Burnin’ the bayou

It really must be spring. In the past couple days I’ve seen a cottontail, a snake, a red fox the size of a coyote jogging up the sidewalk across the street and a muddy rain that required me to deploy the windshield wipers before I went grocery shopping yesterday morning. Oh, yeah, and enough yellow pollen to give King Kong the sniffles.

It’s 80 degrees one minute and 30 the next, and the dandelions are proliferating faster than dingbats in the GOP. Census workers are out and about, noting the locations of armed Christian patriots to be seized and shipped off to death camps as part of President Antichrist’s scheme to remake America as a socialist Muslim paradise.

But at least the oil slicks around these parts are mostly confined to Sprawl-Mart parking lots, under beater pickups. That sucker in the Gulf of Mexico is a whole other deal. It’s a hell of a note when cleaning up a spill means setting the ocean afire. Makes that 1969 Cuyahoga River deal look like a 5-year-old farting in the bathtub.

God certainly seems to have it in for Louisiana, afflicting it with every manner of torment, from Hurricane Katrina to Gov. Bobby Jindal. Maybe He had a bad bowl of gumbo there once.