When Men Moo

Diary entry: Hey, it’s Paulie, just a short note to the cattle of the world then Paulie has gotta go, an old Western was on TV the other day about driving the cattle herd east to it’s destination, it was a microcosm of the world we all live in, we, the cattle, are heading through the range with the sun shining overhead, a nice breeze out of the west that gently pushes us on, we have had good water, we’ve had our feed, and our imaginations are free to flow like the Rio Grande after a spring rain, what’s that old holiday phrase, “We have visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads”, and that’s all they are, only visions, the elite of the world have stockpiled all the real sugarplums for themselves and they have given us imaginary ones, but we seem to be stupid and happy anyway; as we clop along the dusty trail, we imagine that sparkly town toward the east, St. Louis, full of glittering hotels, saloons, dance halls, and restaurants, unfortunately, we can’t see beyond our slobbering noses or our dysfunctional imaginations, in reality, St. Louis is basically a guy in a waiter’s uniform who takes orders for hamburgers from hungry diners who are hungry enough to eat a horse but they want a steer, if you make it past Sedalia’s meat packing plant that waits to greet us with head hammers and boning knives and you manage to trot on into town anyway, you won’t be enjoying the accommodations in the way you think, Paulie pleads with his readers, leave the trail, get off it now, cut yourselves from the herd, give them over to beer guzzling, drunken, whiskey-burping gluttons who wipe your brothers’ fat on their sleeves while calling out for another platter of bloody flesh, I realize no one wants to leave his herd of brothers and sisters, but you must save yourself, they cannot, nor will they, help you, you must help yourself, well, this is maverick Paulie, out here in the brush, alone but alive, saying shalom…

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