Telling Off Goldstein

Falling through the universe at the speed of life

By David Glenn Cox

I freely admit it. I was planning on flipping off Ronald Reagan. I knew that he was in town and when the cops began to erect barricades. I knew he would be coming down my street. When I saw cops guarding most of the intersections, I knew that he would be along shortly. I excused myself and waited outside on the curb. In the distance, I could see the entourage coming, a big black circus parade. Of cops and serious men with serious weaponry in the entourage.

As gas guzzler one approached, I saw blue smoke coming from the tailpipe and thought, the President’s limo really shouldn’t be burning oil like that. That looks bad, we’re a big country with nuclear weapons and shit, and the President is in a limo belching blue smoke. Like some wreck, they bought down at the “Buy Here, Pay Here!” dealer up the street. (Your Job is your good credit!)

But what I saw next shocked me. The window was a half to three quarters of the way down. (Childproof) In the back, was this old dude in Kabuki make up with more rouge on his cheeks than a Kansas City hooker. He looked like he didn’t feel well, and the white face paint wasn’t helping that impression.

Then I realized who it was, it was Ronald Reagan. And I thought to myself,  is he about to lose his lunch right here on Columbus St.? Am I about to see a presidential hurl? And then, as fast as they arrived, they were gone. My bird was prepared and ready to fly, but was overtaken by slack jawed yokeldom. In my defense, I was stunned. I’d never seen anyone who looked like that, outside of a hospital or after three days of Mardi Gras in the French Quarter.

He came down my street. I was willing to walk as far as the curb, but no further. I would not have walked to the next block to see him. He had to come down My street. And despite my embarrassment, at missing my chance as a proud American. To voice my political opinion condensed into single digit. I still treasure the memory of the presidential encounter. “Holy Jumping dog shit! Did you see that?” Someone poke him with a stick, to see if he’s still alive! “Weekend at Ronnies!”

I tell this story because our fellow Americans of the Republican persuasion, brave and true. Were out expressing their political opinions the other day by yelling, “Fuck You Joe Biden” in rounds as the President visited with young children at a Daycare center. (Your lack of couth is your Party membership!) But we non-Trumper lumpers don’t understand, that they are the aggrieved party. Oh, cruel world, oh cruel fate. Why must it be so, gas prices are up again and it’s all Joe Biden’s fault. It cost me an extra five or six dollars filling up the Hummer!

F*cker Carlson made some really nasty, bigoted remarks about Pete Buttigieg adopting twin babies. So, what’s new, right? Only his audience thinks that he’s funny. “He sure showed that Washington liberal what for!” He made nasty personal remarks about his private life, having nothing to do with the man’s politics or his opinions. Instead, let’s attack him just because he’s Gay. Funny, right? Never mind that he’s going to give two orphaned children a privileged decent home. Why would anyone in the Pro-life community, ever want to support an adoption?

I’ve mentioned “Let’s go Brandon” the childish, Republican meme. Like having “Red Solo Cup” as your national anthem. Here come the Herculoids! Go-go Gadget masturbate! The Trumper lumpers consider this political comment and protest. Shouting and jeering, while standing out in front of a day care center. I don’t know about you, but I’ll take five minutes out of my busy day to flip off a President I don’t like. If he comes down my street and the weather is amiable. But I won’t spend my whole day working on it.  

Not because I’m apolitical or demoralized, but because I think that President already knows that many Trumper Lumpers don’t like him. There is a man at the White House who brings him the newspapers every day. So, while he may appreciate their enthusiasm and willingness to debase themselves in front of small children, rest assured the message has been received.

The Party of jeering and snotty, bigoted remarks. Accusations and inuendo, no one can be trusted. It’s all a plot. A super-secret plot, so super-secret that no one in Washington, actually knows who is in charge of the secret plot. You can’t trust judges if they don’t rule our way. You can’t trust elections, or doctors or hospitals. It’s all a part of that super-secret plot.

I’m gonna let you in on it, but don’t you tell anyone. “You can’t trust the vaccine! Vaccines are dangerous, they’ve only been around a for a century or two, let me clue you in. The doctors and the hospitals and the government are all a part of the super-secret plot. They’re only pretending to want to end the pandemic! It’s a part of their plot!”

They don’t want you to know that a medicine widely used in Africa to treat worms in humans, also strangely treats a virus. Those sneaky dirty, devilish bastards! A cure readily at hand suppressed by big pharma! That mask is made cotton, those fiber could get in your lungs.

Don’t live in fear son, play football without a helmet. “But they gots a mandate, says I’ve got to wear a helmet.” You tell them that you are a free American! “Let’s go Brandon!!” Steel toed boots! Where do you get off trying to run my life? I don’t have to use the crosswalk, that’s only a suggestion for cowards living in fear! “Dodge the damn truck, quit being a pussy. It missed you by a mile.”

Victimhood uber allis, they are all out to get us. Everyone is out to get us; nothing is fair, and no one can be trusted. Because of the E.T. doctors and those little men are on the roof again. Because they might be a part of that super-secret conspiracy and might contaminate us by saying things, we don’t like hearing. (Twump Lost!) If you say those things again, you will be permanently ejected.

No longer a Political Party, a dissolving mass dripping into a Mr. Treason machine. A late-stage cult of nihilists, fueled by mass media and mass hysteria. Where the underbosses are jockeying for position, waiting for orange Stalin to cough his last on the sofa. Trying their hardest to out extreme the other extremists. Trying to out monkey the monkey man. They have no principles or ideas, save for filling their pockets. Twump’s really great health care plan, died all alone. Now it’s just “Fuck you Joe Biden!” shouts the angry mob.

Two minutes of hate and telling off Goldstein.

“To reach a port we must set sail –
Sail, not tie at anchor
Sail, not drift.”

 Franklin D. Roosevelt

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