Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Ward Bond Speaks to Chicago Woman About Voting for Rahm

Chicago - Streeterville: A Fortyish nurse sits in Starbucks and Mayor Rahm Emanuel enters; tells her to put down her book and vote for him, because he is a doer and a fighter.

From the herd of over cafeated WIFI operators and tumb-zombies rises huge man.  A Real man.  Ward Bond and he softly engages the woman, after Rahm's move to his next victim.

Ward Bond [whispering to keep babies from crying] "I heard every word you said. I've been trying to keep my nose out of your business, but I can't stand by any longer and watch you make a fool of yourself. "
Ms. Chicago, "Oh, Mr. Bond ..........."
Ward Bond : "Of course he comes to you when he wants to play. Where do you want him to go? Some other woman? You married him for what he is and then tried to make something else out of him. Well, you couldn't, and you never will. You began to feel sorry for yourself. How long would you love him if he *did* cry on your shoulder? "You don't need me... maybe I shouldn't have let you shut me out." What kind of silly talk is that? And what does *pride* got to do with love? Don't worry, he won't be happy, but what is more important... he won't be back! "
Ward Bond -: "Why are you crying? "
Ms. Chicago -" Because they're dead. Horribly dead. And it was I who killed them. "
Ward Bond -: "Killed who? "
Ms. Chicago: "All these men. Ours, and the enemy's. "
Ward Bond - "Huh! Are you crying about the English? "
Ms. Chicago -: "I have no hatred for the English. I spoke bold and loud so that you would follow me. I thought victory would be beautiful, but it is an ugly, bloody thing."
Ward Bond -: "Why, there never was a more beautiful victory than this!  Shucks."
Ms. Chicago -: "Don't swear, Ward Bond. But if you must, swear 'by my staff'. "
Ward Bond: "'By my staff!" What kind of an oath is that? Oh, all right. But you watch me, boy! girl, hard to tell sometimes.. .Oh, all right. But you watch me, boy! I'm the hardcase you're up against out here, not them childish savages! And if you don't hear my first holler, you better read my mind 'cause I don't aim to raise no two hollers on any subject at hand!ot them childish savages! And if you don't hear my first holler, you better read my mind 'cause I don't aim to raise no two hollers on any subject at hand!

Mayor Rahm Emanuel re-intrudes:

Mayor Rahm, "I've seen you around San Francisco a few times but from a long distance, of course."
Ward Bond -" Well, seein' me from a long distance is a smart idea, young fella."
Mayor Rahm," Uh,. . ."
Ward Bond - "You think you're the only guy that ever got a kick in the teeth? Well you're not. It's happening every day and it's gonna keep rig ht on happenin' till this thing's over. And you, you can sit here and feel sorry for yourself, or you can come on out with me and see how nice people are when they're alive."

Mayor Rahm Exits

Ward Bond calls after him, "  Keep you shirton, son. Your face looks honest to me even if it is homely. "

Mr. Bond returns his interrupted attentions to Ms. Chicago still sobbing

Ms. Chicago: “Father, . . .
Ward Bond, Ward, or Ward Bond if you will . . . .
Ms. Chicago could I... could I tell you in the Irish?”
Ward Bond: “Is ea, sea, sea, sea.”
Ms. Chicago: “Níor lig mé mo fhear céile isteach i mo leaba liom aréir. Chuir mé faoi ndearadh dó codladh i - Ó, i mála codlata! Mála codlata!”
Ward Bond -: “Mála c--? Céard é sin? ‘Bag?’”

Ms. Chicago - : “Sleeping bag, Father,. . .er Ward, er Mr. Ward Bond . . . with... with buttons! Ó, mo spré, ní throid sé ar a shon. An peaca é?”
Ward Bond: [angry] “Woman, Ireland may be a poor country, God help us. But here, a married man sleeps in a bed, and not a bag!. . . .   Well, then. Now. I'll begin at the beginnin'. A fine soft day in the spring, it was, when the train pulled into Castletown, three hours late as usual, and himself got off. He didn't have the look of an American tourist at all about him. Not a camera on him; what was worse, not even a fishin' rod. Brethren, leave us go amongst 'em! ”
Folks, Vote.  This little drama makes about as sense as another term for Rahm Emanuel.  Now, Mount . . . .Mount! . . . .MONTE!  Mount!

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