...Because the fact is all us working schlubs are just one cab ride away from this anyway…

For we’ve all have been trained by the TV flicker to forget which hand holds the remote, and which hand holds the revolver. The blue spark and the operant buzz of the screen has sealed us off from one another, so we don’t even know how to fight for our very soul’s freedom anymore.

“We don’t get fooled again?” What a kibosh… Yeah? So?

-edits out of despair. Come on get happy!

Since Ronnie Raygun I have felt my vote has amounted to a hill of beans. (And right now with looming food shortages worldwide, such a pile might not be a bad thing to keep in store).

Every effort I’ve made, writing, calling, cursing, wailing, has been met with a swift and subtle silence that has left me feeling, as I suppose it should, like I was tossing rocks down a well waiting for a splash. But I’ve yet to hear even a sploosh…

The mouse that roared
the planes that soared
into the towers side,
like a spear in Christ,
now ain’t that nice?
As again and again
we all fall, right on down…

First, I never was a fan of Mr. B.O. from the get-go. Too corporate for my Progressive (like Wobbly), Populist underpinnings. Power to the Pee-prole! F**K Da’Masses… And to my tastes, if Bill was a con, another Hill-billy on the hill would surely put the whole thing to bed.

For the great bleed-off of the US middle class has been in full session for years, and the shift of assets upward that has been going on incrementally draining us of strength and will, making many of us of feel like half-conscious cancer patients in the last throes of the disease, punching that morphine button like crazy when it gets to be too much…

So the fact that the foaming at the mouth FOX zombie klatsch in the southwest that were plump-full-to-burstin’ with spews of unrepentant hate from the Melon Scaith/Murdoch PR machine, have once again decided in Pennsyltucky that Haitian dirt cakes are the proper Nosh for the voting public statewide.

To that I intone the proper meme of the affectation of careless regal authority, So? Expect no cake to be served…

So after the Chelsea gay vote antics and the Chris Matthews/McCain Oval office primetime fellatio, as the bear-bating media has all but made this last bastion of our semi-pro democracy a farce. Our Blue Angel slapstick of self governance is like a grainy celluloid, with Ms. Dietrich belting out, “Going to vote again/ What am I to do? What am I to do? I cun’t helllp it…”

To which I unequivocally mutter in a smoky baritone to voters of PA: phu(k y’all sheeple! Bleat ya idiots, I’m done…

For we surely deserve what we get, eh Adlai? For no matter who assumes the reigns-of-power, one thing is true, with all the tweaks to executive authority that bushco has put in place, the “new boss” will certainly be “the same as the old boss,” no matter their gender, race, age or class, or how smooth their rhetoric.

And from where I’m sitting, I’m tired. Plumb wrung out. Feeling like I got egg dripping from my chin.

So I say: let the behemoth fall. I surrender. You won, you scuttling, shame-faced, chattering little half-wits. You mommy’s boy mean asses. You o’ so cleaver Reagan-youth. You can have your frickin’, bloody, self-centered Amerika, your failed state, your national-security state, your state of denial, your state of delusion—so help me god…

Bitter? Me? Nah. I just resign as a voter. The trip has peaked. For we are in great peril, got alligators up to our eyeballs, and everybody is like, woe dude, chill. Want a bottled water with that sh*t sandwich? A pair of beeswax wings for our flight down the bottomless pit that we’re about to e-vote ourselves into?

Do you believe this sh*t? Do you? Really?
For we’ve been under consumer sedation for a very long time, and here we find ourselves bare foot, wandering the skid row with our asses peeking out of our hospital gowns. Because that fact is all us working schlubs are just one cab ride away from this anyway…

For we’ve all have been trained by the TV flicker to forget which hand holds the remote, and which hand hold the revolver. The blue spark and the operant buzz of the screen has sealed us off from one another, so we don’t even know how to fight for our very soul’s freedom anymore.

“We don’t get fooled again?” What a kibosh… Yeah? So?