Thu. Apr 18th, 2024
Courtesy, shell game picture courtesy

Ye Olde Scribe has a reoccurring dream. As he approaches a circus there’s a grinder with a monkey who speaks in short, clipped, sentences. You can’t understand what he’s saying it’s so clipped and, even if you could complete the words, he speaks legal gibberish. Ye Olde enters a circus filled with funhouse mirrors. The main attraction: the booth with 3 shells. You can’t get out, or get in, unless you play. Scribe is held in place by clowns with nasty sharp teeth and blood dripping from their teeth: not their blood. The freaks and geeks grab Scribe’s wallet and pull out all the money, all the credit cards.

They force Scribe to play the never ending rigged shell game until the money is gone. Then they start using Scribe’s credit cards and Scribe warns them: these cards have limits. But like any deregulated entity, the banks also have no morals, no scruples and agree to extend an endless amount of credit to the clowns, the geeks and the freaks, and soon Scribe’s in debt far beyond anything Scribe could ever afford to pay back.

Then the game stops and the clowns, the freaks and the geeks demand “their money” back. “You’re in debt. You have to cut back on everything. No more food. No more clothes. Nothing. It’s all your fault.”

Scribe points out they’re the ones that ignored his protests, ripped the wallet out of his pocket, forced his hands to stay still and kept him from walking away.

“Doesn’t matter how you got here, or why, you just owe!”

Scribe points out they have the money now.

But no matter how much he protests they point to the funhouse mirrors that distort everything. When Scribe points out the distortion, the clowns, geeks and freaks merely point to another mirror that provides another distortion.

Scribe is being just a bit disingenuous, but not much. This is no dream. It is the continuous nightmare that started even before Junior was granted his King-ship by the Supremes. It’s the same circus that led us all around by the nose while telling lies about a fictional lie: Bill Clinton, a funhouse mirror that turned “there IS no relationship” into “there WAS no relationship.”

And the mainstream media are the freaks and the geeks. The clowns? Well, you know them all too well. They go by different names: Birthers, Deathers, mindless Reich wing talking point sputtering talking heads, often living in the house of FOX, though not all.

They think they have a right to endless war, and our duty is to fund their blood drenched, freedomless dreams, at all costs. And their corporate sponsors have a right to any other money we may ever work for… and more. In their minds teachers, policemen, firemen, unions and anyone in a union are all lazy scumbags that should be thankful, obedient tools of a state run by them.

And dreams?

Scribe sleeps very well, thank you.

But maybe he shouldn’t.

Or should you.

By Ye Olde Scribe

Elderly curmudgeon who likes to make others laugh while giving the Reich Wing a rhetorical enema.

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