By David Glenn Cox
I get tired of fear-based journalism. I get it, but I tire of it. Never before in the history of humankind has there been more to fear in life. But this pathetic bunch of saps and losers, ain’t it. How can I get the wallet from out of your pocket? How can I scare you and alarm you enough to send money? Don’t look now Chicken Little! Its Madison Ave., do those age spots make you look old? Are you afraid of going bald? Do you have halitosis? There is a rule in journalism; you got to fill the space with something, or they get mad. Submitting blank pages is the ultimate Faux Pax.
They do it because it works. Shocking News Bulletin! “A group of Conservative activists plan to descend on Washington for a demonstration! The Republicans are assumed to be nine foot tall, with fangs and green teeth! Armed with attack dogs, flame throwers and flying monkey brigades!” Stop the record and back her up. Let’s look at the video evidence, shall we? It looks more like a Hee Haw fan club reunion. Now, look what they did. “I’ll just overrun the Capitol for Donald Twump and show up for work on Monday!” Historical fact: none of the patriots involved in the Boston Tea Party showed up for work on Monday Jethro!” Taking up arms against the government is generally considered the end of gainful civilian employment. Che Guevara didn’t have another job to go to.
There was plenty of preplanning, but very little post planning. Step one, show up at Capitol. Step two, see what happens. Step three, drive the mini van home. Step four, my wife calls my boss to tell him I won’t be in tomorrow, because I’m under arrest. The little Fish from January 6th are getting from between six months to six years in Federal Prison. Would anyone else like a piece? I’m not wealthy, it doesn’t take but an afternoon or two of professional lawyering, before I’m eating peanut butter sandwiches and scouting bridges for their real-estate potential.
Not to forget the wife factor. “Ah Honey, I was thinking of taking a few days off, and running down to Washington to protest injustice, with my violent Conservative friends.” She said, “Say something else, I love a funny man!” Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. Now, the sure enough Troglodytes will say, “Sounds like fun! Can I come too?” That’s the minority, now divide that number by the number with gas money and a grandma to feed the dog and sell the meth, while they’re gone.
These are the followers of Donald Twump, they think he’s a genius. They think that Rand Paul sure is smart fellow! That Matt Gaetz is a real ladies’ man. Say, let’s listen to the Marjorie Taylor Greene podcast and become better acquainted with the issues of the day. Real Americans, who can tell you in vivid detail what the aftertaste of cattle wormer is all about.
I’m afraid to ask what they washed it down with. Yes, really, really, no fooling, Republicans are calling poison control after eating cattle wormer. But progress is progress, they didn’t used to believe the disease was real or something to be concerned about. Eating cattle wormer, certainly sounds pretty concerned to me. In a Hee Haw fan club reunion, sort of way.
It wasn’t two weeks ago, Napoleon DeSantis; governor of Florida was daring local school boards to knock the chip off his shoulder. He was tough, standing on the redoubts of freedom. No one was going to force any child to wear a mask in Florida schools. “Oh boy, oh boy! Washington D.C. here I come! Hail to the chief da de da de dum de dum dum,” I’m gonna defend your freedom, no matter how many kids it costs!
Napoleon now finds himself a fortnight later, sinking in quicksand, his polling numbers crashing and judges booting his executive orders. They love your tough Conservative edge, just not enough to sacrifice their children. At least, not until they’ve finished their wormer treatments. Napoleon now finds himself all alone and naked, outdoors pissing in the wind. His Presidential chances cratered, and his reelection chances, slim and none and Slim, just left town.
What actually scares me are the growing wildfires worldwide. The X factor of airborne pollution and what’s an extra hundred thousand cars or so, just running 24/7 but not going anyplace. The growing scarcity of fresh water and the prolonged absence of predictable rain. Hurricanes spinning out of the ocean, like from a Pez dispenser. The belief that growth and speculation can continue forever, as raw materials never run out. We can save the environment next year! By 2035, it’ll be great. The only real problem with putting billionaires into space, is they come back.
The wave has broken, and the seas are rolling back. It’s over, Twumpism is now an Achy Breaky Heart. A country song that once got people excited at the line dance bar, after they took out the mechanical bull. K-Tell Records asks, “Do you remember when?” The Island of miss-fit and broken toys fills with refugees, Rudy Giuliani and the Kraken brain trust. The old orange ape sits in his lazy boy chair, dreaming about the good ole days. His Secretary of State and Attorney General are reviled by Republican and Democrat alike, like the safety officer who was supposed to keep King Kong in chains. It’s bad now and looking worse for the old boy.
I am not afraid of Twump or his followers. His wooden sword in one hand and wearing his paper hat with pride. He ready’s himself for another day of fighting imaginary dragons. That scares me, but only in a Hee Haw fan club reunion, sort of way.