|
September
15, 2008
From out of a
Rotting Log
Reflectons
on an Opera Bouffe Election
by Fred Reed
Just dragged my scrawny carcass in from
Washington, the heart of darkness, with the usual
sense -- usual now -- of having visited an asylum.
I figure Salvador Dali designed the government. Or
maybe Ionesco or Someone deeply twisted with a sick
sense of humor.
In the airports, the same obedience training --
take off your shoes, belt, watch, fillings,
prostate, so we can to learn to respect the
authority of low-IQ federalized renta-cops with the
psyches of school-yard bullies. God save us from
the congenitally unimportant. From PA systems came
the same pointless security-babble having nothing
to do with security, in the same over elocuted
I-wanna-lick-the-microphone female voices. Well,
it's not quite pointless. We must condition the
rubes, give them an inspiriting sense of danger so
they will do as they are told. It's awful. I'm
going to apply for a change of phylum.
It got worse. I discovered that America is about
to have an election. Why? Every time they do that,
no good comes of it. You'd think they'd learn.
Ass usual, the election is a popularity contest
run for dimwits. And to elect a dimwit, which is
worse. We've got this woman Palin, an angry Betty
Crocker, absolutely unqualified for the presidency
in case McCain goes tits up. She's ignorant of
foreign affairs, at best moderately bright, a
whackjob Christian, and a "pit bull." This is said
admiringly.
Oh good. An aggressive ignorant dull-witted-pit
bull. How is that better than a passive ignorant
torpid pit bull?
Oh god, McCain. A senescent replica of Bush who
says he wants to stay in Iraq a hundred years.
Actually, the idea has its appeal. Why doesn't he
go there and get a start? A perfect match for
Palin, another pugnacious dunce, bottom of his
class in boat school -- the Naval Academy, I mean.
He says he plans to "confront Russia." Now there's
a plan. It seems that American policy is to make
enemies of everyone who has oil or nuclear weapons.
Or doesn't.
Meanwhile the Pentagon prepares for war with
China. Is it something in the water?
Next we have Obama, whose only qualification is
that he's maybe a tad less bellicose than the rest
of these Oprah Neanderthals. His veep, Biden, is a
grey nonentity, a cipher with no characteristics.
Well, that's better than the other three. I mean,
he's as close to no candidate as we can come.
What are we doing? The country has gone nuts. If
a giant squirrel began collection us and storing us
for winter, I'd understand. Three hundred million
people, and these factory rejects the best we can
do?
Actually, I do understand it, barely. The
undergirding of American politics is the
seldom-stated but always audible cry of "You ain't
no gooder'n me!" We have government by inferiority
complex. The last thing the great burger-chomping,
reality-show-watching mental vacuum out there wants
is anyone who might make reglar folks feel
inferior. The cloth of the country is woven of
resentment. The public wants a regular guy,
comfortingly stupid, who watches NASCAR and in
broken English as if recently concussed. Few would
select a cardiac surgeon from a bus station, but
it's how we do presidents.
You probably can get elected holding a chain saw
and a severed head, but not if you know words of
three syllables.
It's getting scary. The more angry and miserable
things get at home, the more people want to smack
hell out of someone. It doesn't matter who. The
American attitude toward the world is, "Not only
can I lick anybody in this bar, but I can lick all
of you at once." Before I said that, I'd want to be
real sure who was in the bar.
At least two of these gong-show dregs, Palin and
Bush, blame their personality disorders on God.
Yes. They think God wants them to blow hell out of
more or less everybody. We're talking wars of
religion, boys and girls. Christian loons in the
US, Jewish loons in Israel, and Moslem loons widely
distributed, all wanting to blow people up because
God told them. I want a signed affidavit from God.
Or a drink. Whatever happened to grownups?
I babble, but it's hard to think straight when
contemplating nuclear-armed kindergarteners. In
Washington, I saw about ten friends, many of them
biochemists, lawyers, programmers, freelance
screwballs, what have you. Sitting at the Zoo Bar
one night (so called because it's across
Connecticut Avenue from the zoo, not because of its
clientele) a dismal epiphany struck me, kersplat,
like a sock full of hog kidneys:
I don't know anybody who isn't better qualified
to be president than anyone who is or is about to
be.
Of the ten friends I mentioned, the baseline IQ
is close to 140 and goes up, often lots up. All of
them are well read and many have spent a lot of
time overseas. All speak and write good English
and, some of them, foreign languages. They aren't
geniuses, just upper-middle-brow. But they are way
better than the rabble running for the White
House.
I don't get it. For president, I want somebody
lots brighter than I am, who knows history, who
speaks a few languages, maybe spent time in the
military without being an officer and therefore a
warped buzz-cut Boy Scout. They exist. I have
friends who knew where South Ossetia was twenty
years ago, and why, who know the military and
military history and what works and what doesn't
and why. I'm not like that. Not smart enough. But
they are. Yet we get candidates who could probably
run a small-town hardware store. Reglar folks,
though.
Democracy is a bad idea, I tell you. Granted,
we've never really tried it. From Jefferson to our
current bumbling mutant, the trick has been to let
people think they have power without really
trusting them with it. For a long time we had rule
by a high-WASP elite that actually had some sense
of noblesse oblige, tempered by sufficient
corruption to keep them in gravy. The Roosevelts
for example. You can disagree with their policies,
but they weren't penny-ante pickpocket proles with
learning disabilities.
Today we get grasping zeros who would embarrass
a trailer park in Arkansas. Ah, but they are of the
people, and don't make anyone feel inadequate. In
everything that counts, which means involving
money, we have rule by corporations, through
legalized corruption far more lucrative than Latin
America could dream of.
I have a theory that countries deserve what they
get, at least when it's internally generated.
Belgium didn't deserve to be overrun by Germany,
but Belgium didn't elect Hitler. It's going to be a
funny eight years.
Reed
Archive
Copyright 2008 by Fred Reed and reproduced here by
permission of the author.
About
the Author (by the author):
Fred Reed is a Marine combat veteran, police
reporter, amateur biochemist, former long-haul
hitchhiker, and part-time sociopath living in
Mexico. Fred, a keyboard mercenary with a
disorganized past, has worked on staff for Army
Times, The Washingtonian, Soldier of Fortune,
Federal Computer Week, and The Washington
Times. He has been published in Playboy,
Soldier of Fortune, The Wall Street Journal, The
Washington Post, Harper's, National Review, Signal,
Air&Space, and suchlike. He has worked as a
police writer, technology editor, military
specialist, and authority on mercenary soldiers. He
is by all accounts as looney as a tune.
Visit the "Fred
on Everything" website to read his previous
columns and sign up for his regular e-mail
feature.
|
The essays in A Brass Pole in
Bangkok, are sometimes wildly funny,
sometimes deadly serious, always merciless
in their unmasking of the pretenses and
charlatans of society. Fred, a former
Marine, subscribes to no ideology ("an
ideology is just a systematic way of
misunderstanding the world") but
exuberantly wreaks havoc on practically
everything, and delights in everything
else: the psychotherapy swindle, squalling
feminists, race racketeers, damn fool
wars, red-light districts in Asia, and
tequila fests in Mexico, where he
lives.
A
Brass Pole in Bangkok: A Thing I Aspire To
Be, by Fred Reed
|
|
|
Buy Fred's new reprehensible book,
Nekkid In Austin! Another
collection of Fred's collected outrages,
irresponsible ravings, and curmudgeonry
from "Fred On Everything" and some
innocent magazines that, he says,
foolishly published him. Wildly funny,
sometimes wacky, always provocative essays
on the collapse of America.
Nekkid
in Austin: Drop Your Inner Child Down a
Well, by Fred Reed
|
|
Because
The Radical Academy publishes essays and articles
on its website does not imply acceptance or
approval of the comments or opinions expressed by
the author of the material. Nor is the Academy
responsible for any misrepresentation of the facts
included. It is your job to be a critical
reader.
|