Click on the Pic

HAZMAT UNIT CALLED TO SHOW LOW HOME

Responding to calls from several concerned neighbors, Show Low's elite Hazmat unit, donning vapor-tight suits and self-contained breathing apparati, rushed to the city's famous landmark known as the Monasterio de Santo Holiday this afternoon. After closing fashionable 8th Avenue at both ends and cordoning off the property, the highly-trained agents broke down the door of the residence to gain entry, expecting the worst. However, to their surprise, instead of a rotting body in a pool of noxious putrefaction, they found Show Low's notorious and reclusive extrovert, St. Holiday himself, sitting alone at the kitchen table and weeping into his bowl of pungent beans. He appeared to observers to be physically unfazed by the nauseous fumes emanating from his home, though he was emotionally distraught over the loss of his beloved wife, who abandoned him recently to seek respite and refuge in California. Out of respect for the couple's privacy, details of this latest separation will not appear in this publication until tomorrow's edition. As a precaution, officers shut off all pilot lights at the residence and opened the windows to ventilate the rooms. When the air has cleared, and neighbors can return to their homes, a crisis intervention team will attempt to counsel with the sorrowing holy man. As an added measure, Meals-on-Wheels has been asked to provide him with some less-combustible food.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOSHIYAHU!

My Bicentennial son, Josiah Nathan Van Sciver the magnificent, born on this day in 1976, is best approached with reverential awe. I capitulate to the inevitability of his reign. He has the advantage of certain genetic enhancements, which have made him a true Person of Quality, giving rise to a cult of almost religious hero-worship among intellectuals, workers and students. If he were a video-game, he'd be the most downloaded in history. He is not. However, he is a triple-nominee for the You Go Award. He owes most of his personal growth to his angel mother and to the principle of motion. He is a child survivor of ghastly, inhumane conditions, and has been rescued from the very brink of the abyss by his wonderful wife, Sarah, the princess. Now he is thirty-three, which is, appropriately, the product of two prime numbers. His rare mind bubbles with truth. He is a wizard with computers. When asked why he has devoted his life to this technology, he responds, "It beats poaching elephants." His insightful sense of humor is seldom restrained. I am his father; there is no one else to blame. Finally, it should be recorded that Josiah would look a lot like the Mona Lisa , if he were a woman, a little younger, if he had a face like hers, and if he had a smile like hers. Happy birthday, son! Carry on the revolutionary struggle, and be sure to enforce the code of tribal honor at home. I love you.

AVIAN UPDATE

Huckleberry Duck and his huddle-bud Tom Chickee are living vividly here at St. Holiday's Avian Sanctuary (SHAS). Thanks to a carefully prescribed diet and a life of ease, they have each doubled in size, as the pictures attest. Huckleberry, we have learned, is a Crested Duck, a very fine specimen of that preferred variety. His inseparable friend, Tom, has been classified by our highly-educated poultry experts as "some kind of chicken, either male or female." In the process of rapid growth, Tom is losing his/her pink Easter dye. We hesitate to call him yellow, inasmuch as none of the birds at SHAS has ever shown any other disposition than raw courage. So, to the staff here at the sanctuary, Tom is merely bright. St. Holiday has spent so much time working with Huckleberry, he has developed a severe case of Duck Butt in his hair. This tragic condition may be attractive to female ducks, but the Lovely One thinks he now looks like a "clueless dweeb," whatever that may mean. Of course, the saint was always revered for his ideals and not for his remarkable lack of physical charisma. The enlightened recognize that the spirit of the chicken flock speaks through him and motivates the masses. Huckleberry and Tom love to spend time outside their pen, when staff is available to watch over them. In the evening, just after sunset, they follow the hens into the Chicken Catchatorium to bed down for the night in the straw. Updates will be posted every so often.

In completely unrelated news, informed sources, speaking strictly off the record, revealed that the imminently-eminent poet, philosopher and holy man, St. Holiday, has received numerous death threats from a certain Middle Eastern terrorist organization. Apparently, the recent PBS program, "Tour de la Monasterio de Santo Holiday," showed that the saint's toilet, known as "the Throne," faces toward Mecca, a gross insult to Muslims everywhere. As a precaution, St. Holiday will be spending the evenings in his secret bunker, located in his backyard, over by the corn patch, seventeen feet west of the patio, under the sign saying, "Private Shelter, Knock Before Entering."