I guess the left didn’t get enough vomit to lick last go round. Now they’re licking away at the same vomit, telling it how important it is. All this talk of election. I do my best to avoid it but it’s smeared on the walls like the effusions of a kid in the nursery who needs attention.
And have you seen that guy from the 90’s the left is sucking up to? Me neither, but my friend Missy tells me he’s back. The left is still a bunch of papa-chasing paparazzi, desperate for attention, apparently. Oh look at me, look at me, daddy! The camera’s over here!
You can tell they’re the left and not the right because they’re so rebellious in their fondling. Bad daddy! Give us more attention. Pouty lower lip. All these open letters to daddy. Advice for the paterfamilias-to-be. Scoldings and stampings of feet. Trips to the Chesapeake watershed, especially to that swamp city that has nothing to do with us unless we want it to. You so important, daddy, we could never live our lives on our own without you.
Jesus effing Christ. How can you people stand it, all this nonsense about leaders, and your predictable outrage rehearsed every four years or two, and the embarrassing seriousness of your drivel about growth and daddy? Is this making you happy? I’m not saying I don’t read this stuff sometimes in the spirit of porn, like paying six bits to see the bearded lady at the back of the circus tent. I’m not proud of it.
But when I’m in touch with the angels of my better nature, and when sober counsels prevail, I am able to say with a spirit of equanimity and discernment, fuck your economy, and fuck your leaders. Questions?
Is there something unclear about the meaning of America or about its worldwide archipelago of military bases? As to its history, from election of the saints to extraordinary rendition, was there some line of influence that seems improbable?
America as a notion was founded in the seventeenth century on the doctrine of election, and election is still its holy grail, its destiny, like the way the Bible talks about dogs returning to lick vomit. A century and a half after the big migrations of the early 1630’s, some rich white men would sign parchments emphasizing that niggers and women need not apply, a period fondly remembered now by the left as having something to do with their “rights.” A religion with a history too boring to recount was formed and now it’s got its little scriptures and declarations written by the “founders.” Founders. There’s a verb for you, eh? Election, founders.
Stop.
David Ker Thomson lives in The Home Theater, as the Department of Homeland Security calls Turtle Island. He usually devotes ten hours to the composition and removal of typographical errors from each article, but set himself a time limit of one hour for “Election.” Can you tell the difference? David Ker Thomson has published more widely in his lifetime than Emily Dickinson did in hers. dave dot thomson at utoronto dot ca
