The U.S. Constitution is a poor defense against a ruthless huckster hellbent on selling snake oil to the rubes.
“No Money shall be drawn from the Treasury, but in Consequence of Appropriation made by Law. …”
“Fuck you. Sue me. And guess who pays for the lawyers?”
One hundred days. That’s how close we are to the next U.S. presidential election. And in his weekly newsletter, Charles P. Pierce notes:
We are prepared neither for an election in the middle of a pandemic, nor to cope with the mechanisms being constructed to ratfck an election in the middle of a pandemic, up to and including armed and anonymous troopers on the street corner outside the polling place. And, hell, in a country that seems incapable of doing anything of substance any more anyway, learned helplessness is fairly easy to, well, learn.
Helplessness and hubris may be our two greatest enemies. And they have the full support of the 24/7 news cycle.
“The shit monsoon has swept us all out to sea! Here, you’re gonna need this anvil!”
“What’s that off the port bow? Tom Hanks commanding a destroyer, ready to lead our ragtag convoy to safety? No, it’s just Daffy Uncle Joe in a dinghy, but he hardly stutters at all, and his son’s only a little bit crooked, so no need to panic. Unless you can’t swim.” (Cue the “Jaws” theme.”)
“We’re all fucked!” may be accurate, if only as a self-fulfilling prophecy. But as slogans go, it’s not in a league with “Give me liberty or give me death!”
“But look at the polls!” is likewise unhelpful. Look at them all you want, take whatever solace they may provide. But remember, the only numbers that count are the ones that come out of the actual election. That’s why we hold ’em. To find out who won. Occasionally we are surprised.
Here’s the thing. It’s something of a Zen koan: You can’t bag it. Because it’s not in the bag.
By all means, follow the news and the polls. But not blindly. Keep one eye on the compass and the other on the crew. Some of this lot need a good flogging come Nov. 3. Doesn’t matter who’s captain if the crew’s in mutiny.
And grab an oar. This ain’t “The Love Boat,” matey. No passengers.
While observing the anniversary of our declaration of independence from Great Britain, let’s also give some thought to the interdependence between ourselves and our fellow Americans.
E pluribus unum isn’t something you catch off a toilet seat. You’re supposed to catch it from your parents, teachers, friends, and neighbors. It can actually help shield you against a variety of social diseases, among them ignorance, selfishness, and stupidity.
We’re all in the same sandbox here. Let’s try not to shit in it.
There’s an old saying: “Fuck with the bull and you get the horn.”
Well, somebody did the one and got the other yesterday in Old Town.
Remember, kids, when you’re smashing the State, keep a smile on your lips and a song in your heart. And always assume that the other fella is packing.
It’s not just political power that grows out of the barrel of a gun. No bull.
And now, for your listening pleasure, Attorney General Bill “Droopy” Barr performs “An Ode to Self-Exoneration” on the butt-trumpet:
“I’m not involved in giving tactical commands like that,” Barr told the Associated Press. “I was frustrated and I was also worried that as the crowd grew, it was going to be harder and harder to do. So my attitude was get it done, but I didn’t say, ‘Go do it.’ ”
Gee whillikers, a fella just can’t find good help anymore, even with the unemployment rate in double digits. This gasbag makes John Mitchell look like Clarence Darrow.
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