Claudette Ravages Texas Coast Like Mean-Hearted Woman in Blues Song

weet mercy! Texans are still rebuilding their shattered lives after last week's "just plain cold" brutalizing of the Galveston Bay area by heartless hurricane Claudette.

Like an insufferable tropical cocktease, that hurricane moved in and out of the Gulf of Mexico with threatening promise until attacking the Texas coastline with unrelenting moxy. Damages were estimated easily into five-digits, possibly six with the option for seven, and over 30,000 Texans were left without power. Electric power, not power in the Marx-Engels sense.

It was a double-decker sadness sandwich for residents of the Texas coast, who found their homes and livelihood torn up like the love of a good-lovin' bluesman. Ol' Claudette, she knocked over houses and blew down powerlines with a blow from those puckered-up metaphorical lips of hers and left all Texans lower than low. Some residents were desperate for electricity and shelter again, and even though Gov. Rick Perry promised disaster relief and the American Red Cross offered help to those hit hardest by the storm, it was little consolation after being so brutally used and abused by a hard-hearted bitch with a max wind speed of 85 mph.

"I lived in that wreck that used to be my house all my life," said 10-year-old Bob Phelps, a part-time investment banker and pretend Indian. "Claudette rolls in here like a storm and leaves everything all busted up. A lot like a storm, very much so, really. And all this debris, it's just like the inside of my little ol' heart."

Some grief-stricken residents, like cat fancier Elvin Harper, hoped Claudette would follow earlier predictions of losing intensity before reaching the coast.

"I had friends who said she was just a pretty coastal wind, but I knew better," said Harper, searching through cat debris to salvage what he could. "That hurricane was no good, and she messed Texas up good. It just ain't right, I'm telling you the truth."

Used to being turned inside out by tough-lovin' women, local blues players were among the first to recover from the storm. Though electricity was still out in the town, renowned blues legend Galveston Larry had words none-too-kind for the Category-1 storm in an all-acoustic set at Victoria tavern Benny's.

"That Claudette, she's a tough-lovin' woman," Larry advised, seeking a harmonica affirmation from fellow musician "Luckless" Gary Woodland. "She done rolled in over me, all up and down me—you hear what I'm sayin', Gary? And she flattened my trailer like thousand-pound anvil. Just like in Bugs Bunny cartoon or something."

Despite the poor simile, most residents suffering the aftermath of the tropical storm could identify with Larry's feelings.

"It's just sad, wrenches your insides all up," said steel worker and aspiring dancer Clara Gumption. "You can run into good weather systems every day of your life, it only takes one bad one to ruin it for everybody. But I don't hold no grudges. My main concern is getting on with everything, not cursing Claudette to Hades. She'll get what's coming to her some day, she's going to stroll into the wrong town and get herself messed up like she done to Texas."

he Bush administration celebrated a victory amidst plentiful criticism this week when reports came Friday that Saddam Hussein had been arrested, in Brooklyn, New York of all places.

The news puts a sunny smile on the end of a week of bitter partisan accusations from Democrats and presidential critics against the Republican party, and the president in particular. Bush has had to play hardass on the Liberia situation, alluding to the possibility of military intervention in that country; other sour news surfaced in the release of a report stating the jobless rate had risen its highest in nine years, refuting some conservatives who are claiming the economy is in full recovery from the recession of the past two years. Even more alarming, recent attacks on U.S. soldiers brought the total body count higher than 200, causing some to allege the U.S. still does not have control of the Iraq situation. The president earned harder critique after a statement detractors decried as "an urge to attack our forces."

In a Wednesday address to the White House press, Bush's controversial statements were: "There are some who feel like conditions are such that they can attack us there. My answer is: Bring them on. We have the force necessary to deal with the situation." The president then turned up the collar of the leather jacket he wore to the press conference and put on some Terminator sunglasses.

A rescue did come for Bush and company, though, in the form of the Hussein capture on the Fourth of July. Details were being suppressed by the FBI and the White House until more could be verified, but it is believed a call late Thursday night tipped off authorities to the location of Saddam Hussein, in the heart of Brooklyn, New York, no less.

Speculators who forced their way into the commune office suggest the Hussein arrest was the direct result of the president's Thursday announcement a $25 million reward would be offered for information leading to the capture of Saddam Hussein, and $15 million each for his less popular sons. Some estimates say it was a mere 16 hours before Bush's reward announcement brought in the information that led to the seizure of the deposed Iraqi dictator.

The president earned some back-sass from Democrats for raiding the congressional Secret Santa fund to supply the reward money, as well as subverting money from social programs for Uday and Qusay rewards. While he was mucking about in the national budget, he also dismantled Medicare and Medicaid.

Some FBI insiders are warning early announcements Hussein is in custody may be false. What can be verified by the agency is that just before midnight a phone call offered information on a the location of a Brooklyn hideout where the Iraqi dictator could be picked up; the caller was male, possibly extremely inebriated, and an episode of Perfect Strangers was clearly heard in the background. It was believed to be the one where Balki is hypnotized into believing he's Elvis.

Unofficial witnesses confirm the arrest of a man in the Brooklyn area by a swarm of government agents wearing those cool jackets with "FBI" on the back. The man taken into custody was reportedly shouting loudly that his name was Rudy and he ain't never heard of no Iraq. Witnesses could not say for sure whether the man the FBI detained was Saddam Hussein, though they implied a crisp $100 bill might refresh their memory.

Some are suspicious why the president did not take the opportune time of the Fourth of July to announce Hussein was in custody, but insiders who know Bush said on a three-day weekend the president doesn't even show up at the White House. Experts, or those who claimed to be experts, assured everyone the matter would be made clear on Monday morning, when Bush returned from his Tijuana road trip.

Truth be told, nobody ever thought Omar Bricks would get a cell phone, least of all Omar Bricks. That's strictly Captain Kirk bullshit for sci-fi geeks and mama's boys in my book. But to be honest I never thought somebody would leave one unguarded on the counter at Emergency Room Pizza, either. So let this be a lesson, we should always write our books in pencil or dry erase marker whenever possible or else look like an asshole later.

For those of you not native to the area, ERP is a local legend, a hospital-themed pizza joint that burns the fuck out of some tasty pepperonis. It's not really legendary for the food, but more for the number of people who have passed out or lost their shit while eating there, which are many. Apparently all the bloody tourniquets and bone saw decorations on the walls are too much for some local pizza lovers, and all the tables in there are pretty banged up from people falling down all over the place or scrambling out the windows in a panic.

Personally I think it's awesome. Yeah, what you've heard about the pizza is true; it does pretty much blow ass. It basically tastes like somebody smeared glue on a cardboard box, then set it on fire. Not that I've ever done that. But the place is never crowded, and you know Omar Bricks digs that part. I hate having to wait in line for shitty pizza. Plus ERP never fails to lift my spirits when I'm in a carless funk. They do this thing where every new customer gets a steaming cow heart right in the middle of their pizza as a surprise the first time they eat there, and let me assure you that shit is some serious dinner theater.

Now, the classy move when you're new to ERP and you get a heart on, to the Bricks school of thinking, is to palm the bloody thing in one hand, then stagger up to the counter and start coughing like you just took a hit off a Pinto muffler. When the dude in the paper hat asks you what's the score, that's when you squirt the heart out of your hand like you just coughed the fucker up. What happens after that is a matter of chance and wind direction, but in my case the nasty thing smacked off the guy's face like a wet frog and the entire restaurant threw up all at once. That's how I got my picture on the wall.

Not everyone handles it so well. One time I was there gnawing on a slice when this rookie got her pizza, and she actually thought the cow heart was a big bell pepper or some shit, and I guess she was some kind of bell pepper freak because she stabbed the fucker with her fork like it was going to get away. By chance, at that exact moment somebody flushed a toilet in the john, which sets off that fountain that squirts all the fake blood up by the counter, an ERP landmark. As you might guess, the lady dropped two gonads trying to get out of there before her stomach caught up with her brain, and that's why the front door is missing the glass on the bottom.

Something similar must have happened last week, because some poor soul got the rock out of there at the speed of fear, too fast to be worried about cell phones or their left sneaker. I left the shoe there, since they have a wall they nail those to as trophies, but I was pretty sure that nails and cell phones mix about as well as nails and Jesus, so I liberated that bastard like an Iraqi oil well.

Of course, the real trouble with cell phones is trying to figure out what your phone number is, not enough people write it on the back of the phone with a grease pencil like you're supposed to. I had a plan to have commune speed bump Bludney Pludd dial every number in the phone book until my phone rang, which was brilliant enough, but some little shithead kept calling the thing to ask if his mommy was coming home and that cocked up the whole deal. I had to send Pludd out to take him for ice cream so he wouldn't eat up all my battery time calling like that, since I don't have a charger or anything.

At least I can call out well enough, which is handy when I'm at a fast-food drive thru and I don't want to roll down my window and let the cold in. But people still find a way to piss on my pageant, saying they're not allowed to drop food through a sunroof or there's certain places where it's not polite to use a cell phone. Hey, if I want to talk on my phone while I'm pissing in a movie theater urinal, that's my own business. As for whoever's on the other end of the line, well, that's why I didn't find a camera phone. I just say I'm at the ocean or in a rainforest or some shit and they have to take my word on that if they want hear the rest of the story.

And don't get me started about people bitching that it's dangerous to talk on a phone and flip through the yellow pages while you're driving. Christ on a bike, I'm starting to understand why this thing got left behind. It's like a nag magnet.

Bricks out.

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