Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets / And little man, little Lola wants you/ Make
up your mind to have, no regrets / Recline yourself, resign yourself - you're
through.
Lola
slinks and slithers in the team room, as a wide-eyed old/young
man feels a magnetic pull toward Lola's confident mantra
and charm:
I
always get what I aim for/ And your heart and soul, is
what I came for. / Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets / Take
off your coat, Don't you know you can't win / You're
no exception to the rule, / I'm irrezeestable you fool-Give
in. /(whispering: give in, you'll never win)
NOLA
as Lola
New Orleans
[NO] in Louisiana [LA] is mesmerizing the liberal left
media [there's a trifecta of redundancy] and Congress into
giving beaucoup bucks as the anniversary passes of Katrina's
passing thru Nawlins, that ill-prepared city of
misbegotten souls who are proud, truly PROUD, to label
themselves the Big Easy. Well-practiced in the art of sucking
the teat of federal largesse's udder of endless tax revenue,
the people of NOLA have charmed the politicos and press
and pontificators into signing over their soul. Those lyrics
restated, maybe sung by a snazzed up Donna Brazile [or
Begala in fishnet stockings]:
Whatever
NOLA wants, NOLA gets/ And little man [Uncle Sam], little
NOLA wants you [and your money]/ Make up your mind to
have, no regrets [certainly not the media, or Mayor Nagin]/
Recline yourself, resign yourself - you're through. Certainly
through with any sense of self-restraint, or common sense,
or rational assessment of NOLA's zippo preparedness,
panicky response-phase "leadership" and blame-game
screeching. The image of Carville and Begala in tutu
and heels resonates:
I
always get what I am for [Or I cry and appear on-screen
with Oprah]/ And your heart and soul, is what I came
for. [And your bank account, unlimited debit cards]/
Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets/ Take off your coat, Don't
you know you can't win [Taxpayer be damned; give us the
bread - dollars - and circuses - Congressional stage-show
hearings] / You're no exception to the rule,/ I'm irrezeestable
you fool-Give in./(whispering: give in, you'll never
win)
Irrezeestable
Indeed
Maybe the skit would be best with Nagin and Blanco, he in white-face, she in
black-face, both dressed in fishnets with dollar signs in the pattern, dancing
on a stage floor comprised of submissive Congressmen and applauded by seats
filled with pundits, press and pontificators. And appearing as the encore act,
a rendering of "Hey, Big Spender" performed by Howard Dean paired
with Hilary [or: BILLARY]:
The minute you walked in the joint,/ I could see you were a man of distinction,/
A real big spender,/ Good looking, so refined./ Say, wouldn't you like to
know / What's going on in my mind?/ So, let me get right to the point,/ I
don't pop my cork for ev'ry guy I see./ Hey, big spender, spend.../ A little
time with...me...me...me!/ Do you wanna have fun?/ How's about (chorus: fun)
a few laughs?/ I can show you a...good time.../ Do you wanna have fun...fun...fun?/
How's about (fun) a few (fun) laughs (fun)/ Laughs (fun) laughs / (I can
show you a...)/ (fun) laughs (fun) laughs/ (good time)/ Fun, laughs (good
time)/ Fun, laughs (good time)/ Fun, laughs (good time)...shhh.../ What did
you say you are?/ How's about a ...(laugh)/ I could give you some.../ Are
you ready for...(fun)/ How would you like a.../ Let me show you a ...(good
time)/ Hey, big spender.../ Hey, big spender...
Of course, this little pair of chanteuses are lying: they do pop their cork
for every guy they meet, if it's Uncle Sam; every such legislative guy is a
Man of Distinction, a Real Big Spender of tax revenues. What's going on in
Nagin's mind? He gets right to the point, as he pops his cork, and spouts off
his entitlement-minded big mouth: SEND MONEY. And what is the quid pro quo?
Well, now Nagin and Blanco are playing the Tease: a better NOLA? Less corruption?
More transparency? Just send the quid, we ain't got no stinkin' quo.
Chocolate City: Willy Wonkish
The policy wonks are shredding trees and broadcasting electrons, as Nagin's
pronouncement of NOLA becoming a Chocolate City got nary a condemnation, though
Saturday Night Live did give him a bit of parody last spring. But to see the
MSM's wet-kiss-with-tongue adoration of NOLA's Nagin would lead a newcomer
to think he was a hero, someone who had blazing brilliance and exhibited response-phase
peerless leadership, who was prepared and competent. Find a professional emergency
manager who agrees with that MSM judgment and you get the big prize. While
media mavens and weenie wonks give hugs and tongues to NOLA, letting him have
what he wants, those who've been in the disaster business know it's deja vu
all over again. Many before Nagin have practiced his six-word mantra: Don't
Worry, Be Happy [before the disaster], BLAME FEMA [after it hits
you in the solar plexus].
Or BLAME BUSH. Now is the anniversary of Katrina, and now also it is
time to Bend Over, Here It Comes Again. BOHICA could be FEMA's Anglican motto,
along with SNAFU [Situation Normal, All Fouled Up], for in every disaster the
same "surprises" repeat themselves. All professionals knew long before
Katrina -- though Nagin and NOLA did not, nor did they care to alter their
ignorance -- that in a disaster, Murphy's Law reigns supreme, multiplying SNAFU
with FUBAR [Fouled Up Beyond All Recognition]. Communications are compromised,
control issues are blurred, command authority is tested [and often a cause
of burrocratic battles], and intelligence/information is slender and compromised.
This C3-I concept is old military doctrine, along with Clausewitz's battlefield
dictum: The first casualty upon engaging the enemy is your plan.
World War IV and IV-b
And Mother Nature is really a Muthah when it hits the fan. In the new World
War, designated numero cuatro [after the Cold War as numero tres], there are
two parts: the fight against terror masters from midget societies, and the
ever-growing technological and ever-frequent natural hazards which are everyday
threats. Part A is the midgets, Part B is the presistently present threats
which never went away. All plans will become casualties once Muthah rears her
ugly face, in hurricanes, or hazardous materials events, or tornadoes. The
plan dies when the battle commences, and thence begins LEADERSHIP.
Of which Nagin and NOLA were particularly lacking. A reform mayor of minimal
political savvy, Nagin's appointments were buddies, the police chief one from
his childhood. Whereas Mike Brown got whacked for insufficiency of pre-FEMA
skills -- he directed the Arabian Horse Association -- Nagin was a Cox cable
guy. And this cable guy was way over his head, sort of Ensign Pulver finding
himself promoted to admiral, a brevet in charge of the Battle of Midway. Ditto
for Kathleen "blank faced" Blanco. Both were overdriving their headlights,
and instead of the media focusing on that bright fact, it was -- of course
-- BLAME BUSH. NOLA got what NOLA wants. She has no regrets -- no one has made
NOLA suffer for the tragic suffering begat of stupidity, ignorance and insouciance.
All borne of generations of NOLA addiction to the federal teat, pulling bucks
from the udder of the taxpayer's dutiful payments, leading NOLA citizens to demand ever
more, MORE, MORE. With habits drawn from endless litany of leftwing rants that
America owes so much to so many. With so many taxpayers
given the guilt-trip ticket, that ticket punched by the Spike Lee Legions,
endorsed by Wall Stret Journal jeremiads who reinforce cinematic rants on HBO
with seemingly respectable book projects [that book, "Disaster" has
been bought by HBO; wonder who will direct that one? Michael Moore?].
Stand in line: BOHICA and SNAFU and FUBAR and NOLA are putting it to you, the
taxpayer and the generous citizens who helped NOLA citizens, and now are lambasted
as invoking a new kind of slavery, causing a Black Diaspora! Just can't do
enough. NOLA wants endless welfare, and now is getting more. And more. And
more. Along with the Moores and Sean Penns and Oprahs. All determined to let
NOLA get whatever NOLA wants.
And you are the Big Spender. Bend over, let's see your wallet. Recline yourself,
resign yourself -- you're thru. CRO
The America Show
