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Yo, Earthlings

Yo, earthlings. Just got in. How is it hanging? I see the dog and pony show is over. And it was Trump by a nose. So I guess it’s oh my God the sky is falling from here on in. Please, stop. If I laugh any more I will bust a gut. Fools! You are going extinct and you fuss over trivia. But after all isn’t that so appropriate. A whole species rushing around in busy confusion like an anthill some boy kicked over. Busy, busy and pointless. What better prelude to extinction? Can you not hear the laughter of the Gods?

I’m not a God but I’m rolling in the aisles. What makes me bust a gut? Let me count the ways. Oh, yes, democracy. Now that is a hot one. What is it again? Oh, yeah, “money talks.” But the people, the people… are unfortunately easily fooled. And let’s face it they don’t give a shit about what happens to the next guy as long as they get theirs. Numero uno, baby. In any case blast them with adverts and they will believe anything. Slip messages into their toothpaste. Tell them what to think and then ask for their opinion. “Democracy”, hey, as a buzz word better than chocolate. “Democracy.” Yeah, it’s got a ring to it. Do the soft shoe while you cross your heart.

Let’s see. What else makes me whoop and hollar. Oh, yeah, the economy. Now there is a magic trick. How did the banksters get all the loot. They had to install a whole language that made everyone believe they had to hand everything to them on a platter. And it worked. Since you have mortgaged your butt up to your nostrils, the banksters own your future! But the jokes on them because you don’t have any future. It’s going to be shit. Just thinking about it I am rolling on the floor with my legs up in the air, howling. I mean has any stand-up done this shtick? “The Economy.” What a fucking show! That could fill Yankee Stadium.

Of course the real fun part is where the banksters discover that they don’t have jack. Buried up to their eyeballs in securities, they own the future. But the future is a stinking pile. Seeing their faces would be a kick in the butt. But it will probably happen in the Hamptons, and I don’t have a tennis racket.

Let’s see, what else? How about the environment, that’s always good for a chuckle or two? “The environment.” As if it’s all about you, baby. It’s all your environs surrounding you. Now that is vanity. “The environment.” Brother. How about calling it the shit hole. If any of you humans want to complain about going extinct just try to justify that shit hole you made of the planet. When you go to trial that will bite you in the ass or my name is not John Q. Public. And I will be rolling on the floor.

I wonder if this excessive mirth is not, perhaps, the sign of an imminent breakthrough into pair a dice. Because the whole fucking world is one big joke. The whole universe is a kick! Take the big bang. Stop me if you have heard this before. But the big bang was not that big! New evidence shows and blah, blah, blah. It was, at best, a medium sized bang. In all likelihood a rather small bang. In any case well within one standard deviation of bangs.

Let’s face it. Everything, everything is a kick in the pants. Take everyday stuff. Education. Say what? You got emoji nation out there. They can’t read, Jackson. It is a whole hell of a lot worse than you have ever been told. In even a half-assed banana republic it is possible to tell children what they need to know. Not here. Ninety percent of all the crap they stuff into you is dog do. Softens up your brain. Everything happens because of this or that entirely invisible force. You get out of school and where the fuck are you? Up shit’s creek without a paddle and with a pants’ load of debt. You can’t fight it. Just find a pasture where you can munch while they milk your life. Welcome mad cow, to the dairy farm. The whole population is chewing the cud, and not that well. Munching on God-damned plastic. I suppose I understand if you don’t find that that funny.

What else? Let’s see. How about journalism. Is the New York Times going to continue to publish? That, you have got to admit, is a kick in the butt. Anyone reading it is like a patient in a nut house willingly taking his lobotomy meds. But who am I to judge. “Fake news!” Give me a fucking break. I yield, I yield. Oh Onion, you have been undone.

But seriously now. How about real journalism where someone burrows in for the facts, puts them together in a complex but plausible story and exposes the whole sorry mess to public view. Does anybody really give a shit other than journalism junkies? Because the idea behind it all, that if the people know what is really going on they will stop it, is bunkum. People can know all kinds of shit without doing jack. Americans know or can easily know that their government is doing unspeakable shit all over the fucking place over a long period of time and they couldn’t give a rat’s ass. It’s an absolute total disgrace, but who gives a shit? Lucky thing they have no souls. If they did they would be corrupt. Now, I admit that is not that funny.

But I can’t help it. It is just so fucking pathetic. And just when I feel I can’t laugh any more without busting a gut… I think of the Supreme Court. I suppose I am showing my age when I recall Senator Roman Hruska saying of Supreme Court nominee Harold Carlswell, “Even if he were mediocre, there are a lot of mediocre judges and people and lawyers. They are entitled to a little representation, aren’t they, and a little chance? We can’t have all Brandeises, Frankfurters and Cardozos.” Priceless. You see the real kicker is that there is no difference between a mediocre dweeb and a Brandeis. Other than bullshit, of course. Because it is all bullshit. I mean read Marbury vs Madison, the elixir of legal brilliance. I’m surprised someone hasn’t already done a claymation Youtube of that baby. What is right is beyond us, the court declared. And it’s been true ever since. Hello? It’s political even if they do wear funny clothes. But, I admit, the funny clothes add that certain je ne said qua to the show.

No wonder so many meet God in the booby hatch.

And that reminds me, and how could I forget, of those checks and balances that are supposed to make our government the best of all possible governments. What a kick! You see the theory is that corruption here and corruption over there will check and balance out to produce the wisdom of Solomon or as close as it gets in this imperfect world. I kid you not, Jackson. That is the theory. Hell, shit, talk about stand up. Truth is stranger than fiction.

Ah, crap, my eyes are watering I’m laughing so hard. What else? Politicians? Are they still funny? I don’t know. I’m out of touch. “All politicians lie.” Talk about a tired line. I mean, lady, what else is new? What gets me is that people still listen to them. Then parse what they say, tweezing out some cockamamie meaning. Then they delve into the nitty gritty of what actually lies behind the orator’s poetry when it dribbled from the screen live from the oval office, just as the great man intoned it. When he spoke did he imagine multitudes squatting before the TV, rapt, hanging on his every word? Letting him pour the bull doody into their ears? Oh please don’t make me laugh any more.

Where is the borscht belt when you need it? “The Democratic Party still exists!” Is that a line or what? That is a show stopper! What an opener. That would have put the entire borscht belt on their fannies in the aisles!

Oh, man, my doctor says I can’t go on like this. Who could have guessed that the universe with its vast dark voids would turn our to be a clown show. Can you imagine a shlep across the trackless wastes through eons of quality time to at long last arrive at a brave new world only to be greeted by Borat’s hairy asshole? It’s too much. But here we are! Killer clowns and miserable wretches, we moon one another in the city on a hill.

Can stupidity travel faster than the speed of light? Even Einstein didn’t know. If stupidity obeys Einstein’s laws there would be stupidity waves from distant inhabited orbiting double black holes rolling in like breakers upon our shores. Wave after wave of stupidity. Well, the jury is still out. Vast phenomenally expensive underground top-secret equipment must be built to sniff the cosmic winds. Are there stupidity waves? Mankind needs to know. Evidence points to same, but then again, counter evidence is beginning to dribble in. Much more work needs to be done. So it’s just possible that it’s not our fault. It’s all coming from outer space.

But seriously now. No I mean really. Really. How about this Trump fellow? Orange haired buffoon. Climate denier. (Actually, I believe Trump does accept the existence of the climate.) Is he the guy to push the button? Do you play that game? I call it, “ is this the guy,” the guy who will push the button that finally ends the whole miserable charade. I really thought George W. was the guy. Him and the snarling Cheney, such a daring duo. But perhaps he thought it would negatively affect his portfolio. Maybe his wife wouldn’t let him blow up the world until he cleaned his room. Or was it his mother?

I didn’t think Obama was the guy. That really bothered me because I am not very good at “is he the guy?” and one so-called friend has already taken me to the cleaners betting on an unspeakable Obamaist third-world apocalypse. I teetered on the edge of flip-flopping. But it looks like Obama is really not going to be the guy.

I was sure Hilary was the guy. Hillary had to be the guy. In some dark way I think Hillary was meant to be the guy even though I don’t know who meant her to be the guy. The deep fucking state works in mysterious ways. Could it be Mister Extinction himself knocking at the door, serving us the eviction notice? Did he make Hilary the guy? Was it time to cut to the chase? I still sometimes wake up in a sweat thinking Hilary is the guy. Why wasn’t Hilary the guy? I think Hillary wasn’t the guy because Hillary is the guy. People still don’t want the guy. That’s why something happened on the way to the ball park and we dodged one last fucking bullet.

But Trump still might be the guy. He might be. I think he is, but I don’t think he will push the button. It’s going to be a whole nuther ball game. If someone else were in Trump’s shoes he would be standing in the same place. There is simply no way that a president of the United States could do the dipsy doodle necessary to give humankind a ghost of a chance to continue to have fun. All the dumb shit, that is, almost everything we do, has to go. Anyone who doesn’t see an enormous looming disaster about to engulf humankind and millions of other species is a blind baboon or a fucking shill. And anyone who doesn’t see that we are not going to do dick about it is another blind baboon. We are too tired, lost, confused, pathetic. And it would cost us fun. Actually, the effort would have to be total. You don’t need a crystal ball to see we haven’t got the will. So it’s going to be bullshit 24/7 from now to the hilarious end. Kick back and enjoy. It is already pretty much too late without an all-out humankind-wide total effort. So any guy is the guy. So since any guy is now the guy of course Trump is the guy because he just happens to be the guy. But maybe Trump isn’t the guy? Maybe everybody is the guy except Trump. But I don’t want to laugh any more.

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Michael Doliner studied with Hannah Arendt at the University of Chicago and has taught at Valparaiso University and Ithaca College.

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