“Bene, Don Corleone. I need a man who has powerful friends. I need a million dollars in cash. I need, Don Corleone, all of those politicians that you carry around in your pocket, like so many nickels and dimes.” Virgil ‘The Turk’ Sollozzo
Hey. A few weeks ago I was in a crowded elevator. I could have taken the stairs, but I enjoy acting like a big shot. A big wig. A top dog. A top wig and a big dog to a lesser extent. It was somewhere between the first and second floor when someone farted. It was a classic, awkward moment. I was the only one that laughed.
Sheesh. Not sure why that is. All of this has little to do with the business at hand. Okay, so I’ve been away for a few weeks, yes? Yes. The highlight of my break? Well, I watched the original Sleepaway Camp, finished a manuscript, thought about taking my Schwinn for a quick spin around the block, uhm, and watched my son pick up some dog crap from the back yard. Uh, oh yeah, then there was that whole scene in the elevator. Okay, enough screwing around, now, back to work…
A long time ago when the earth was green I watched a movie with my father. I remember the movie being a little boring, and at the time feeling like the flick was twenty years long. Many of the scenes were darkly lit and were sodden with dialogue mostly involving a portly man who spoke softly out from a mouth full of cotton or marbles. Now, for a six-year-old kid, this movie sucked huge. I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad. They all overdressed and drove classic cars through the boroughs of New York. One scene stuck with me however: an old man with crazy hair in satin pajamas in a big bed with marvellous satin sheets. In the scene, he wakes in horror to discover a severed horse head under the sheets at the foot of his bed. Now, hot damn, that’s some cool cinema. Al Pacino. Jimmy Caan. Marlon Brando. Every time I tried to get out, they kept pulling me back in. Crime, politics and religion all mixed into one hellbroth. Hellbroth is a great word. I first came across it going through some gonzo letters. Now I use it whenever I can. Hellbroth. Hellbroth.
Alright, I’m done with the Corleone saga for the time being. Since (hellbroth) Monday past I’ve been suckered into the latest in reality television shows. It has nothing to do with dancing, or women trying on wedding dresses that most can’t afford for that special day. This reality show, which is essentially a wicked mini-series is actually being broadcast on a CNN.com through live streaming video. The name of the show, which is not very imaginative I must admit, is called The Impeachment of Federal Judge G Thomas Porteous. The show is proudly sponsored by the US House of Representatives who greenlit the affair way back on March 11th. There are no commercial interruptions but a hell of a lot of breaks.
Impeachment sounds a little cool, kind of like being sentenced to become a delightful autumn preserve on a Georgia chain gang. I could certainly think of many things that at least sound worse than being impeached. Evisceration. Castration. Oral surgery. Having someone poke you in the eye with something sharp. Audited. Taking a fitness test. Having your feet cut off while you are sleeping or possibly waking up with a horse head in your bed. Drawn and quartered sounds a bit shitty as well. But to be impeached? Hell, at the very worst, impeachment sounds like when a person is ordered to give back their peaches. For me, I don’t care for peaches. They are pompous and messy and do absolutely nothing for me, so if I was ever impeached, I would be more than happy to give back my peaches. But, for Judge Porteous, from New Orleans, it sounds like he really likes peaches and is not crazy about giving them back to anyone. Now, why is the US House of Representatives demanding their peaches back from the Judge from down in the Big Easy? Well, it’s alleged that Judge Porteous abused his power. How? Check this out – and before you jump in a decide that he is a monster, the only thing to remember is that the reason he has to give back his peaches is that he got caught doing things with his peaches that are not permitted. There are many people in positions of political power, yes even here in Canada, the land of the free, from the whimsy of small-town politics right up to the hysterics of federal politics that do terrible things with their peaches, or the peaches we have bestowed upon them. But, let’s keep the spotlight on Porteous. Simply:
‘The allegations against Porteous were uncovered during the FBI's Operation Wrinkled Robe, an investigation of the relationship between state judges in Jefferson Parish, where Porteous served until he was appointed a federal judge in 1994, and bail bondsman Louis Marcotte. That 6 -year investigation put court-ordered wiretaps and video cameras in the parish courthouse and brought 14 convictions, including those of two state judges who were sent to federal prison. In addition to making false statements under oath and taking gifts from attorneys, the charges against Porteous include hiding assets from the bankruptcy estate, leaving gambling losses off the list of (hellbroth) debts and getting short-term credit from casinos after the bankruptcy judge ordered him to get approval of the court before taking on any debt. The probe also uncovered evidence that Porteous rejected a request to step down from a case without revealing that he had a history of financial relationships with at least one attorney involved and leaving lawyers gifts of financial disclosure statements from 1994 to 2000. Porteous stepped aside from all civil cases involving the federal government and all criminal cases in 2003, after a relative of Marcotte said the bondsman — sent to prison for racketeering — had paid for Porteous' car repairs and arranged another favor.’
Source: http://www.tulanelink.com/tulanelink/porteousimpeach_08a.htm
Okay. It’s not even a criminal proceeding. It’s just a huge expense meant to shame and embarrass someone into admitting they spoiled their peaches. Bill Clinton, my favourite US President starred in his own Impeachment show in 1998. Clinton’s was more fun-filled, as what he did with his peaches was way more imaginative that what Porteous did with his. Porteous had his car detailed and his porch fixed. Clinton? Well, that’s a whole different scene.
Book Time? Yes. Book time!
A friend who goes by the name Jonny (hellbroth)Thrombosis told me to read a book. He’s from the UK. So I did. When a guy from the UK tells you to read a book, well, you read a book, lest you wake up with a severed horse head in the bed. The Antiterrorist Hand Book. It’s brilliant, funny and timely. It’s one of those books I wish I had read before it was written. Google it. Buy it. Don’t take it from me. Take it from Jonny Thrombosis.
Posts
