It was a beautiful, Dockers-ad Saturday in San Francisco.

Everyone was out, sunny and beaming, full of radiant West Coast smugness.  We were collectively just about to bite into our brie-crusted avocado lentil paninis when, all of the sudden, this happened:

Needless to say the populace of San Francsico was not going to take such American military bravado sitting down. I thought up several hypothetical objections a town of socially conscious couscous eaters might have to the Blue Angels show, all of which appear to be backed up by reality:

1. Smoke pollution

2. Noise pollution

3. Senseless waste of Bush’s Iraqi blood oil

4. Glorifying the machines of war

Thankfully the event went on as planned in the Marina, home to all ten of the SF Republicans and even several citizens who openly acknowledge membership in college sororities.  The show really knocked the panties off those latte swilling poets. Will those two planes hit? No? NO! They didn’t hit! LOUD NOISES! AMERICA!

I, for one, will sleep easier now that I know that that war is really all about sonic booms and somersaults. Although maybe next time, lets skip the low-flying United jetliner that looked like it was about to desecrate Golden Gate Bridge.

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