Claudette Ravages Texas Coast Like Mean-Hearted Woman in Blues Song

weet mercy! Texans are still rebuilding their shattered lives after last week's "just plain cold" brutalizing of the Galveston Bay area by heartless hurricane Claudette.

Like an insufferable tropical cocktease, that hurricane moved in and out of the Gulf of Mexico with threatening promise until attacking the Texas coastline with unrelenting moxy. Damages were estimated easily into five-digits, possibly six with the option for seven, and over 30,000 Texans were left without power. Electric power, not power in the Marx-Engels sense.

It was a double-decker sadness sandwich for residents of the Texas coast, who found their homes and livelihood torn up like the love of a good-lovin' bluesman. Ol' Claudette, she knocked over houses and blew down powerlines with a blow from those puckered-up metaphorical lips of hers and left all Texans lower than low. Some residents were desperate for electricity and shelter again, and even though Gov. Rick Perry promised disaster relief and the American Red Cross offered help to those hit hardest by the storm, it was little consolation after being so brutally used and abused by a hard-hearted bitch with a max wind speed of 85 mph.

"I lived in that wreck that used to be my house all my life," said 10-year-old Bob Phelps, a part-time investment banker and pretend Indian. "Claudette rolls in here like a storm and leaves everything all busted up. A lot like a storm, very much so, really. And all this debris, it's just like the inside of my little ol' heart."

Some grief-stricken residents, like cat fancier Elvin Harper, hoped Claudette would follow earlier predictions of losing intensity before reaching the coast.

"I had friends who said she was just a pretty coastal wind, but I knew better," said Harper, searching through cat debris to salvage what he could. "That hurricane was no good, and she messed Texas up good. It just ain't right, I'm telling you the truth."

Used to being turned inside out by tough-lovin' women, local blues players were among the first to recover from the storm. Though electricity was still out in the town, renowned blues legend Galveston Larry had words none-too-kind for the Category-1 storm in an all-acoustic set at Victoria tavern Benny's.

"That Claudette, she's a tough-lovin' woman," Larry advised, seeking a harmonica affirmation from fellow musician "Luckless" Gary Woodland. "She done rolled in over me, all up and down me—you hear what I'm sayin', Gary? And she flattened my trailer like thousand-pound anvil. Just like in Bugs Bunny cartoon or something."

Despite the poor simile, most residents suffering the aftermath of the tropical storm could identify with Larry's feelings.

"It's just sad, wrenches your insides all up," said steel worker and aspiring dancer Clara Gumption. "You can run into good weather systems every day of your life, it only takes one bad one to ruin it for everybody. But I don't hold no grudges. My main concern is getting on with everything, not cursing Claudette to Hades. She'll get what's coming to her some day, she's going to stroll into the wrong town and get herself messed up like she done to Texas."

he Bush administration celebrated a victory amidst plentiful criticism this week when reports came Friday that Saddam Hussein had been arrested, in Brooklyn, New York of all places.

The news puts a sunny smile on the end of a week of bitter partisan accusations from Democrats and presidential critics against the Republican party, and the president in particular. Bush has had to play hardass on the Liberia situation, alluding to the possibility of military intervention in that country; other sour news surfaced in the release of a report stating the jobless rate had risen its highest in nine years, refuting some conservatives who are claiming the economy is in full recovery from the recession of the past two years. Even more alarming, recent attacks on U.S. soldiers brought the total body count higher than 200, causing some to allege the U.S. still does not have control of the Iraq situation. The president earned harder critique after a statement detractors decried as "an urge to attack our forces."

In a Wednesday address to the White House press, Bush's controversial statements were: "There are some who feel like conditions are such that they can attack us there. My answer is: Bring them on. We have the force necessary to deal with the situation." The president then turned up the collar of the leather jacket he wore to the press conference and put on some Terminator sunglasses.

A rescue did come for Bush and company, though, in the form of the Hussein capture on the Fourth of July. Details were being suppressed by the FBI and the White House until more could be verified, but it is believed a call late Thursday night tipped off authorities to the location of Saddam Hussein, in the heart of Brooklyn, New York, no less.

Speculators who forced their way into the commune office suggest the Hussein arrest was the direct result of the president's Thursday announcement a $25 million reward would be offered for information leading to the capture of Saddam Hussein, and $15 million each for his less popular sons. Some estimates say it was a mere 16 hours before Bush's reward announcement brought in the information that led to the seizure of the deposed Iraqi dictator.

The president earned some back-sass from Democrats for raiding the congressional Secret Santa fund to supply the reward money, as well as subverting money from social programs for Uday and Qusay rewards. While he was mucking about in the national budget, he also dismantled Medicare and Medicaid.

Some FBI insiders are warning early announcements Hussein is in custody may be false. What can be verified by the agency is that just before midnight a phone call offered information on a the location of a Brooklyn hideout where the Iraqi dictator could be picked up; the caller was male, possibly extremely inebriated, and an episode of Perfect Strangers was clearly heard in the background. It was believed to be the one where Balki is hypnotized into believing he's Elvis.

Unofficial witnesses confirm the arrest of a man in the Brooklyn area by a swarm of government agents wearing those cool jackets with "FBI" on the back. The man taken into custody was reportedly shouting loudly that his name was Rudy and he ain't never heard of no Iraq. Witnesses could not say for sure whether the man the FBI detained was Saddam Hussein, though they implied a crisp $100 bill might refresh their memory.

Some are suspicious why the president did not take the opportune time of the Fourth of July to announce Hussein was in custody, but insiders who know Bush said on a three-day weekend the president doesn't even show up at the White House. Experts, or those who claimed to be experts, assured everyone the matter would be made clear on Monday morning, when Bush returned from his Tijuana road trip.

To all those who have ever made fun of me, I have one thing to say: Eat a rotten cow out. For everyone who said or insinuated or made some kind of rude hand gesture suggesting my sister was more talented or smarter or cooler than I was in any case, I have one thing left to say: My sister is a gigantic sci-fi nerd.

That's right, my sister, Cassandra Coleman, the big-time successful lawyer and Harvard grad, the big-time book author, she's just a big old Trekkie underneath it all. Nobody was shocked more than me, I'll tell you that. The last thing you expect when you show up to a major metropolitan sci-fi convention is to find your sister at the head of the Terry Pratchett book-signing line dressed as Xena, Warrior Princess. In fact I'll make the bold declaration that any time you find your sister dressed as Xena, Warrior Princess, outside of a traditional costume party, is bad news.

She noticed me right away, and the mortification set in her face right away. She knew her cover was blown. Anyone who doesn't know, my sister sees herself as the downright respectable member of the Coleman family, although the rest of us like to put her in her place with a random insult or well-placed firecracker once in a while. But once word got back to our family, she knew all the jokes that had come before would pale in comparison.

Finally! That's all I have to say. Every time I show up to her office or palatial apartment she rolls her eyes like a bigshot or whatever and asks real condescending-like, "I suppose you need to borrow some money?" She's such a pretentious dildo all the time, thinking she's better than everybody and just chomping at the bit to put people in her place, and I would tell her so whenever I go there, but then she wouldn't lend me the money. One of these days I'm going to show up and pay her back, then really let her have it. And now I got all the material I need. It's my turn to roll my eyes and "tsk tsk" her, back to the stone age.

Since I was getting paid to show up to the convention, wearing my Queen Tongue outfit and signing autographs and such, I couldn't wait to blast her for it. That book-signing line was too long and ornery to wait around, but I knew I'd see her again since most of the convention spazzes show up for the filk prom. I was supposed to be on hand as a celebrity square dance conductor, so I would corner her there and give her the business.

To cut this story down to column length, let's just say the rest of the convention went splendidly and I was treated with supreme dignity and respect by all the pasty nimrods in attendance. A few of the guys asked me to dance, and some of them weren't all that bad looking, by sci-fi convention standards, and I would have danced with them, too, if I hadn't been wearing my Metallichick costume to the prom, since those bullet bra points can pierce the skin pretty easily with little force. I was the belle of the ball, like… well, like one of the handful of girls at a sci-fi convention. But my sister was off in the corner, sulking like the ugly duckling and staring at me guiltily.

When I caught up with her she was all but begging. "Please don't tell the folks, Clarissa," she asked me. "You know they get on me for every stupid little thing. You mention one thing about my Voyager fan fiction and the Spock jokes won't stop over the Thanksgiving dinner table."

Well, she was right about that. Give her credit for knowing the mom and pop, she's at least smart about one thing. And school subjects, so that's two things. So I told her I would keep her secret safe from the family, as long as I was allowed to tell anyone else I wanted to. She agreed, and then proceeded to tell me about the fantastic lesbian undertones of Xena and Gabrielle, and I pretended to care, a real sisterly moment.

It was a half decent time, for a sci-fi convention. And as soon as I figured out a way to tell everybody what a nerd she was, except my parents, I had some fun myself. I know they won't ever find out if I just put it in my column, reading something I wrote would be too much like showing support.

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