Saturday, 9 April 2016

The Flag of Virtue

And lo, in the month of which the fool doth lead, The Steen of Spring, whom they call the Boss, did come unto the Land. And he did look upon the facilities whereby one might relieve oneself, and it was not good. 

Thus did The Steen of Spring paint his virtue upon a proclamation, and waved it about in the four corners of the Globe. Mightily did The People of the Book of Face rejoice. For they understood that the throwing a strop is easier than praxis.

To this, Plato did reply: this is exactly why I banish the troubadour and the jester, for they are mistaken as philosophers. Indeed, the People are well out of order, like unto a public restroom that has a leaky cistern, but The Steen of Spring is not telling The People of the Face anything they are not already considering. 

The Steen of Spring did pack up his toys and go home, rather than do his job, which could have been a mighty gesture. For he did not donate his riches to making new toilets, nor did he wave his virtues in the coupons of the powerful, but didst that thing where one gets the approval of one's mates by expressing the obvious.

Plato received his talents back from the Office of Box, and waxed wroth. Though it is not really the E-Street Band without Clarence Clemons, he cried in the wilderness, The Boss does put on a good show and I feel I am being cast into the darkness because fundamentalism.

This is why thou canst not have nice things, sayeth the Boss. 
Thou speakst fair enough, said Plato, grinding his gnashers. But wouldst it be beyond thy wealth to set up a few Cabins of Port where the right to piss and shit would be afforded to all. Thou wouldst be setting an example. For it is not meet that those who would dance in the dark should be punished for the sins of those who cannot read The Bible properly. Thou art having a fit of the hissy. 

And the Boss replied to Plato. For that is how it is, these days. It is better to write a status on the Book of the Face than make a real stand. Besides, Nils Lofgren doth require a night of leisure to practice his back-flips.

Plato wandered off in dismay. O tempora, o mores, he wailed. The Fundamentalist Christians shrugged, for they were not going to the gig anyway, being lovers of Billy Ray Cyrus and that. 

Thanks to Fred Fletch for the inspiration. 

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