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The End of the World Frolics
“Joe Biden” is feeling blue. Not a joke. In the lurid sunset of his dwindling term-in-office, the long shadow of his legacy points toward a gigantic glowing cinder where North America used to be. Such are the grievances of the outgoing president. I pass unto you and your legions of white supremacist slobs the ashtray that was once our mighty nation. Fix that! But, as Sir Mick Jagger observed some time ago: you can’t always get what you want. “Joe Biden,” in despair, sinks deeper into his McTeer power recliner and slips back into the bitter dream of his nemesis, a beast named Chrump. . . . It’s such a chewy name: Chrump, a fricative fiesta! The tongue briefly presses against the alveolar ridge before releasing, then curls back, and the jaw opens slightly to form this vowel sound, the lips close to let the sound resonate nasally before releasing air. Chrump Chrump Chrump. Like, what your mouth would feel like working through a bowl of Froot Loops. So satisfying! The outgoing Party of Chaos can’t stop chanting it on the cable news networks, as if trying to invoke the ancient furies, ghastly, terrifying figures with snakes for hair, dogs' heads, blood-red eyes, and bat-wings, brandishing torches and scourges to mortify their enemy. Otherwise, fantasy aside, they are in paralysis as this enemy, Mr. Trump, marshals his pieces on the gameboard: Musk, Vivek, Bobby Jr, Tulsi, Bondi, Hegseth . . . . Ay-yeeeeee! They are coming to get us. . . . Somebody. . . do something. . . ! Okay, then, who, exactly, in the shadows behind the half-conscious ghoul in the White House, thinks that now is a great time to commence an ATACMS (Attack’ems) missile barrage on Russia as the very thing to salvage our Ukraine project? You’d naturally turn first to Blinken and Jake Sullivan, those gold-dust twins of overseas jiggery-pokery. Or, is it the geniuses at Spook Central, worried about the fumigating operation incoming with Mr. Ratcliffe? Or perhaps it’s the men-in-skirts over in the Pentagon, seeking to punish humanity because of the clerical error inflicted on them by the desk up-yonder that handles sexual assignments at birth. Blow it all up! The psychopathic wrath of this gang is really getting out-of-hand. Can Mr. Putin make it any clearer? FA and FO. Hence, many of us are a little concerned that the Thanksgiving birds might not make it to table this year, or ever again, if “Joe Biden” and company keep it up. One more sortie of ATACMS or British Storm Shadows and the satellite targeting and navigation installations for these missiles will get vaporized, along with the NATO member technicians on duty there. What’s your next move, “Joe”? ICBMs? I think we all know what that means. Let me tell you a few things about this Russia Russia Russia business. It’s been thirty years since the fall of the Soviet Union. It was a bold political experiment running a society by means contrary to human nature, and after an impressively long run, seven decades, if finally flopped, bankrupt in every sense of the word. It took a while for the dazed Russians to get their minds right after that long misadventure, but they have come around to embrace the idea of being a normal European nation. That is, a country whose citizens are at liberty to do business, travel freely, enjoy a rule-of-law (rather than a rule of despotic personalities). That is, much like we are supposed to be. Surely, Russia under Mr. Putin has its imperfections, at least as viewed through the lens of America’s Woke-cryptoMarxist-Neocon/psychopath lens. Mainly, it won’t do what we tell it to do: roll over and die! But as often is the case with illnesses of the mind, the American cabal projects its own perverse thoughts on its adversary. Russia, we keep insisting, wants to take over the world! Is it news to you that this does not comport with reality? (By now you know that news in the USA does not comport with reality.) Rather, America acts like we want to take over the world. Hegemony: power over everyone and everything, an increasingly sick notion, given how things are going in this world. Sorry to tell you: that dream is over. Since 1990, Russia has tried like hell to establish normal relations with western Europe and the USA. Our blob wouldn’t allow that. Russia even asked to join NATO some years ago. Russia wanted to trade with Germany, France, Italy, and the rest. Our blob had to stop that. Finally, the blob geniuses decided that they could put Russia out of business altogether, bust it up to make it helpless, and then own all its mineral and energy resources. Ukraine would be the means to accomplish that — plus we’d end up with all the goodies in Ukraine, too: the breadbasket lands, the ores. BlackRock, Halliburton, and many other companies lined up to benefit from this scheme, which is now a smoldering wreck. Mr. Trump, wants to terminate that stupid, wicked project. Going back even further, to 2016, he proposed to try making friends with Russia. The benefits were obvious, principally, keeping them on our side against the rising power of the CCP. Russia, no longer under communism, had interests in common with Western Civ — hell, it was part of Western Civ, really, its literature, music, science, manners. The blob couldn’t abide what Mr. Trump was proposing, so they turned around and burnt his ass with the Russia Russia Russia flamethrower. . . and after that there could be no more talk of friendship between the USA and Putin Putin Putin. Mr. Putin must marvel at how much America under “Joe Biden” is loving the old Soviet Union — since we’re doing everything possible to emulate its workings. We’ve got censorship. We’ve got an FBI-turned-KGB swatting citizens guilty of nothing and a DOJ stuffing them in our gulag. We’ve got a senile president every bit as non compos mentis as Konstantin Chernenko was. We’ve neatly managed to bankrupt ourselves. Do you see yet what has been going on in our country? In about fifty-odd days we are going to start correcting all that — if “Joe Biden” doesn’t conjure up nuclear Armageddon. This Thanksgiving, direct your prayers to averting that outcome, and give thanks for better days to come. It’s that time of year! In this novella, a boy runs away from home in Manhattan all the way to Vermont the night before Christmas. Tribulations ensue. “A masterpiece of comedy and pathos.” Autographed copies from Battenkill Books, Cambridge, New York.
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