Disclaimer: This editorial is about shit. You may consider it shit, if you want (I don’t really give a shit), but it’s intended to be about shit. If shit like this offends you, don’t read it. If you’re not offended by Nazism, but still offended by “dirty words,” like “shit,” then, don’t read it.
Excuse me! Excuse me! No. I’m not going to sit down and shut up. I do not set the tone for political dialogue in this country. It’s not my rhetoric that keeps the animosity alive between the left and the right. I don’t have that kind of power. That kind of shit is the real “trickle down.” Trickle down shit. It comes from the very top – and I can’t even see the top from where I am. Too much shit between here and there. All I can do when I get some on me is to wipe off as much as I can and throw it at some som’bitch who’s over there with a smile on his face, thinking this is goddamn manna from Heaven. But I’m told that’s wrong. I should accept it, with a smile of my own, and say “Thank you, sir. May I have some more shit?”
Not gonna happen.
While my words carry literally no weight with anybody who has the power to put a stop to the ongoing overthrow of the system of government this country has enjoyed for 242 years, I still believe they bring some comfort to others like me, by letting them know they are not alone in their realization that the good ol’ USA has been hijacked by a cult of radicals, hell-bent on dragging us all back to some feudal system in the Middle Ages. We don’t have Lords and Kings in this country, not subject to the laws applied to us commoners. And we don’t praise and worship the fat 18 year-old, bearded bully in the 7th grade who beats up the geeks who refuse to do his homework for him. We don’t do that here! So, when I see it happening, I consider myself as doing a favor to people who, for whatever reason, think that’s the way we behave. Do I get any thanks? Hell no! I get told that I’m stirring the shitpot; and I should be quiet and let it be.
There are people way up above me on this ladder telling you what to think; what to believe; who to worship; who to love; when to jump, and how high. It rolls down from the King to the Lords, and then gets splattered about from there, landing on the occupiers of the lower rungs, and those who haven’t even made it to the ladder. It’s like a disease. A disease of shit. Trickle down shit disease. It sinks through the skin and infects the brain, and suddenly, people covered in it believe that if they play along they’ll someday get up there to a place where they can sling some of it themselves. This is their goal. Their purpose in life. They believe this King is their Savior and, even though they can’t fathom how, they believe he will lift them above the very ocean of shit he is creating. This is the price they are willing to pay for the greatness they are promised. They are the chosen – the shit-covered chosen – but only for the time being. All they have to do is serve their Master, and one day they will assume their rightful place, up there at the top. They abandon every principle they ever professed to have, as commanded by their King. Because the King can do no wrong. There is nothing the King could do, nothing, no matter how horrible his actions may have been considered in the previous pre-shit reality, which would break their allegiance.
History has seen this before – the overtaking of once-great countries by cultist followers of a mad leader, obsessed with his own power. Each one of those leaders told their minions that this was not what was happening to them. Each told them that anyone who spoke out against them, especially the Press, was their true enemy. And if you didn’t believe them, just ask them. Why would they lie? This was something new. But, ultimately, every single time, History exposed the whole shitshow for what it was. And those who gleefully participated have their shit-covered images pasted upon the pages of History for all to see, until the end of time. This is what you want?
This is not something new. It’s the same old shit. And this time, it’s happening here.
© 2018 Rick Baber