Listen Up, You Primitive Screw-Heads!

It’s been years. Why has the Tomb Gnome shaken off the dust of ages and roused itself from its sepulcher? Well, I’ve fixed my cigarette to my filter, downed three bourbons with a mescaline chaser, and am ready to tell you people (ALL of you people) what is going on. Even six feet beneath the earth, I hear the rumblings. You’ve managed to get a racist demagogue as your likely president. Guess what? IT IS YOUR FAULT. Even if you are on the left. ESPECIALLY if you are on the left.

The tiny-handed hairpiece isn’t the problem; he’s just an orange boil on top of a much deeper infection. Twenty years ago, the churches of black Americans throughout the south were being targeted for arson. You tsked. You shook your head. Cops on the street shoot unarmed black men in the back. “That’s awful,” you say, “but that’s not all cops, right? A few bad apples.”

IT IS EVERY. FUCKING. COP. That’s what the word “institutional” means.

You privately think that Islam is “different” than other religions. That it somehow bears a unique taint that infects it. You believe this because a.) the media thrives above all on fear, and b.) you are a lazy pig. You tolerate these kinds of viewpoints; you give them a “fair hearing;” you never once stepped back and looked to see how media coverage treated Islam and Muslims differently. Even if you did, you concluded that the “spectrum of opinions” was represented, when really it was just a spectrum of “we’re a little afraid” to “HOLY CHRIST WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!”

That is not a spectrum of views. That is a single view with flavors. Racist Ripple, in low-fat and traditional, and you can’t shovel it down fast enough.

It’s not the money in politics any longer; it’s the hate. Tap into the hate. Use the rage. But the fascists have a monopoly on rage now, and the Left handed it to them. Once, there were marches on Washington. There were demonstrations. People stood up to monsters like Bull Connor and took their punches and came back for more, like a nation of Muhammed Alis. Now? Somebody tries a march on Wall Street and you dismiss them as “hipster protestors.” Right, because your envelope stuffing and charitable contributions are real agents of change.

So in the absence of a legitimate protest against the growing stupid fuck contingent, the media shifted. The national consciousness shifted. The party of Nixon became the party of random, beer-swilling ignoramuses. Say what you will about that evil son of a bitch Dick, he was smart. He was competent. He was the Devil, but even Hell takes management skills to keep it ticking over.

You’ve managed to trade the Devil for the King in Orange, and Hell for Leng, and you are about to find out how different those things are. AND YOU DESERVE IT.

At some point, America ran out of righteous indignation. We gave up on the Dream, and became a nation of sweaty lumps. This is the inevitable end-game of the American Experiment, because the Left has spent fifty years surrendering territory to the Right and the People have spent the last fifty years surrendering territory to money-choked fuckwits.

Now I want to be clear: I’m not advocating anything here. You’re all fucked no matter what. You’re rearranging deck chairs in Hiroshima, because you still think that the boil is the infection. YOU are the infection, as much as any tattooed neo-Nazi bellowing “Trump!” from a passing pick-up truck.  The entire country has gone septic, so riddled with gangrenous thoughts and people that taking out the disease would take out the patient. So instead you’re going to rot.

If you manage to get out of November without a hairpiece as president, you’ll wipe your brows and say “phew, we dodged a bullet!” Because you are ignorant, cowardly swine. You dodged NOTHING. It is raining lead from the sky on the heads of rich and poor alike, and it isn’t going to stop. 50,000,000 Trump Fans Can Be Wrong, and that album is just Taps, played at 1/4 speed. It’s all still happening, all still out there, and you all caused it. America doesn’t need a change, it needs hospice care as it waits for the end.

The message of the Tomb Gnome is simple: fuck off. Don’t speak to me of politics, don’t defend yourself to me, don’t think that I care. It’s too late. We’re dead already. I just have the good sense to see it.


Published in: on July 29, 2016 at 1:35 pm  Leave a Comment  

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