Angry Buddhist (9781609458867) Read Online Free PDF Page B

overwhelming nature of their inner phantasmagoria?
    Rises and stretches his legs. It’s torture for him to sit and do nothing but he’s learning there is something to be said for observing what arises and then doing absolutely nothing other than watching it pass. Lets Bruno back in the trailer, refills his dog bowl with water. Maybe he’ll actually follow through on Randall’s suggestion and sprinkle some sunshine on Dale’s life.
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    http://WWW.DESERT-MACHIAVELLI.COM
    10.30 – 11:15 A.M.
    The Machiavelli had the cockles of his cynical heart warmed when he turned on the TV and saw coverage of Randall Duke greeting his brother when he was released from prison. It was like some kind of bizarro Hallmark hallucination, the slick pol with the gimpy jailbird. Randall obviously thinks this is going to get him some votes since he hasn’t done anything out of the goodness of his heart his entire life. And Dale is a serious piece of damaged work, a scumsucker who wasn’t due to be paroled for another year. Nice to know the law treats us all equally. Of course, you Blogheads are aware the Machiavelli has occasionally been known to side with the criminal element—especially where crimes of vice are concerned—but he does not like the cut of Dale Duke’s jib. The Machiavelli has not made up his mind about this election yet. Under normal circumstances, he would never vote for an empty suit like Randall Duke—he voted for the Vegan Party candidate in the last election an hour after eating a cheeseburger, rather than pull the lever for that vacuous twit—but his opponent the Stewardess is more suited to model on the cover of
Gun Nut
than to be a Representative in the United States Congress. Not to be an elitist snob and taking nothing away from her pretty legs, but did the Stewardess even graduate from college?
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CHAPTER FOUR
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    I n a slim cut black wool blazer—consciously chosen for its length which covers her burgeoning backside yet still hangs in a way that does not invite comparisons to a table top—a loose white button-front blouse, maroon leggings and knee high soft black leather boots with a low heel, her layered, expensively dyed blond hair covered by a faded raspberry golf cap with the logo
Life Is Good
, Kendra Duke is a picture of slightly overweight chic. In most of America she would be a bikini model but she knows the standards in Palm Springs are not those of the great white flour and sugar consuming non-coastal areas of the republic.
    A shopping expedition has delivered her to Couture Canyon Apparel where the wide, well-organized racks of designer clothes are arranged in pleasure-inducing geometry. This store is the bargain basement province of Kendra’s favorite designers whose overpriced creations command considerably more in the gilded precincts ninety miles to the west. On weekends the place is crammed with breathless Los Angeles bargain seekers rendered weak-kneed by the site of Versace reduced by a third, and the frenzied yanking of dresses and jackets off racks, the impatient lines outside the changing rooms, turn the place into Cairo at rush hour, but on this weekday morning it is as quiet as a chapel.
    She notices one other shopper, a trim older man with a full head of steel gray hair wearing a well-cut white linen suit as he examines a display of Prada shirts.
    This morning Kendra’s brief is a specific one: to shop for something to wear on Election Day, Day of Days, Judgment Day in Duke World, one week from today, when she will be photographed and videotaped, recorded for posterity yet again as a human corsage, an appendage of Congressman Randall Duke. An appendage! That was definitely not the plan back in her twenties when she was ten pounds lighter and considerably more dewy when it came to the machinations of the universe.
    Against the wall opposite the entrance is an enticing rack of Dolce and Gabbana and Kendra zeroes in. Scoping