Pledges

Don't tell anyone but I tapped the cable running from Koch boy headquarters to Grover's Corners, cracked their code, and I now have full access to the darkest crevices in the darkest place anywhere, Norquist's Noodle. I hear everything. They keep saying the same thing over and over: they want more money.

Or maybe it was honey. Here I expected all kinds of high flown discussions about what was good and right, think tank stuff. I mean they spend a bunch of money, hire all these people with advanced degrees from Patrick Henry or wherever and talk about freedom and the constitution and the founding fathers and all the big stuff in their official publications and pronouncements, and then they just talk trash when you're not looking.

And, you know, I'm not naive but I expected a little more respect. For something. It kind of turned my stomach after a while but they don't give a shit about anything. Not that I could discover.

Grover has a closet full of tee shirts that say "It's Unanimous!," in fond expection of the day when all his charges vote the same all the time, and the few lost lambs that don't already take the pledge succumb. What a photo op when they all show up in the hallowed halls. There's frat paraphernalia, Kappa, Kappa, Kappa, all over the place.

And woe, and I mean woe--distilled, concentrated, ready to be unleashed--to those that don't toe. The new breed. Kamikaze drones. They fly right into you in the primaries. Kind of unstable and hard to control but super lethal. What's a little collateral damage among friends, among allies. There's different models, even. The T-2 (pekoe) and so on. It's a hive. Who cares if you lose a few, long as the immense queen, the breeder, is safe in Wichita, or wherever.

They're an invasive exotic. No known control. Don't fuck with the hive. Interestingly, they talk the worst trash about their own guys. Just dripping. They can't believe how cheaply they could buy them, I guess. They underpriced themselves, the drones clubbers. And the religious crowd, they really despise them. The nicknames. Yikes. I don't even like them, their guys, and I couldn't stand it.

The thing they can't believe, and I don't blame them, is how easy it was to get the entire working apparatus, of the most powerful country ever, by the nuts. And they're pretty good-sized gonads, last time I looked, what with the nukes. It all comes down to the pledge. It was so simple. Most all of the the elected representatives of the red persuasion now take two oaths when they show up in the revered capitol.

They take the oath of office, the boilerplate, as they call it, and then toddle over to Grover's place, kowtow, and take another oath. The real oath. The one that's binding. Enforcible. Ever hear Grover brag about putting the screws down? Chilling. And they call this democracy. Not the old red, white and blue, as I thought of it. But, hey, it's a new world. Virtual everything. Or maybe a new world order.

Sorry, I just woke up. Have I been writing in my sleep again? Oh, darn. That happens sometimes. Sleepy. Too tired to revise. So, whatever I've written, there may be elements of reverie, facts may be suspect, but you be the judge. You know how dreams are. Impressionistic. Dozing off again. Sorry, that you, Puck? Oh, shit. Mickey Rooney. Ian? Now, wait, Helen Mirren? There we go. I can sleep now.