I need to unplug for a while, or I’m going to turn into Matt Taibbi; Holding a note of faux-hilarious despair over everything, ever. Writing damn funny paragraphs, but spending an hour each day punching myself in my own smug, detached Masshole face. Loudly inviting people to bring spunk-flavored popcorn and cheese, and come watch. I’ll work "since the Roman empire" into that joke somehow, and turds, and the Cincinatti Reds, and smirk with half my mouth as I’m bopping teeth out of the other half. And wearing a stupid hat. Where was I going with this?
Our country is in terrible debt. One in ten humans are out of a job. We are spending $50,000,000 a minute to fuel flying killer robots to chase toothless crackheads around the Korengal Valley. This is life, and we’re sitting down to talk about terror babies.
Let me enjoy this.
First, I thank the comic book convention that is our current Republican Party. They are getting coherent. Isn’t it usually hard to follow their panics? They warn us of a future anarchy, where kings are made by stashes of ammo, water and gold bullion in deep suburban basements, a future of super-organized tyranny, with transnational highways and one stable currency, where a man can’t even … wait … what? I’m not sure if they know that Fascists and Socialists were enemies, but they think the junior senator from Illinois was both. Gayness is unnatural. And infectious. Mexicans are lazy, stupid and on the brink of ruling us. It’s hard to focus in this world.
But! Our President is a Terror Baby. Remember? Kenya, Indonesia, forged papers? Forty-year plot to overthrow us by planting a fatherless, mixed race kid in Hawaii? In the 70s?
You know there are Terror Babies, because that’s the plot that produced our President. You know he is one, because that shows the efficacy of the Terror Baby plot. This is circular, but by god it’s a shape.
What enemies we have. Their children don’t leave home or have ideas of their own or anything. They just re-appear in the third acts of the movies in our head: black horses betwixt their thighs, riding toward our living rooms. All because that post-Civil-War Constitution OPENED A HOLE in us, through which their swarthy mothers passed, birth canals aquiver.
I can get sad or angry when I realize this is how a lot of my neighbors actually think, but I can’t hold onto that rage. When they give us concepts like Manchurian Babies of Islam, I can’t resist the game. Sue me. I will giggle at the end.
This morning I shclepped to an early meeting, paid my parking and called a plumber about my rotting kitchen sink. On the other hand, it’s Friday the 13th and the headline is Terror Babies. That is unimprovable.