the Coach i rode on [see what i did there] arrived in Port of Spain just about the time that the funeral procession of the late great Arthur Napoleon Raymond Robinson was passing by. i stopped, waited and watched as the protective arms went before a fallen General. i took off my fedora. stood in a quashie military stance [thank you Crusaders' training] and even said a small, tiny prayer for the country. meanwhile Trinidad was talking. talking about some asinine thing. now i don't know for sure HOW asinine it was but the prevailing thought in my head was - "could we not give the man 75 seconds of silence to observe his passing?" apparently we could not. now i live in a country that doesn't know the meaning of honour or respect; that is, unless they are liked/voted for. actually, not even that. were THAT true, we wouldn't be throwing souse bones in woodford square when the anthem or our favourite political person spoke. it's just hilarious to me th
Intellectualism Before Baboons