In the Fortress of Imbecility, they had just said a fond farewell to any attempt at a coherent political image four months out from an election. This heartwarming sendoff by opinion articles in The New York Times was the traditional way of making a dog’s breakfast of an election.
They’d had plenty of practice, and this time they were sure they’d got it right… or left, or something.
They didn’t wonder why they were doing it. They didn’t wonder how their guy had got into that condition. It couldn’t possibly have been from their total lack of support, or interest, and/or disinterest in noticing anything at all about anything in the last four years. The theory was that anyone who did the job they were paid for doing was a sucker anyway.
Things were tense, though. Some of them were almost becoming conscious. They didn’t like it.
Across town, their opposition in the Fortress of Insanity simpered. It was all they knew how to do. Unable to read, write, or wonder what a toxic wasteland-like orange blob was doing on the premises, it was a way of passing the time.
Both sides gave themselves lots of other people’s money from those nice Mc SuperPACs to cheer themselves up. Their lives as affluent insect-like spectators had prepared them well for intrusions by this rather tactless “reality” thing.
They’d tough it out.
They would survive! If people in fictional Westerns and murderously dull rom coms could do it, they could do it. They would triumph! They would eventually find their way out of those meetings in 5-star restaurants if it took the rest of the century!
In the Fortress of Fiction, Corporate America fretted. After decades of no-brainer interest rates where you borrowed at 0.25% and lent at multiples of your borrowing rate, the wheels were falling off the go-cart. People couldn’t even afford to go broke anymore. They stamped their little footsies in fury.
Back in the haunted popup they used to call America before it became too hard to find, there were noises. That was odd. The dead and broke don’t usually make noises. It was almost worth mentioning.
Apparently, being dead and broke wasn’t as much fun as it seemed. Nor was being dead, broke, and insane. Something was clearly wrong. It was also a political problem because they wanted to take credit for upholding these folksy lifestyles and values.
Reassuringly, the faithful lap-rats of US media were toiling away maintaining the rotting images and futile terminologies of yesteryear. They were saying, “Inflation is going down”, rather than “Impossible prices are increasing slightly slower”. It’s these little nuances that make all the difference.
It was also a lot nicer than wading through things like affordability and other big words with letters in them. (Sometimes, words formed word-gangs of sentences to bully all those nice billionaires and their adorable parasites. It was gruesome.)
Anyway, it turned out there was nothing to worry about. The economic fundamentals were fine. As long as you had a sleeping bag, an oil drum fire, a penthouse on some shady sidewalk somewhere, and a few billion bucks, you were still pretty much OK.
Reality is much easier to avoid if you have no idea what it is. It’s even easier to avoid if you make no attempt to find out. Whether or not anybody can be bothered telling you about it anymore is neither here nor there.
For example, consider those 300 million plus “people” that seemed to be cluttering up the place. If any thought was to be given to them, someone in politics would have to work for a living. It was unthinkable. So, they didn’t.
All this irresponsible talk about people eating was just distracting and irrelevant. If people ate, they’d need things. They’d need shanty towns and maybe even water. How could that possibly be? Who’d pay for it?
This was also in keeping with the Big Picture. The noble idea of turning a prosperous superpower into an All-Time Losers Theme Park must be seen through. According to plans laid long ago this great work must be done by elite steely-eyed morons with the intellects of flatulent cockroaches. Nothing else was important. Nor was it profitable, so that was that.
It was much better that people in government had no idea what governments did, or why governments existed. It reduced the intellectual strain. It allowed all those nice talking dunghills to have a career in politics.
Somewhere the haunted popup they called America sighed in the silence.
Disclaimer
The opinions expressed in this Op-Ed are those of the author. They do not purport to reflect the opinions or views of the Digital Journal or its members.
