The International Writers Magazine: REALITY CHECK
DOMAIN & THE SAGA OF ZANDER THE BAT"
John Marshall has made his decision, now let him enforce it."
President Andrew Jackson
Andrew Jackson was
one of the 19th centurys grandest crazed monsters, and a serviceable
model for the American President for decades. His mass genocide and
forced extrication of Native Americans in the face of a Civil Rights
Supreme Court ruling in 1831 rendered the pure meaning of Absolute Power
and gave rise to beautifully prescient quotes like Richard Nixons
"If the president wills it, it cant be illegal." Jackson,
ever the progressive, vehemently disagreed with the Supreme Courts
ruling that his government was ignoring clearly framed treaties and
proceeded to slaughter and/or evict American Indians from their land.
And it is that enviably defiant American Spirit and blind Manifest Destiny
to which I turn to in order to outwardly challenge the federal governments
right to expunge me from my land on the grounds of Eminent Domain or
Clear Public Use. The Supreme Court has made its decision, now let the
US Government enforce it.
Jackson was brain damaged, but he had to be right. Hes on the
$20 bill. We celebrate his madness. So pass all the Property Seizure
laws or Flag Burning Amendments you want, you still have to enforce
it. Good luck. Im burning a flag right now as I write this. This
is why there is a preponderance of lawyers in this country. There are
so many stupid laws, and alongside, the brave souls who wish to refute
them with extreme prejudice. But you wont find me among them.
Except for my preternatural lust to burn flags, I am an upstanding citizen
of these United States living quietly in my bucolic splendor, and as
such I look to the Bill of Rights to respectfully refuse compliance
to asinine rulings of this or any court. I have a wife and two cats,
a few homeless chipmunks and a confused bat to protect and support.
They need a roof over their heads. This roof. And before I surrender
it, there will be blood and guts, believe me.
To be fair, I did try and extricate the bat. It was hard to handle,
and even less feasible to feed. It took to swooping nervously in and
out of our living room and back into the greenhouse. The wife was caught
up in the NBA Finals and decided it best to don a blanket and yell expletives
at it. "Zander, damn it! Stop hitting the fucking television! The
Pistons are making a fourth quarter surge! Damn it, Zander!" The
wife likes to officially dub all spastically frightened rodents trapped
in our house Zander. They remind her of a psychopathic photographer
from Westchester, NY named Peter Zander, whom she served under as an
assistant for a little less than a year and whose violent mood swings
and pained jabbering from eruptions of brain bubbles caused her alarm.
It wasnt so much that she feared him, but it was, as she put it
once, "infuriating to endure the struggle of the mentally challenged".
Fed up, most times she would try whacking Zander on the back of the
head with the business end of an enlarger, but that only caused the
poor bastard to flail his arms about uncontrollably. She told him the
best thing for it was excessive masturbation, but he said he couldnt
Turns out he was unable to achieve an erection unless berating those
in his employ, so she walked. "No sense trying to help that dickless
ass," she told me. "At least no more of his mutated genes
will infect ! the species." And as much as I hated to admit it,
I vividly recalled her terrible musings on the insanity of Zander when
she continued to scream at the poor defenseless bat as it repeatedly
crashed into the candle stand and bounced off the fireplace mantel.
I tried to baby it, make it my own, but it did not work. The bat, I
have read, responses better to tough love, especially with its metabolism
running at frenzied levels. Zander was no different than his namesake.
He too had the brain bubbles, and professional help was needed. I rightly
figured Zander the Bat a refugee from last years relocation plan,
when a conniving little shit heel called Alan Constantino sandbagged
Constantino runs a highly focused con fronted by an Animal & Pest
Control concern. His ALCO organization took two weeks to install a working
one-way tunnel outside of my attic and guaranteed it for at least five
years. This bogus "guarantee" lasted less than a year, at
which time the arrival of the confused bat named Zander prompted my
repeated telephoned pleas to Mr. Constantino that went unanswered. Although
thats not completely true. He smartly returned one about six weeks
ago when we caught a little baby bat bouncing into the hallway upstairs,
but he used our request for help to claim absentia due to a serious
car accident, despite the sound of Hawaiian music and the titters of
bar matrons in the background.
This, I decided, would not stand. Zander the Bat was losing its battle
with my drapes. The ASPCA was apparently unconcerned. I had to act.
But several of my desperately aggressive messages to his office had
apparently caused Constantino to weep, answering my tenth such call
with a girlishly whiny, "If you continue to leave nasty messages
at this office, Jesus Christ would have a better chance to come out
there than us." He was visibly shaken. I could tell by the cracks
in his voice. I tried to offer him therapy, but what do you say when
a grown man is simpering like a child while a bat is hanging precariously
over your head.
Just because his mommy failed him does not give him the right to renege
on a deal. "Get a hold of yourself, Alan!" I screamed at him.
"Stand by your shoddy work, or Ill have the district attorney
after you!" But he could not contain his fear and hung up. He knew
I was onto his scam: Half-ass the rube, how will he know Ive ripped
him off? He cant even rehabilitate a flying rodent, could he really
tell we threw up some cheap chicken wire and collected on the bill with
no real compunction to honor it. Sucker!
Ah, but the ALCO fuckers and Zander the Bat and the Supreme Court have
underestimated the rugged guile of our resolve. They have nothing on
the hearty souls here at Clemens Estate. We dont go in for the
cheap thrills. Its all or nothing here. We have the power of the
press and the grit to see it through. This is all that may be left of
The Law as we know it, but it is a call to arms, and we shall answer
© James Campion July 11th 2005
also Deep Throat and other
stories in out Comment
Legal - the case for drugs
We Want Bolton
Den of Iniquity
James Campion is featured in Hackwriters monthly - he will return in
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