The Time of Purification is at Hand

Our new apartment affords me the luxury of being able to write in one room while my little girl sits in the other and watches Teletubbies and Sesame Street in the mornings. I don’t get much done, maybe only a few emails or what have you but it’s nice to have the separation and I don’t have to listen to the Teletubbie’s. Unfortunately for me my daughter now comes to get me and takes my hand and we sit and watch TV together on the floor. I can’t say no it’s so cute and she does it with such love I can suck it up and watch yet another Teletubbies.

I sat on the floor with her the other day not paying attention to the TV my mind filled with thoughts of when we would go out what park we should go to and so on when I heard the Teletubies Narrator (for some reason a Britt doing an American accent) say :

NARRATOR – One day in Teletubbie Land it was time for justice.

My eyes snapped to the screen, Poe - the red one - stood alone in the space pod thing they live in, his lifeless eyes staring out at me, taunting me with the prospect of Teletubbie justice.

Would Poe call the other Teletubbies into the space pod and sit at the Tubby-Custard table, then produce a baseball bat, and start talking about team work?

Would he derive bloody satisfaction in a sword fight to the death with O-Ren Ishii – La La?

Was Poe going to reveal who Costello's rat was in their orgonization? Or would he smash the windows of Tinky Winky’s car collection, fill them with gasoline, then blow them all up?

The shot widened and Poe went to the control panel behind him and started pulling levers. The levers made animal noised and made lights flash. The other Teletubbies joined in the lever pulling and animal noise making with much merriment. My mind reeled, “Where is the justice!” I thought back on what the Narrator more likely said now that I saw the Teletubbies pushing buttons and what not:

NARRATOR – One day in Teletubbie Land it was time for adjustments.

(Sigh)

I had envisioned a climactic battle, Dipsy’s bullet riddled green body, stained with blood, clutching the end of a water cooled Browning M1917 firing at the sky, at God himself, as Poe, taking hit after hit, vainly blazing away with his white hot automatics at the Mexican Army closing in on them, shouting, “Dipsy…Dipsy…Poe full of lead…one last…biiiig hug…”

I'll watch "The Wild Bunch," with Ella some day and tell her this story. Cain't wait to see the look on her face