see definition of chlog



Like other politicians lately, I've decided to author an Internet diary. Unlike others, though, I've made the decision that mine should be reflective of me as an every-day chimp. I'll leave the issues analysis to my very capable handler, Snarl, my right-hand simian and point man, er chimp, for the Garry the Chimp campaign.

Though this kind of approach may make this chlog seem tangential and wandering in nature, I believe it will give voters the opportunity to know me, Garry the Chimp, for the chimp I truly am.


First Chlog entry

Today, I was sitting at a fast food drive-through when a young man on foot approached my car. Before I could react, he said to me, "Sir, do you mind if I go ahead of you?" Unable to think of another response, I said, "Sure, go ahead." He walked to the order microphone, looking very much like Eb from Green Acres, and craned his head toward it. Then with great precision, he began to speak, or rather yell, "I want an "extra, extra, extra, extra, extra large chocolate Shit-shake".

I could only imagine the look on the order-taker's face.

I must admit; at first, I find his routine amusing. But, as the moment wore on, and I heard him repeat this order several times verbatim, I grew annoyed. Eventually, in exasperation, I drove around to the pickup window.

Later, as I sat eating my cheeseburger, I couldn't help but think: this imbecile is a perfect example of what makes our country great: that we, as Americans, have the right to do anything we want and be anything we wish---even an asinine fool.

Such rights are what make America strong.

However, in the world envisioned by the "1984-types" permeating George's white house, would such rights continue to flourish? Or would they be curtailed, restricted---reserved only for the rich and powerful, i.e. the members of the F.O.G. (friends of George)?

I found my thoughts very troubling, indeed. And as much as I love cheeseburgers, I began to experience indigestion.


Second Chlog entry

This week I went to Sears to buy some shirts that were on sale (half-price!). As I pulled into a parking space, I saw a forty-something gentleman dressed twenty years out of date. He was walking around his car, stopping in front of the doors and pulling up the door handles. He did this in a rapid sort of fashion: pull-release, pull-release, pull-release. Each time he did this movement, he pressed his fingertips into the door gap to see if the door had opened any. Then, on to the next door where he would do it all again. He completed one full circuit around his car and then another.

When, at last, he seemed satisfied that his car was ABSOLUTELY secure, he very casually walked to the entrance of the store.

The whole time I watched him, I marveled at the nuttiness of his behavior. He wanted to be safe and secure, that was plain and understandable. But even for such a reasonable aim, his behavior was simply way out there. Then, as he walked past, I noticed the Bush-Cheney sticker on his bumper and, suddenly, it all made perfect sense.

























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