This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

Sometimes I think about it a lot and then sometimes, I don’t think about it at all. But still the question persists. Is Tucker Carlson dead? Sure, everyone can see that zombie running around wearing Tucker’s clothes. It’s a long way down from the top, but it really doesn’t hurt until you finally hit bottom. From being the President’s favorite fair haired boy to interviewing Roseanne Barr (Don’t do drugs kids.) and glad to get the work.  Bang, you’re dead!

Encouraging Ms. Barr, “Oh do tell us more! You say they eat babies? Hmmm, (looks at watch) controversial.” Live, from backward insane land! Roseanne Barr sings all of her classic hits. Songs that made her the largest pariah in Hollywood history since Fatty Arbuckle.

Barr is literally the space between the bottom of the linoleum tile and the concrete. And here’s Tucker quixotic as ever, vacillating between dim wittedly confused and mildly constipated. Yes, Marley was surely dead. When your career sinks to the level interviewing Roseanne Barr. Final arrangements should be made immediately.

Tucker follows a long line of fired former Fox News presenters. And they all make the same claim at the back door. “I don’t need Fox News! I can do it all by myself.  You’ll see, those little people out there love ME, not some damn corporate news channel! Just you wait! I’ll soon be back on top! You’ll see! I’ll have them eating right out of my hand.

“We’re back, with our exclusive interview with the fabulous Roseanne Barr!”

That plan hasn’t worked out exactly for anyone just yet. As no former Fox alumni have reached their former pinnacle after being terminated. Generally, the sacked are relegated to writing self-important books or hosting 2:00 AM syndicated radio talk shows sandwiched between gospel preachers and the farm report. What happened to Tucker vision? The little man with the big ideas was going to be a new media colossus with his own channel. Prime-time entertainment! Tucker exclusives, sandwiched between “Car 54 Where are You?” reruns and Gomer Pyle. Oh wait, I almost forgot.

Tucker has an exclusive personal service contract. He works for them, or he don’t work for nobody. That’s the trade off, Fox keeps paying him to cool his heels. The money is nice, but off of television is out of mind and out of pocket. In short attention span theater that is a death sentence.

Understanding it is difficult to do well when the side does poorly. When Mr. Trump does well, the side does well. But when Mr. Trump rambles on incoherently about a housefly. The side suffers. And we’re back, with our very special guest Roseanna Barr.

But when it rains J.D. Vance bores. Vance was scheduled for a meet and greet at a local eatery in Pennsylvania. Like a skit from Saturday Night Live, Vance was denied entrance to the restaurant. Because somebody forgot to ask the restaurant if that was going to be okay with them. Can we bring in a bunch of cameras and a gaggle of press reporters during your busy lunch rush? Can we hold our political event in the middle of your busy restaurant dining room at lunchtime?

Sorry, but that is inexcusable incompetence. To have a candidate for Vice President of the United States answering questions in the parking lot because they won’t let him in the building. The patrons who had come to see Vance became angry when he was refused entry. Then, the patrons just trying to eat their lunch became angry at the behavior of the Vance supporters. J.D. quickly stepped in and paid everyone’s check, plus a big tip. Let’s get out of here quick, before someone throws a punch! When nothing goes right, nothing goes right.

“Oh, there’s a fly,” said the former president. “I wonder where the fly came from?” (Twilight Zone Music)

“See, two years ago, I wouldn’t have had a fly up here. You’re changing rapidly. We can’t take it any longer.”

As fractured and disjointed as Trump’s rambling speech has become, I think I get it. Trump is expressing his displeasure at the state of the campaign. “God Damn it! Last time around, we didn’t have any fucking flies! Somebody is fucking up! We should have dedicated fly catchers at all events! Who is in charge of flies around here? Fire them! Trump campaign staff and apologists issue the worst excuse possible. Saying Mr. Trump is exhausted from campaigning. So apparently, a little loopiness and incoherence is acceptable at the end of  a busy day.

Yeah, that’s a real good reason to vote for Donald Trump. He’s sane mainly; if you don’t tire him out too much. Guys! Stop helping him! “We can’t take it any longer.” Reads “I” can’t take it any longer. “You’re changing” reads “you’re letting me down.”

Oh, but say it ain’t so Joe. As self-confessed murderer Kyle Rittenhouse says that he WON’T be voting for Donald Trump this time around. First, White Supremacist Nick Fuentes says he won’t be voting for Mr. Trump and now Mr. Rittenhouse. Trump is losing the lunatic fringe and the lone nuts with guns. Trump’s not new or near as exciting as he once was. The hoosters and harlequins have had time to see the cracks in Trump for long enough to become disenchanted. Donald is just not crazy enough for them anymore! They promise they will take their votes and go somewhere else. Three guesses, home, home and home.

Trump’s stage is adorned with Fascist anti-immigration slogans. Doubling down on a strategy which wasn’t working to begin with. Immigration is not working for Donald Trump. In their zeal and earnest attempt to bamboozle and foist immigration lies on the public, it has all backfired on them. Haitians eating dogs and cats as Donald Trump is rebuked by the Republican Governor of a vital swing state just forty days out from the election. The Republican mayor of Springfield says, “it’s all lies!”

Situation normal; all fucked up!

Mind! I don’t mean to say that, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a doornail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a doornail.” ― Charles Dickens