Dear Dr. Bones,
As you see, sir, what we have here is a two-stage drift away from the precious neotopic originally announced by Bob, Cardinal Spencer: [*]
(1) Wally Wombschool would rather talk about "our immigration policy," which is at least marginally relevant, for nobooby can doubt with a straight face that His Eminence is all agog to keep as many of THEM out of the holy Homeland™ as is humanly (or, indeed, præternaturally) possible. Even if H. E. did not actually mention that particular angle in this mornin’s homily.
(2) Then along comes Cindy from Wasilla and picks up her mate’s ‘airport’ figure, drops everythin’ else, and jets off with it to some holiday destination known only to herself. (I assume that if the fair freedame had a prepared speech on Transport Reform beside her on the potatoe couch, she would have launched whight into it.)
At this point, with poor Cardinal Bob out of sight back around the bend, Paddy and Eye are tempted to see how far we ourselves could turn the dial from Transport Reform in twenty-five words or fewer. "The flowers that bloom in the spring," though a bit overworked, would do nicely, ¿no es verdad?.
¡"But that would be [’]rong"!
By way of whighteousness, then, let us take Mizz Cindy’s pretzel and untwist it. Think, Dr. Bones, of our holy Homeland™ in freeladylike rhetorical terms as an Airship of State
with only limited seating. Now, ¿Hath the Neotestament not advised us, Ev. Matt. XXII:14, that multi ... sunt vocati pauci vero electi? It seems to Paddy and Eye that if one turn that into the Yank vernacular as "Many are flown, but few are seated," well, ¡hey presto!, we are pretty well back with His Eminence where we ought to be.
Indeed, there is hardly a note that whightists harp on to which the question "¿But who is to have the seats?" is not preëminently pertinent.
To view the same circus from the whighteous side of the aisle, we fiends of Lieberalism and Demonocracy never tire of proposing "wicked and improper projects" of Seat Redistribution. ’Tis a long, and a very slippery, slope that runs down from being gentlemanly to little old ladies on the MBTA to the unspeakable obhominations of Affirmative Action, but we put it to you, sir, that ’tis all one and the same declivity.
Now over on the far side of Mount Seatshare, where Cardinal Bob prefers to lay down his snowjobs an’ ski, the great thing is, naturally, to make sure that all the vile Muzzies have to stand, even when there is nobody else on board but the flight crew. And not just Muzzies, in all probability, but all Natives of any sorts, everybooby "unsavory and hateful," if Eye may boldly coin a neophrase.
Seats are, or rather, damnwell oughtabe, strictly reserved for Inheritors. For decent volks, that is, goodvolks who not only look whight primâ facie but are most extremely unlikely, as Social Scientism has profiled time an’ time again, to have an infernal machine concealed somewhere in their nethergarments.
===
Since the Muses and you and Paddy and Eye have already written a good deal about Cardinal Bob, much-esteemed, mnogouvazhàyemniy, Archpontiff of Jehádestán in partibus, though none of it very recently, we will conclude quickly with one brief observation about His Eminence’s here performance considered sub specie agitationis propagandæque.
Paddy and Eye agree that H. E. should have leaned a lot heavier of the Global Tourrorism or Muzzie Menace pedal than H. E. does. As the archpontifical scribble actually stands, selfservative kiddies are evidently expected to take a disinterested interest in the happiness of Judæostatism, whereas ’tis a feat far beyond their well-wombschooled capacity to assume such an attitude about anythin’ at all. To get Master Wally an’ Mizz Cindy up off the potatoe couches an’ out in the streets stickin’ pitchforks into Muzzies requires (we think) more than abstract "unsavory and hateful," it requires that the kiddiecons be terrorized about their own personal hides. Or about their 401(k)'s might do.
Cardinal Bob certainly knows how to brandish that shtyk, so it is possible, that for some reason H. E. prefers not to do so in his first encyclical deliverance to Pajama Junction NJ.
Savin’ the best whightstuff for latter, I guess.
Happy days.
--JHM
___
[*] His Eminence bein’ a notable acquisition by the stables of the YaleoDra™a-famed Squire of Simon Pajama, somebooby at PJM is to be congratulated, though Paddy and Eye are not sure who that would be. In any case, it certainly is not every day that one wakes up to the dulcet barks of a pajamaclad that one has independently heard of.
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