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My previous post praises Vanessa Williams to the skies. She’s the gal who resigned as Miss America: nude photos scuttled her temporarily. Yesterday I praised Pee Wee Herman to the skies. He’s the character whose creator got arrested in a NYC police sting. Both stories fit right in with my lifetime’s outrage over official treatments of Muhammed Ali: he won his belt in a sport; his belt was taken away from him by American versions of McCarthy Nazis. You don’t know who I am: because my chances got taken away a long time ago: and now the truth can’t be told, it’s too incriminating.
I’ll scrapbook this into something, meantime, there’s an over-statement.
What kills me is the baldfaced gall with which kleptocrats pretend that they believe in freedom, that their government is legitimate, that honest men can steal, and kill, and also supervise, judge …
Who’s hurt the most in such things? Vanessa? me? Paul Reubens? No: all of us, our children … all the heavens we’re not qualified to be considered for.
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