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Whom the CO2 Treaty Would Destroy?

Charles Orloski: No dancer, no merry prancer, no flawless “Bluebloods” ever sat at sweet Melissa's kitchen table.

Prologue: On December 10, a bus driver for Williams Bus Lines, Robert Shinal, returned to work earlier than usual, around 5:20 A.M. Among lines of yellow school buses, Robert noticed a car parked where it should not be. Most disturbing, he noticed a hose coming out of the auto's tail pipe and the opposite end served as a conduit of exhaust into the car's driver side window. Inside the running car sat despairing Melissa Scholl with her two little children. As a school bus driver since Fall 2013, and doing (daily) the routine things gallant Robert Shinal did, Melissa's desperate attempt to “get out” made me choke up and write the following poem about a day in the life of a very hurt American gal. That's how I am and readers can look here for actual detail.

CO2 Treaty

No dancer, no merry prancer,
no flawless “Bluebloods” ever sat
at sweet Melissa's kitchen table.
To bury a husband's tumultuous abuse
and go to a place where gasoline flames
would never touch her and the two kids!
So many stones hurled her way,
Melissa (32) had little else to do
except cry and let engine idle
while CO2 overwhelmed the car's oxygen.

Born in Wiesbaden Germany,
Melissa started to lullaby away the terror;
she sang Auld Lang Syne until the C02
intruded to a point where she forgot
the words and everything became
America the asphyxiated beautiful.

Gas gauge read about “empty,”
but the car engine purred like one of the
feral cats who roamed school bus yards
in search of discarded food.
No taste, no odor, the CO2 surged deliriously
through the green garden hose
while Wilkes-Barre Township slept and
Melissa asked God why it had to be this way.

An unexpected tap upon car window,
could it be General Petraeus to the rescue?
No, no... Melissa yielded to Shinal's
command and shut down the engine.
Window opened, hose dropped to ground,
and the killer CO2 escaped before the children
got to make I.D. and warn the ozone.

Police car rotating lights, E.R. vehicle sirens –
Everything damned infiltrated Melissa now,
she became nervous about having
to continue with inhuman Ponzi activity
and senseless abuse.

Do you forgive me, Melissa?
This is how I am.

Strung out, hands-up, she surrendered to police.
Melissa placed trust in a cell's “suicide watch,”
and youthful therapists who would talk about
“restoring your strength to make another try,
get a good paying job at Mohegan Sun Casino,
give some other man a chance
to stand-behind you and the kids,”
without (of course) a snakeskin belt
and a Heineken hard-on.

CO2 Treaty

What the Hell Is Going on Here? *

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“Scranton – Former President Bill Clinton will raise money for his wife , Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, on Thursday at the Radisson at Lackawanna Station Hotel. The event is not open to the public. Tickets range from $500 to $2,700 per person and are available here.

My desires and appetites munch at me
and I taste very good to the hungry hordes
of Citizens United.

Sons and daughters of coal miners
who stand outside the Radisson gate –
They treat our stomachs with kosher contempt,
shall we content ourselves with Happy Meals?

You can tell how fast I ran when
a white powder substance appeared
in my Wheaties, and tossed it out window!
I waited for terror birds to drop dead from
the tainted “Breakfast of Champions.”

Sons and daughters of coal miners
who stand outside the Radisson gate –
We pray for more sales on Amazon.com,
they have Yellen, and they invest in jihad oil.

On the third day spent huddled
inside a 2nd floor catacomb apartment,
I rose to the dismal occasion,
stood in front of cracked mirror-mirror
and like the Missing Link of Citizens United,
I booked a $500 ticket (on my debit card)
to hear Bill Clinton speak!

Sons and daughters of coal miners
who stand outside the Radisson gate –
We pay less for garbage bags at Dollar Store,
they have laws that keep dung in high places.

Immaculately indoctrinated, easy to please,
and disgusted by messy “public” Rest Rooms,
I blend into Radisson at Lackawanna Station Hotel.
Dancing, singing, snobbish laughter –
I rubbed shoulders with historic “Hill Section” clan!
A black tie Magi poured Italian ice
into my Shirley Temple, Clinton feels my joy,
and with apelike passion,
I hollered, “Hillary's the real McCoy!”
(sigh) I brood upon the futility of ever knowing
what the hell is going on here.

* A reasonable question asked on the campaign trail by deceptive Donald Trump, December 2015. Yesterday (12/10) The Donald delayed plans to meet with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu who have might shared some “not for the public” tips as to why the west's “going to hell in a Moses handbasket.”

Charles Orloski