Let's take a moment of violent non-silence to celebrate the life and times of the contest winner responsible for the most popular gun of all time. Mikhail Kalashnikov's weapon starred in wars, skirmishes, and rap songs. The AK-47 even made it onto the flag of Mozambique.
Okay, back to the front. I did a stint as Black Santa's little helper the other day. We hauled bags of toys, Father Christmas, and a whole goat to a village in the middle of the Delta. The kids had a ball climbing all over the fat man in the red suit while the big kids went at the goat with knives and pangas(machete sort of things) to get it skinned and butchered quickly for the feast. The women took the hunks of meat and pounded them with mortar and pestle so the meat had more surface area to absorb the milk and salt mixture as it boiled into seswaa.
Everyone in the village did what people the world over do at festive occasions, recounted memories, told stories, shared laughter and food. I left the festivities early due to a squall line on the horizon. But Father Christmas wouldn't have left with me anyway. When he was done handing out gifts, he just walked into the bush until his red suit faded away. The kids here all think Santa lives in the bush. A lesson Megyn Kelly and her ilk would do well to learn: it doesn't matter whether Rudolph's nose is red from magic or too much coke, what color Father Christmas is, if he pilots a sleigh or as Brian Setzer and his orchestra contend, Santa drives a hot rod.
I just wanted to stare at the sun. Is that so wrong?
23 hours ago