Hurricane Tiger killed President John F. Kennedy, with a tiger.

Hurricane Tiger began to swirl in the exact geographic center of the Bermuda Triangle, whipping across Cuba and that other Spanish-speaking country that's around there-- but "miraculously" sparing Haiti, save for a tiger it lifts from a budding Haitian zoo, carrying the feline across half the United States, all the way to President Kennedy's motorcade.

Using the tiger as a swinging mace, Hurricane Tiger slashes the president three times, fast enough to slip between the frames of Abraham Zapruder's under-cranked Kodak film. Managing to scoop up half the president's brain matter, Hurricane Tiger, now 7 feet wide and 100 feet tall, flew in a mathematically straight line back to Haiti, where the tiger and JFK's brain, now swirled by thousands of "G" forces into the tiger's head, combining the two brains to make a JFK/tiger hybrid, a "TFK", if you will, where deposited with palpable tenderness back into the tiger pit. The occurence made front-page headlines in Haiti, but was dismissed as unbelievable folklore in the rest of the world.

Driven half-mad by gravitational stress, TFK's newly electrified tiger claws tore the bars of his cage like paper mache and promptly went on a prolonged killing spree, lasting months. While to this day no one knows how TFK was able to stay incognito for any period of time, rouge Haitian researchers-- any inquiry into the TFK case was outlawed by a traumatized Haitian Aristocracy in 1979-- have deciphered the killings were a kind of Morse code; each killing taking place either one, three, or twelve hours from the last, to the second. From this knowledge, and interpreting the twelve-hour gaps as the ends or sentences, those reseachers were the first to receive this message (note there are no commas or other punctuation in Morse code):

"We in this country in this generation are by destiny rather than choice the watchmen on the walls of world freedom. We ask therefore that we may be worthy of our power and responsibility that we may exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint and that we may achieve in our time and for all time the ancient vision of peace on earth good will toward men. That must always be our goal and the righteousness of our cause must always underlie our strength. For as was written long ago except the Lord keep the city th"

Lead researcher Paco Sanchez recognized the text immediately: It was the final paragraph of the speech President Kennedy intended to give the day he was assassinated. Minus the last 5 words, that is. In the middle of Haiti's long, hot summer of 1964, a hot dog vendor named Juan Ramirez bravely fought off TFK w/ a pair of electrified hot dog tongs, sparing his fate as the letter "e" in the word "the", and effectively ending TFK's blood-soaked message to humanity as it (presumably) neared its close.

Following the foiled attack, TFK ran for 40 miles, not stopping once, sinking his claws in a major metropolitan power grid, killing his body but somehow sparing his head. The resultant electrical catastrophe caused storm clouds to swirl into existence from seeming nothingness, and a flash flood began in 7 seconds.

For seven long days, the whole of Haiti experienced floods as high as 10 feet. TFK's body bloated and dissolved in the waters, but his head, just above the floodline, didn't stop blinking normally until a lucky lightning bolt-- the only one recorded in the storm-- struck it, causing the clouds to dissipate immediately.

Economic records show no Haitian purchased any batteries for 4 months afterwards.

All the animals in The Haitian Zoo, abandoned a month prior due to an "unbearable static electricial [sic] charge", died in the flooding. All, that is, except for three tiger cubs, sparks periodically sparking in their young fir. The brave Haitian researchers were initially at a loss to explain this, but it is now believed TFK electrically passed on his exact brain pattern onto his offspring, embuing them w/ the knowledge necessary to escape their father's (their own) unholy wrath.

Sadly, nobody realizing this in time, the tigers were later released into the wilds of southeast Asia.

The oft-lamented near-extinction of many types of tigers has, in fact, saved millions upon millions of human lives. It is now estimated that 99.9 percent of all tigers living today have their brains occupied by perfect electro-chemical duplications of TFK-- in essence, they are TFK; a Jacob's Ladder sizzling between each of their unnaturally polished metallic claws.

Why haven't they sent mankind another message in blood? Tiger-murder statistics are woefully incomplete. Perhaps they already have...

couple leftovers

1. I have this image in my head of a big barrel of worms, all writhing around in every direction. Freedom is a hole at the top, about worm-level. One or maybe a few happen to be writhing in generally the right direction, towards the hole, but in light of the rest of the worms, it's hard not to look at those correct few as just a function of statistics.



2. Theory and Practice: Lesson Ω

Theory:


Practice:

Creaky door, cobwebs, echoing footsteps, blow dust off keyboard in great cloud, blog

(Brizoni sez):

Al Qaeda to target embassies. Embassies? That's the big threat? Have I fallen into a time-warp, landing in an alternate 1993 with slightly worse pop music?

Or has the war on terror been such a thundering success that the Jihadis have scurried back to the terroristic equivalent of TP-ing houses? Has attacking essentially random Middle Eastern countries in retaliation for a homeland assault sent the message to the [I need an epithet as or more caustic than "sand-nigger" that doesn't have the collateral damage against other cultures I don't have as big a problem with] constituency that provoking the US is like playing Don't Wake Daddy with a hammer?

OR, it is just the opposite: Has the war on terror been such a bloom-off-the-rose disaster for the specter of US military might that the Tusken Raiders think they can just slack at this point? Will we really capitulate after they bomb a few embassies in African countries even Rand McNally forgot were there? Have we so lost our stomach for a fight we'll let any A-holes spread whatever clitoris-ripping-out-with-pliers religion they feel like wherever?

Here's the big thing the Western world has going for it: We've taught ourselves to be ashamed of what dicks people naturally are. So many other doucebag cultures have yet to do that math, and we have to live on the same planet as them. We think of this as the super-shiny future, only 5 or 6 generations away from Utopian abundance and security, each man and woman armed w/ toys that can rearrange atoms into whatever tickles our future fancy, but in the grand scheme, we're a select few chimps who've built elaborate twig structures, surrounded by a lot more chimps who passionately hate even that meager achievement. (No, I still can't get over what a savage goddamn time I was born in.)

Feh. Nothing I can do about it tonight. Maybe writing more Robots vs. Zombies will cheer me up. Or maybe everything I come up w/ in this mood will (barely) covertly say how shockingly, overwhelmingly high the top of the mountain looks from here.