Karma Karma Kaput (Eat your heart out, Boy George)

I love the smell of karma in the morning. And at noon, and at night. Karma is a wondrous and mysterious force -- all-knowing, all-seeing, and infallible. Whenever I've been steamrolled by one thing or another, I don't have to do a thing because I know that karma is always going to hunt down the steamroller and do its thing. And it always does, without fail.

There are many strange and mysterious forces at work in this infinitely awesome universe of ours. It is not ours to question it, to analyze it overmuch, to attempt in our infinitesimally small human way to dissect it. All we need to know is that it is omnipresent and it knows what to do all by itself.

The first three letters in "karma" could stand for
Kick-
Ass
Rope

That particular metaphor comes to mind because karma seems to be working overtime these days. Dumb criminals fall like dominoes, buffoons are publicly exposed, blowhards with a propensity to insert foot in mouth are lambasted in all appropriate quarters. The list goes on. I'm sure you've all seen it in operation for yourselves. The moral is, most of the time you don't even have to give the blowhards enough rope -- or, indeed, any rope -- to hang themselves. They will inevitably hoist themselves on their own petard. Problem solved, neat and clean, and the price of rope remains stable. And shoot, if that fails, you can always just burn it to the ground. They do say that fire purifies.

How to make fire: Search the world over for two or more liars, which won't take you very long. Then, knock their heads together and, voilà, the hot air will ignite and you've got ... fire. Or as we sometimes hear here in the South, fahr.