By David Glenn Cox
I am not too proud to admit when I am wrong, and I was wrong. We might not have a Christmas tree but by god, we’ve got plenty of fireworks! To the best of my knowledge, Colorado was back on lock down, as in no public events. And I thought it odd at the time that there were no early random firecrackers to satiate some eight-year-old bounding off the walls making everyone miserable. “Just let em blow something up for Christ sake!” I speak of course from the personal experience of being that eight-year-old child. What other time does a child get to handle explosives? Who wouldn’t be excited? Mom and dad look on and think, our little boy is blowing things up.
The day had been real quiet the weather confused but cooperative. Evening comes late but the revelers were undeterred, skyrockets competing with sunsets for attention. As the daylight surrendered the Marines hit the beaches. It was like the background noise of news reports from some correspondent in a war zone. The sky was ablaze in all directions as children danced joyously and squealed with each report and flash. Down the street someone had made an incredible purchase of a gross of Fiery Pagoda or whatever you call them flaming trees of sparks six feet high changing color and the first two or three were entertaining.
The first forty-five minutes in general were entertaining. During the quarantine we had the eight o’clock howl. Each inmate would stick their heads outside and howl just to let you know they were still alive and venting frustration in primal screams of anguish. “They won’t attack until the distant drums stop.” Last night was like that only there was more at play as the outpouring was so immense. Clouds of smoke hung in the night and it just went on and on. Multilayered sounds from the low rumble in the distance to the sharp report and everything in between. Skyrockets, bottle rockets, Roman Candles, screaming mimis and black cats. Did I mention that fireworks are illegal? Yep, sure are. Sure, as the world.
Denver at least was saying, “You’re not going to fuck up my Fourth of July!” My cynical side was asking, you didn’t spend the whole stimulus check, did you Homer? It was after eleven o’clock and the children had long gone to bed. A people making a statement about a country they are unsure of under the leadership of Don the Unstable. First King of Merica, but you can call him Adolph. It is a frightening time. We are all in this together but suffer alone separately. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve been here a while. Coo, Coo for Coco Puffs is our chief executive and Doctor Strangelove controls the Senate. Tony Soprano is Attorney General and the bill for all this frolic and folly will soon be presented. 100,000 new cases each day.
We have left farce on our way to tragedy. A President struggling with a ramp and drinking glasses and big words is questioning someone else’s cognitive abilities…project much? Then there is the President’s recent confusion between Operation Desert Storm and Vietnam. Is Gramps getting senile or is it understandable that he wouldn’t know the difference since he wasn’t involved with either? We fought the battle of Chateaubriand and shot down the Red Barron. One little dog all alone on his doghouse against the might of the whole German Luftwaffe. Sounds like he might have struck on the next hot pilot for cable TV, “Uncle Don’s Fractured History.” And then Marie Antoinette said, “I have not yet begun to fight, Damn Beau Bridges full speed ahead!”
The wheels have come off. He’s Pink in the flesh, crazy as a bedbug and the whole world knows it. He’s flailing and it’s failing.
His trademark is division and race baiting, but it’s not working so he has to go farther and deeper and darker than before. No one is in control of him he’s cattle on the highway! Executive order: Ten Years in Prison for anyone who does anything I don’t like! An insane asylum for one. I am Napoleon Bonaparte Emperor of all France! I’m ready for my close up, Mister DeMille. From a historical standpoint it is insightful to see how you get to there from here. How insanity blossoms into bloom under the darkness of sycophancy and self-interest. Somebody get my gun and 100,000 bullets. I’ll be on Fifth Avenue if you need me.
It is at this point in our story where the great divide begins as November approaches. Hitch your wagon to team orange Hindenburg or strike out alone. Liz Cheney spawn of the Dark Lord Cheney is changing lanes and criticizing the President. The type of political event last witnessed in the Roman Forum with Caesar in a puddle. I admire her optimism; she’s painting herself as a Republican of a different color. You know, back when Republicans were just a little crazy gearing up for 2024, like at this rate there will even be a 2024, I’ll give you even money on New Year’s Eve.
Soon more defections will follow as the rats slip away from the bunker. The Russian guns are in the distance, run now while “What I did while the world collapsed” tell all books are still marketable. The President’s strategy of going it alone is working as we are now officially all alone. The collapse of American leadership is the collapse on American power. The collapse of American power portends the collapse of economic leadership. This sad visage, a diapered geriatric in orange face paint sits in his own waste. Remembering when he had the biggest inaugural crowd ever. Remembering when Eddie Rickenbacker shot down General Yamamoto in his X-wing fighter with a Wookie who was no help at all! Dividing up the ashes of victory.