A Walk in the Sun

Max Sawicky sawicky at epinet.org
Sun Aug 30 21:23:01 PDT 1998


I had just made the turn and slammed a perfect drive down the right side of the fairway, when up drove a lady with the refreshments in her golf cart. She noticed my sinewy forearms, glistening with perspiration. "Snapple?" I declined with a grunt. I was thinking about whether I could reach the green with my six iron. But she wasn't finished. "You're pretty long off the tee," she said. That got my attention. I looked her up and down for the first time. She was wearing little white shorts, a midriff revealing short tee shirt, and a white sun visor that said "Pro Staff." She had legs that went all the way to the Chesapeake Bay, if you know what I mean. Then I spied a copy of the Verso edition of the Communist Manifesto in her basket, next to the strawberry Gatorade. She followed my eyes and raised her eyebrows. "Are you down with the people?" she asked. Then I realized my moral dilemma. I had a lock. This was a done deal. All I had to do was ride it home. But I would have to play Robbie the Rinky-Dink Red.

I had heard all the buzzwords. I could chant the latest slogans. I knew that the world economy was on the verge of collapse. In fact, it had been so for the past twenty years. So do I play along, for the sake of "penetrating the most backward regions of the proletariat," as Chairman Mao said, or do I own up to my miserable sell-out of revolutionary ideals? Then I realized. Come the revolution, they're going to shoot me anyway. So what the hell.

Pulling out my six iron, I said, "We need a revolutionary party; that's what I'm about." Then we exchanged e-mail addresses.

MBS



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