’s Boston adventure. 

A better way – Getting new royalty when the President croaks

So here it is.

All those men lined up along Boylston Street, including Julio, Tonyand I were still mesmerized by the thoughts of whether Jackie Kennedy would be an inspired bed partner.  The street between the police cordons was vacant for a moment, when suddenly the sound of a bell clanging brought our attention back.

Hell bent down empty Boylston came a vehicle pulling an open trailer.  A guy was on the back of the trailer ringing a huge bell mounted there, big bell.  Church bell sized, rather than locomotive sized.  On the side of the trailer was a huge sign, “KRUSHCHEV SAYS, ‘WE WILL BURY YOU!”

They zipped past us, hung a hard left around Boston Plaza, and swung in behind the emptying motorcade in front of the Plaza Hotel.  Still ringing that damned bell.  [Likely the granddaddy of the patriots of today, I’m thinking by hindsight.]

Friends and readers, this whole thing was not in keeping with the high standards Boston wanted in their welcoming Ken and Barbie to town.  Every cop on Boylston forgot about that yellow tape and ran across Boston Plaza, pulling their billy clubs out as they ran.  Wasn’t any time at all before that trailer was surrounded by Boston’s finest and all an observer could see was the backs of cops and a forest of billy clubs rising and falling.

They weren’t aiming for that bell, either.  Didn’t hear it clang one single time after the first club rose and fell.

But you’ve got to admit the guy had imagination and class.  A freaking liberty bell!  You surely don’t see that anymore.  All these teapartying occupiers just go around telling one another inane BS about what they think about guns and abortion and Wall Street.

If that guy with the liberty bell lived through the next five minutes after the cops got him, he might be still alive.  He could teach these modern jerks a thing or two about how to deliver messages to the Kens and Barbies.

Having some Secret Service or Homeland Security thug put a rifle bullet through your face before the cops arrived with mace and 20,000 volt non-lethal zappers to finish you off ought not deter anyone from a little display of class and imagination.

Old Jules

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Hey! How about them Rooskies?

Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.

This guy in the White House is evidently really really really determined to do a humanitarian air strike against the next-door-neighbor to Israel.  He wants to do it so badly he’s even planning to ASK THE US CONGRESS to approve him doing it.  How’s that for adding a new side of presidential behavior?

But now this Rambo/Charles Atlas/Arnold Schwartzneigger guy running Russia’s saying he has an itchy trigger finger, too.  Says he ain’t going to put up with any one-upsmanship from the US guy in the White House when it comes to bombing the bejesus out of unlikely places.

So the burning question is this:

Can we still kill more Russians than they can kill of us? 

Now that they’re just a pissant rat hole more in Asia than Europe run by gangs of thugs that aren’t even all from the same families the way they are in the US, I’m betting they can’t nuke more than thirty, forty US cities.  And I’m betting too, that we can destroy several hundred Rooskie cities if it comes to it. 

Our Popeye is one hell of a lot tougher than their Bluto nowadays.

If those damned Rooskies don’t want us humanitarian bombing the bejesus out of Israel’s next-door-neighbors, maybe it’s time to cut them down a few notches, saturate them with some H-bombs for their trouble.

We can afford to lose a few dozen cities to protect our right to humanitarian bomb backwoods places like Syria.  Israeli lobbyists will work three shifts telling these straight facts to the US Congress next week.

I’m betting that, too.  But I won’t get any takers.  Nobody bets against a sure thing.

Old Jules