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Joined at the Hip

Jesse Ventura and I are almost joined at the hip.  About three years ago, Jesse had a hip replacement, too, as I did three weeks ago.


It is difficult to have more than that in common!  With Jesse.


Jesse is rather scary.  Perhaps I should call him Mr. Ventura.  He used to be a Navy walrus, and then he became a professional wrestler, and then--wanting to ease up a bit as he became older--he ran as an independent, and became the Governor of the Great and Good State of Puzzling Minnesota.  


Truth be told, Jesse was a pretty good Governor, for a while, but towards the end he got his hip out of joint, and seemed not to be entirely happy with Minnesotans.  I have read that he--at least part-time--"lives off the grid" in Baja California, Mexico.  


At the moment, Jesse is in a snit.  Apparently, Jesse's titanium hip set off the airport security alarm as he was proceeding to get on an airplane, and the airport security people took him aside and patted him down in ways that Jesse found unsettling, curiously stimulating, and un-American.  So Jesse went to court to do something about the invasion of his privacy and privates, and the judge threw the case out of court.  


Former Governor Ventura slipped his titanium hip back into position, and said that he was never going to fly a commercial airline, again, and reportedly muttered something about the Fascist States of America, and speculated that he might have to apply for dual citizenship in Mexico, where violence usually does not take the form of people patting your hip and things.  


As I suggested, Jesse and I are somewhat hip in the same ways.  It was my right-wing hip I had replaced.  I assume, without a shred of evidence, that Jesses left hip was giving him problems.  But unlike Jesse, I am looking forward to traveling commercially, again, partly because I have not a prayer of affording a private charter, and partly because of . . . oh, I don't know . . . because it has been quite a while since anyone insisted on patting me.  Maybe ever.  

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