Sister Nancy Beth's mysteries of the unexplained

I'm going to switch gears in an attempt to reestablish a working relationship with my Muse* and try my hand at a bit of that Citizen Journalism the blogosphere is so noted for. The purpose of these "Mysteries of the Unexplained" entries (I'm planning one more, though any tips from my two LA readers would be welcome) is to document the more puzzling sights of this Godless city and hopefully, through the craftsman's tools of idle speculation and gross mischaracterization, link them to radical homosexuals, Islamic terrorists, or better yet, radical homosexual Islamic terrorists.

Today's Mystery of the Unexplained is the throw pillow that's been sitting on the roof of specialty merchant (e.g. $8 pints of strawberries; $4 boxes of crackers) Bristol Farms at the corner of Sunset and Fairfax since spring of this year. I've long been alarmed by its presence, so when I saw the recent LA Times picture of local homosexual Perez Hilton with Bristol Farms in the background, my heart positively skipped a beat: "OMIGODD!!!1! THEY'RE FINALLY WRITING ABOUT THE PILLOW!!!" I IM'ed to one of my church ladies. Upon further research, however, it appears that Old Media has once again completely ignored this important landmark, one that has become a personal monument in the topography of my own post-9/11 struggle against Islezbofascism.



How did a harlequin print pillow end up on the roof of one of LA's priciest markets? Did some queen whose apartment is lousy with throw pillows flip out on during her meth-inspired shopping expedition for Evian and littleneck clams? Or could it have been put there as a sign to the local Al Qaeda cell that they've got the Stingers and to proceed apace with the plan against American interests in West Hollywood? Whatever the reason, MSM does't want to know, and clearly has no interest in finding out or telling you.



Over the past eight months, I've come to regard the fading of its original cobalt and sky blue into the muted grays you see in the photos with the same bittersweetness that I mark the passing of the seasons: Come springtime, I wonder, will there be a second pillow on the roof, and the process can begin anew? Yet in doing so, I risk trivialing the Evil that dwells within our midst. Let others worry about a nuclear Iran, for Pottery Barn, my arch-nemesis, has released a line of paisely jacquard throw pillows so opulent that even Hugh Hewitt himself would squeal in delight at their silken finery. Their potential to recruit angry jihadis in their war on Freedom is greater than a thousand Abu Ghraibs, and Our Nation's virility may not survive their onslaught. Praise Him!

*The tale of the tenth Muse, Asskobika (or alternately Asskobbika), the Muse of conservative punditry, has conveniently disappeared from historical texts, much to the delight of leftist intellectuals, but can be summarized thusly: Asskobika was blessed with the gift of seeing inherent liberal bias in the works of art inspired by her sisters, and complained bitterly about it to anyone who would listen. She so enraged the gods of Olympus she was banished to puckering her rectum in the outer recesses of the Milky Way. Though confined to total isolation, her endless grievances occasionally make their way to earth and inspire a mortal to send toxic spores to liberal entertainers.