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HOW MODERN MONEY WORKS — Economist Alan Nasser presents a slashing indictment of the vicious nature of finance capitalism; The Bio-Social Facts of American Capitalism: David Price excavates the racist anthropology of Earnest Hooten and his government allies; Is Zero-Tolerance Policing Worth More Chokehold Deaths? Martha Rosenberg and Robert Wilbur assay the deadly legacy of the Broken Windows theory of criminology; Gaming the White Man’s Money: Louis Proyect offers a short history of tribal casinos; Death by Incarceration: Troy Thomas reports from inside prison on the cruelty of life without parole sentences. Plus: Jeffrey St. Clair on how the murder of Michael Brown got lost in the media coverage; JoAnn Wypijewski on class warfare from Martinsburg to Ferguson; Mike Whitney on the coming stock market crash; Chris Floyd on DC’s Insane Clown Posse; Lee Ballinger on the warped nostalgia for the Alamo; and Nathaniel St. Clair on “Boyhood.”
Used to call me the Misfit cause I couldn’t do nothin’ right–least not in this world. Now they call me "Mr. President," jest like Paw said they would. My brother Jeb, he said, "Daddy got you a job is all. It jest happens to be a real big ‘un." Yeah, I reckon so. But hell. […]

A Good Man is Hard to Misfit

by ADAM ENGEL

Used to call me the Misfit cause I couldn’t do nothin’ right–least not in this world. Now they call me "Mr. President," jest like Paw said they would. My brother Jeb, he said, "Daddy got you a job is all. It jest happens to be a real big ‘un."

Yeah, I reckon so. But hell. Ain’t like I weren’t civilized and socialized as a young ‘un. I got my schoolin’ done and then my higher learnin’–Yale, Harvard–and you can be sure I raised holy hell a-ruttin’ and a-hollerin’ and a-drinkin’ so hard it’s a wonder I learned me anything a’tall.

But I growed up, some–the hard way. I flied me a plane clear ‘cross Texas durin’ the War ‘gainst the Indian Chinese. Tore into the cold earth for liquid gold–lucre is all; the black blood of Mammon that lubricationizes this sorry vale of tears. Even run me a baseball team. Quit drinkin’ too. A-yup. No thanks to them alchee-holic 2-steppers and their K-Mart religion: meetin’ secretly in dank basements every blessed afternoon a-whinin’ and a-cryin and a-kickin’ and a-screamin’ up every damn one of them god awful 12 steps. No sir. Not me. I answer to a much Higher Power…

I been saved–twicet. I been reborn. I remember the good Rev. Jimmy Swaggert–before he becomed a blubberin’ whoremonger–I remember him preachin’–on nation’l TV he preached–about them atheists and communists at the Harvard Divinity school, or mighta been the Harvard school of Guvment, same thing I reckon, he preached, "When we die, you can go to Harvard. Me, I wanna go to Heaven." And it damn near brought the house down. Not a house of God directly, more a stadium like. But I felt the good word touch me even through the color TV box.

I got the callin.’ Look in my eyes, you’ll see. I got the callin.’ I see it, I see it all: Fire and Redemption, even for the Jews. Oh yes. Oh yes siree. Why, I got me a whole kitchen full-a Jews. Wolfowitz, aptly named I might say, and Perle, a man even the meanest, low-downest, orneriest killers at the Pentagon calls "the Prince-a Darkness" (and they ain’t far off the mark). Even got me that Ari Fishbaum speakin’ in tongues to the liberal communist Media. Think that was a accident?

Some folks, usually furriners and leftist intersexuals and A-rab terrorists and such, they think I take "orders" from fat ol’ Ariel Sharon. Huh. No more’n he takes "orders" from Pat Robertson, or gives ‘em to Jerry Falwell. We’re all in this together. Yer with us or agin’ us, like I been sayin’ all along. Well, least since them World Train Towers got blowed up in New York City–and it weren’t me what called it "Hymie Town," neither. Ask yer fancy-talkin’ adulterizin’ colored feller ’bout that ‘un.

When the Evil among us is destroyed, when the Rapture comes, them Jew-boys–gathered in Israel every last one of ‘em by then; least that’s what’s written in The Book, and I ain’t talkin’ bout no egghead scholar book or the Baseball Encyclopedia neither; I’m talking bout the one true only book that matters–anyways, them Jew-boys’ll see the wickedness of their ways and fall a-weepin’ to the feet of Our Savior and beg His forgiveness and rise to Heaven with the rest of us Believers. And they won’t be ‘restricted’ when they get there. No. They’ll be treated jest as fine as if they was reglar baptized Christians.

There’re good Jews, I tell you. From Ari to Ariel, I only keep company with good Jews, the ones what’ll see the light when it shines upon them. It will–once we gather all the Jews, both good and bad, in the Holy Land, which might take some work, specially flushin’ ‘em from cosmiccomican areas like Los Angelees and NYC, but Ariel Sharon and them AIPAC fellers,’ they’re studyin’ on it. They’ll find the way…

Ronnie Reagan, he knew what was comin.’ He saw the Apocalypse and prepared for it with the correct military hardware to put the communists and other evil ones to flame; trouble was, the folks around him, Georgie Schultz, Jeanne Kirkpatrick, James Baker III, Bill Casey, even my own Paw, they was more innerested in hedge-a-money in this life than heaven in the next. Now, I’m sure Ronnie had nothing ‘gainst hedge-a-money if it was gonna help bring on the reign of Heaven, but hedge-a-money for its own sake, for love-a nuthin’ more’n Riches n’ Power in this wicked world…that just don’t figure. Not to Ronnie, not to me.

My Pappy’s a good man, and when The Lord comes, I know Pappy’ll jump like a lamb into His arms; but he saw that hedge-a-money as a good thing in itself, not as a step toward Heaven, and that kinda thinking don’t make no sense to me, no sense a’tall.

Well, that don’t matter no how. There’s work to be done, and we’re a-goin’ do it. We got the firepower and we got the faith. Light all them heathens up like Roman candles, smoke ‘em outta their holes, burn ‘em, burn ‘em all, like The Book says. My Paw told me it was Our Destiny, America’s Destiny, to do the work of the Lord. Well, that’s directly what we’re goin’ do.

Yeah. I know what yer thinkin’. I don’t like it any more than you do. I got nuthin agin’ the Iraqi people, personally. But it’s gotta be done -

"What Fun!"

"Shut up, Donald. Ain’t no enjoyment in this life."

You’ll have to excuse the impermanence of my assistant, interjectifying like that in the middle of my…obsequy. "Rummy" didn’t mean no harm by it, I reckon. Rudeness is all. Rudeness and ign’rance. You see, Rummy don’t unnerstand that Saddam, like most fellers, Ossama too, would be a GOOD MAN if, if only he had…if only he had someone there to shoot him every day of his life.

ADAM ENGEL lives and writes in NYC. He can be reached at asengel@attglobal.net