Sunday, January 15, 2017

The Mango and the Wolf

CNN is Chip Diller (Kevin Bacon), clad only in a diaper, assuming the position so Neidermeyer (Donald Trump) can tee up and take another swing at his sitting part. Every time the paddle lands, ol’ Chip responds with “Thank you sir, may I have another?!” Let’s put Wolf’s face on Chip.
Somehow, in this bizarro atmosphere in which we have been cursed to live, it is broadly accepted that “the media” has come to dictate politics in America. Put that thought on the face of a clock, at 12; and don’t worry about the fact that it belongs at 6 – or maybe even on that Russian clock over on the other wall.  As is the case with what alt-America believes about … pretty much everything … it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The first thing a wannabe dictator needs to do in order to control the populace is to hijack their sources of information and manipulate them to achieve his desired goals.  It’s almost as-if this first quarter of the 21st Century was custom made for such a thing. So easy a child could do it. Literally everybody has access to instant information, right in the palms of their hands. Wannabe Dictator, for the first time in history, now has the capability of transmitting his thoughts – no matter how wrong, incoherent, or drug-induced – directly to his potential subjects. The only thing that stands between him (let’s give this hypothetical character an appropriate face by naming him “Mango”) and total domination of the people is that entity, mentioned as numero uno in the Bill of Rights, called “the Press.”
The basic problem with “the Press,” from the perspective of Mango, is that they don’t always report what one wants to hear. By demonizing and discrediting them, Mango conditions his subjects to rely on him, and him alone, for their information; and he always tells them what they want to hear.  The first, and most important, thing he tells them is “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the truth except through me” – meaning anything said or written that doesn’t concur with what he has said, or what he wants the masses to believe, is simply false. A lie. He has told them before what they wanted to hear, and the Press has told them things they did not want to hear. Who do they chose to believe now? Their own first-person observations have shown them things before that they didn’t want to believe. Now here is Mango, telling them what they do want to believe. Him, or their lying eyes?  Problem solved.

And it comes to pass that minstrels write songs of the Mango’s achievements; and fables are told:
Outside, in the cold snowy night, the Wolf looks through the window into the warm fire-lit room, wondering why he’s locked out there in the blizzard, alone and hungry. He had done everything he could to appease Mango. He gave him every opportunity to speak. He put on the diaper and assumed the position while Mango gleefully swung the paddle; and he asked for another. Why now was he not tossed even a morsel of that feast being consumed by Mango and his soldiers, sitting upon their golden thrones, laughing and singing ballads of stars and bars, paper roses and red solo cups? A Cheeto, perhaps?  What, oh what had he done to deserve such treatment after his own inaction had been so instrumental in preparing this bounty for them?

Mango sees the Wolf peering through the window. With his tiny hand he picks up his golden shower-proof decree machine and his miniscule fingers go to work. In a moment, Mango opts to drop the machine in order to take hold of a female cat being carried by one of the dancing gypsy women beside him. The yellow rain falls upon the crowd and they dance the dance of the victors. Mango smiles and winks at the Wolf as a little blue bird lands upon the Wolf’s shoulder and whispers into his ear, “Wolf, you have no teeth. You had every chance to bite me…” Then the little blue bird flies away and another little blue bird lands upon the Wolf’s other shoulder and continues … “But you were either a coward or you had no …” And then that little blue bird flies away and yet a third little blue bird lands on the Wolf’s nose and continues … “…teeth. How can we respect you? Loser! Pathetic.”
And, finally, the Wolf realizes the error of his ways. He knows that he should have bitten the Mango when he had the chance! And he runs through the snow to warn the pack. But it’s too late now. He finds them in their den, listening to the little blue birds that are sitting upon their own shoulders. The Wolf tells his story. And the members of the pack look at their own decree machines and then back to the Wolf, shaking their heads. “It never happened,” they say, “So says the Mango, and so it is.” And they enjoy their own bounty of Cheetos and tangerines and carrots and pumpkin pie while the Wolf goes hungry.

The Wolf runs to his mountaintop and he howls through his toothless snout. But nobody hears him over the sounds of the construction of the wall by foreign men with hammers and sickles.
And it is nighttime in America. And the yellow rain falls upon us all.

© Rick Baber 2017

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