Friday, August 25, 2006

Iraq Plus Katrina Equals No Legs And A Trailer In The Mud

Harold Horn had lost his legs. It was a roadside bomb south of Mosul in Iraq, and his legs were immediately blasted into a million bits of bone and blood and muscle. The mess made it appear to Harold’s fellow Marines that Harold was surely dead. But Harold raised his head and waved his arm asking for help before slipping into a coma. That was back in July of 2005. Harold’s family in New Orleans went to Walter Reed Hospital to stand vigil while the doctors patched Harold together in 32 separate operations to keep Harold alive. The doctors told Harriet, Harold’s mother, that Harold’s coma was a good thing because it permitted the doctors to operate and operate and operate more. Losing two legs, particularly Harold’s two big football legs, is not an easy thing to deal with, medically, that is. But the hard work paid off. On Christmas Eve, 2005, Harold awoke from his coma to discover himself in a hospital room with three other Marines. Each marine had lost some appendage, an arm, a leg, one had lost his lower jaw. Harold had lost two appendages, two legs. But he felt lucky. Harold thought the guy without his lower jaw was in really bad shape.

In the first week of August 2006, Harold left Walter Reed Hospital and flew by commercial jet with Harriet, his mother, back to New Orleans where Harriet was staying in a trailer with her husband, Jim. Harold learned for the first time that his home, the house he grew up in, was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, and that his mother and father had been living in a trailer for almost a year.

Harold was wheeled up to the trailer by Harriet. Harold’s father, Jim, was off trying to get some paid work down at one of the suburban retail stores.

“Mom, stop,” said Harold. Harriet stopped pushing the wheelchair.

“What is it, dear,” said Harriet.

“I just want to look at my new home,” said Harold.

“Oh, this is not your new home. We’re not staying here,” said Harriet.

“How am I going to get into the trailer? Those steps,” asked Harold.

“Oh, jeez. I didn’t think of that. I will go get George. He’s a big man who helps out. Stay here, Harold,” said Harriet as she shuffled off over the dirt to a distant trailer leaving Harold alone in his wheelchair on a dirt patch.

Harold noticed that the dirt was wet and that the wheels of his chair were sinking into the mud. He looked back up at the trailer, his new home. Harold Horn gave his two legs for a righteous cause, he thought. And God took away his parents home and gave them a trailer in the mud. Harold tried not to get angry. His father once told him to always act better than you feel. Harold felt angry, so he tried real hard to not let it reach the surface. He tried hard to look at the whole awful mess and turn it into a beautiful thing. A trailer in the mud. That can be beautiful, Harold thought.

George Bush Examines New Orleans As He Hears About The Cost Of The Iraq War

President George Bush sat at a window seat of Air Force One as it flew over New Orleans. Next to him was Bill, one of the Assistant to the Joint Chief of Staff holding a stack of papers.

“The figure is now 289 billion, sir,” said Bill.

“The city doesn’t look that bad,” said Bush as he was glancing down at the city below.

“Yes, sir. Anyway, the way things are going, I think the Iraq mission will pass the 300 billion mark by late September,” said Bill.

“300 billion. Sounds like a good number. You want to join me after we land? I’m going to have lunch, get some gumbo. A little local color,” said Bush.

“That’s kind of you, sir, but I have to report back to the Army Chief of Management and Budget. He is concerned that you are not fully aware that we have spent close to 300 billion on Iraq, sir,” said Bill.

“Yeah, well, tell him I know it. Money well spent. I hear they got some of the gambling casinos up and running down in New Orleans. These southerners are very resourceful. I knew they would be up and running, getting their feet wet in the economy. No pun intended, there, Bill,” said Bush.

“Yes, sir. My boss wants you to know, or wants to make certain you know that the 300 billion is actual cash money that has been spent, sir. That it is not just appropriated for future spending. That money is actually spent,” said Bill.

“Yeah, yeah. Those damn Iraqis just gobble up money, don’t they. But look down there, Bill. Those people in New Orleans have not spent all the money we appropriated. Those people are on their own doing what Americans do best. They are resourceful and don’t ask for help. I am proud of them. We hardly have spent a dime down there, and those people got their casinos running already. And the Astrodome is open, I think. Almost, anyways,” Said Bush.

“Yes, sir. That’s good, sir,” said Bill.

“Yeah, it sure is, Bill. It sure is. Sure you don’t want some gumbo? It will be on me,” asked Bush.
“No, sir. I really have to get back to the Pentagon. We are budgeting for the next six months,” said Bill.
“Okie dokie, there, Bill. You do your thing. And I will do mine. I will do mine. Have a big New Orleans meal, that is” said President George W. Bush.

Transcript Of Cell Phone Conversation Between Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie

The following is a transcript of a cell phone conversation between Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie recorded on Saturday evening on August 26, 2006. The conversation was recorded to a computer hard drive that was cabled to a ham radio calibrated for cell phone frequencies. The calibration is illegal, so the ham radio operator refused to provide the actual audio. But Parodical was able to listen, and we rendered the audio to a written transcript. The audio was short, and cut off at places, but we transcribed to the best of our ability. Here it is:

Nicole: It’s not right, Paris.

Paris: You are not well, Nicole.

Nicole: That is as much my show as yours.

Paris: I want to re-cast it. I am thinking about Tara Reid.

Nicole: Tara Reid. That fat bitch.

Paris: I don’t want to talk about it.

Nicole: Tara Reid. She is a drunk. A fucking pig. You want someone fat so you can look good.

Paris: I have to go. Besides, Tara is not that fat.

Nicole: She’s a drunk. She’s always drunk. She’s like always slurring her words. She is embarrassing.

Paris: It’s a problem. But it’s her problem. She won’t be drinking on the set.

Nicole: I heard Tara Reid walks around with rum in her diet coke bottles.

Paris: Look, can I go? I have to go.

Nicole: Really, Paris, please. Listen. Please listen to me. I can do the show. People want to see me.

Paris: There is not much left of you to see, Nikki.

Nicole: But Tara Reid. She’s a nobody. An empty-headed party girl.

Paris: Oh, and like you are some Ivy League graduate.

Nicole: I don’t pretend to be something I am not, Paris. Tara Reid thinks she is an actress, which is a big fat fucking joke.

Paris: OK, you’re getting nasty. I am going.

Nicole: No. No.

Paris: Bye.

The cell phone conversation ended there.

An Anorexic Nicole Ritchie Soils Her Bed and The Fire That Follows

Nicole Ritchie sat on the edge of the bed in her West Los Angeles condominium apartment overlooking Sunset Boulevard. She awoke because her bed was wet and she was curious. She raised herself and was surprised that her bed was soiled with a moist brown pool maybe a foot in diameter. She was alone, thank god, she thought, but Nicole was concerned because her panties were all wet and brown too. Nicole was not wearing any bra because, well, why should she; she had no breasts, glands which had long since disappeared because of Nicole’s strict diet.

The brown liquid made a trail down Nicole’s bony left leg which dangled off the side of her bed along with her right bony leg which, oddly, she did not feel. Nicole took her right hand and massaged the upper right thigh, if that is what you could call it, of her right leg to see if she could feel anything. She couldn’t. Nicole moved her right ankle and toes, as she did with her left side as well, and she was gratified that she still had control of her legs. Nicole was not worried about the lack of feeling. Nicole concluded that the sense of touch was a sign of muscle which added weight, which is something she did not want. So possibly getting rid of a sense of touch removed a quarter of a pound or so from her body. This was a good thing, Nicole thought to herself. Nicole wondered if thoughts had weight.

Nicole looked down at her belly. As Nicole got thinner and thinner, she noticed that her belly started to form a small ball outward. She had read somewhere on one of the anorexia websites that this was a gas ball and a normal phase anorexics go through before the ball goes away. Well, Nicole was certainly not an anorexic even though everyone kept telling her she had a problem. Jeez, she was just thin, and people reveal their jealous natures in all sorts of ways. Though she did like checking out anorexics on websites, seeing their photos and comparing herself to them. They looked just a little too thin for Nicole. Anyway, the gas ball belly bothered Nicole, and so she decided she was just not going to eat anything today. Maybe a Tums to get rid of the gas. She knew that one Tums had a few calories, which bothered her. But if it reduced the gas ball, it was worth it. Just one, though. Don’t want to go nuts.

Nicole smiled that she was still sitting in her own shit on the bed. The odor had permeated the room, but this did not trouble Nicole. She was happy to know that the brown crap, which she also noticed had blood in it, or something red, was out of her body, lightening her load still more. Sitting in her own shit was not uncomfortable because she had little or no feeling in her buttocks, which looked more like two bone blades protruding at the base of her spine.

Nicole wondered how many pounds her skeleton weighed. If she could know that, then just add a few pounds to that figure for the brain, some skin and she guessed a few organs, and that would be the ideal weight. How much did her brain weigh? Not too much, she hoped.

Nicole reached over to the pack of Marlboro Lights on the side of her bed and removed a cigarette. Before lighting the cigarette, she examined the box. There was no information about calories or any other nutritional information on the pack of Marlboros. Nicole wondered if cigarette smoke had weight or calories. She decided to take the risk, and she lit the cigarette and took a very deep intake of hot smoke into her lungs. Actually, it was not a deep intake. Nicole had lost the ability to take a deep breath. But the nicotine immediately hit her bloodstream and did something odd. It made Nicole very sleepy. Nicole fell back into the soiled bed and looked up at the ceiling. He eyes closed and she fell into a very very deep sleep, her hand holding the cigarette fell to her side, the burning end luckily facing upwards, hopefully avoiding a fire. This was not a normal sleep; more like an exhausted body attempting to conserve what little fuel remained. The brain has protein, so Nicole’s body started using some of that to keep the heart pumping. But it did not prevent Nicole from dreaming. Nicole dreamed of her cigarette starting a fire on her bed and buring her to a crisp. In her dream, Nicole Ritchie wondered what the weight of her charred remains would be.

Nicole Ritchie’s apartment door swing open and in ran two firemen. The smoke was coming from the bedroom, which the firemen ran into and found Nicole Ritchie lying on her back, unconscious, naked except for her soiled panties. The pillow to her right was in flames. The smoke was billowing out of the open window, which was lucky for Nicole since it was immediately spotted from the street below, a fire alarm pulled, and the men in uniform were there in five minutes. The fire had significantly destroyed the pillow and was starting to spread to the sheets, but had not touched Nicole’s body or outstretched right arm and hand which had been holding the burning cigarette.

The firemen name Joe picked up Nicole’s body with one arm and hauled her into the living room. He was astounded how light Nicole was. He merely used a hand to pick her up, as light as a dumbbell. Joe deposited Nicole on the couch while the other firemen, named Javier, dealt with putting the fire out. Joe took Nicole’s pulse and noticed she was breathing, but she was wheezing with each breath, a sign that she had taken in some smoke. Joe pulled out his small canister of oxygen and placed the mouthpiece over Nicole’s open mouth whose teeth were protruding from very drawn and sickly facial skin. Nicole immediately started to cough, her eyes opened and she was stunned to see the firemen and the object over her face. Nicole got scared and pushed the oxygen mask away.

“What this? Who are you?” asked Nicole as she wiped her mouth.

“You had a fire, Miss, and we had to break into your apartment. You are OK, though,” said Joe.

“A fire?”

“Your cigarette. You must have fallen asleep,” said Joe.

Nicole noticed that she was naked but for the soiled panties, and she grabbed a sofa pillow to cover herself.

“You want me to help you to the bedroom. It is safe now. Things are under control,” said Joe.

“You gave me oxygen. You gave me oxygen. What will that do to me?” asked Nicole. The question confused Joe.

“It helped you breath. You had taken in smoke. It helped clear it out,” said Joe.

“Smoke. I took in smoke,” said Nicole as she wondered is smoke had calories. She wondered if oxygen had calories. But then she remembered that oxygen raised a person’s metabolism. She liked that. It helped to burn off fat.

“I feel a little faint. Can I have more oxygen?” asked Nicole.

“Yes. Of course,” said Joe as he placed the oxygen masked over Nicole’S mouth. Nicole took a breath and dropped the pillow from her breasts, better described as a flat board with two twisted pink spots that looked more like pimples than nipples.

Joe noticed that Nicole Ritchie was smiling. Her eyes were closed, and then Nicole went limp. Unconscious. Joe removed the mask and slapped Nicole. She awoke with a start.

“What. What did you do that for?” asked Nicole who was somewhat delirious. Joe was concerned by the odd behavior and radioed for paramedics.

Nicole then stood up, slowly, and walked into her bedroom.

“I’m going to get dressed. I have to go to the health club,” said Nicole as she closed the door. Joe was reluctant to follow her. But he hoped the paramedics would arrive soon.