Monday evening. May Day. Commie-day, according to Lou Dobbs on CNN tonight. I tuned in for a minute to see how big the immigrant marches were in the States, as I had missed Balanced News on CBC and Reasonably Balanced News on Global Maritime.
Boy, is Lou pissed. All the other networks are referring to these people as immigrants.
THEY ARE ILLEGAL ALIENS, Lou informed me.
He had a couple of Democrat Congressmen on who had sponsored a resolution that would give these people an opportunity to be recognised by the country they are holding together with their labour.
Taking jobs away from American workers, grumbled Lou.
Remind you of anywhere?
They probably all get free washing machines from the welfare officer too.
Or maybe not. Maybe they’ll all be over to Ireland when they hear about the free washing machines.
The Congressmen were playing it pretty cleverly. For Democrats. Let’s lock the gates now, because the Republicans forgot to do it after 9/11. But when we do that, we’d better keep these people in. Because the Republicans couldn't evacuate New Orleans so we can't trust them to deport 12 million people.
Pretty good I thought. Balanced argument. Building a coalition of the needy and the virtuous and the scratch their arse and belch into their beer can brigade.
Then he had some neo-Con Hispanic woman on who was only delighted to be captured pissing on her own people by the meejia.
Then he had some footage of the Minute Men building a fence in South California somewhere.
Hundreds of them!
Give Lou his due, even he recognises the folly of that particular stunt.
Only 1,599 miles to go, he said wryly. Well, as wryly as you can do when you're botoxed to the hairline.
Which is probably wrong. What's the length of the southern border of the USA?
Up here in nice reasonable Canada you have nice reasonable CBC and slightly less reasonable Global, but at least Global still understands the concept of balanced news coverage. So you are lulled into a false sense of security. ‘Just because you celebrate May Day doesn’t mean you’re a Trot’ kind of security.
And then you switch on CNN for a minute.
And remember that you're a commie. In Lou's eyes anyways.
I had an argument with Himself about CNN once. I came home from work and caught him watching it.
“You’re not to watch that shite if you’re going to be with me!” Grabbed remote, switched tv off, and sat on remote to drive home the point.
“I just want to see the news, for chrissakes.” Of course he’s far too polite to push my ass off the remote, so he sat there waiting to be educated. Like the immaculate boyfriend he is.
“That’s not news. That’s right wing rhetoric dressed up as news.”
He knows enough now to know that when I say right wing, I really mean special ops battalion of the devil.
And that’s bad in anyone’s books.
We’re having an argument by text at the moment. Although Himself is backing off a bit now, because he has to go to sleep. It’s half past midnight in Ireland, eight thirty pm in Halifax and five thirty in Grassland, and he has to go to sleep for a bit because he’s on nights this week and has to go driving in the dark.
Which I don’t like of course. Because I will worry until he texts me that he’s home. Which won’t be until four pm Halifax time tomorrow. Or eight pm in Ireland. So he’ll be back when Eastenders finishes.
We don’t communicate when he’s in the truck. It nearly broke us the last time. Signal in, signal out, kshsasfasdhfaldf…, cut off.
It all started when I called him as I was starting dinner. To tell him what I was going to eat and to make sure he had bought vegetables this week. And to remind him he has to give up smoking because I am not going through all of this crap now just to have him die on me in a couple of years.
I was in Pete’s Fruitique yesterday, which is the best food store in the world, and they had veal escallopes so of course I couldn’t resist.
“Veal? What’s that?”
Not many people eat veal here. Nova Scotia is not noted for its production. Or for lamb for that matter.
“Baby cow.”
“WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?”
I moved the conversation on swiftly, sensing a weak spot in my case as role model for all right-on, leftie things in life.
But he was not to be turned. Himself is a hunter of course, so he just picked a good spot and waited. Silently, patiently, in the long grass of Grassland until I was perched in front of tv with yummy veal escallopes, tortilla patata and fresh tomato salad watching CNN – it’s okay if you shout at Lou – with Melanie, who was hiding her eyes behind her hands in horror at the nasty Amerkaans. She’s very French, is Melanie. And she's not well at the moment. Had to go to the emergency room last night.
Then he struck.
“Shame on you for eating that baby cow. My heart is broken.”
I am not for turning either, of course.
“Belch. Slurp.”
“STOP THAT! Oh, that poor baby.”
“At least I didn’t boil it alive in a pot after capturing it in a watery trap.”
I didn’t even mention the countless baby ground fish he probably murdered over the years. Or the defenceless deer he stalked and shot.
Texting is quite limiting when you're a pedant.
“Lobsters don’t have brains.”
“Yes they do.”
“Well, just little ones.”
And so on and so on.
And so life goes on. As it always does.
Eventually, I capitulated. Agreed I wouldn't eat them anymore.
The thing I love about Himself is that when, on the rare occasion that I allow him to win an argument (and he should win this one as he is right about the baby cows, although they are VERY tasty), he doesn't rub my nose in it.
He gives it a little rub instead.
"It's up to you. I don't think it's right tho'. But I still love you."
Phew! :-)
"Go to sleep."
"What are you doing?"
"Blogging."
"What about?"
"Baby cows, you and CNN."
"Oh no..."
"It'll be grand. Go to sleep."
"Don't be too hard on me, baby."
"Sweet dreams."
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