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
No comments:
Post a Comment