That Fatal Flaw

06 Friday Nov 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

Tags

betrayal, coronavirus, COVID19, fiction, GRU, KGB, pandemic, Putin, treason

Photo by u041fu0430u0432u0435u043b u0421u043eu0440u043eu043au0438u043d on Pexels.com

Note to readers: Have you been wondering what happened to Dmitry? I have. You remember, Dmitry, don’t you? He was the Russian GRU officer who first came up with the idea of subverting large amounts of the the GOP into becoming a death cult. Needless to say, he initially met with a — what to call it? — a red wave of skepticism. But Dmitry had numbers and math models to back up his bold plan.

After the plan was approved by Vlad himself, the main implementation sticking point appeared to be finding anyone depraved enough to be traitor enough to kill a quarter million of their own people. It turned out, there were such people in America. Soon they began to focus the efforts on someone who was both a profound failure and who had an overblown opinion of themselves. And, when I say, “overblown”, I don’t just mean the garden variety of “overblown” wherein a dandelion insists he’s really a yellow rose. Oh, no. I mean the galactic variety of “overblown” wherein a small asteroid…a teeny asteroid imagines itself … really nothing more than a small stone floating around in space imagines itself to be of U Y Scuti size! That size of over-blown.

As we know, provided that at least occasionally we poke our heads outside the Fox News bubble, the pandemic is having its third wave in America — the biggest one yet. And, it is largely thanks to the efforts of #45 and his enablers. (For real!) And, that means, it is largely thanks to the efforts of Dmitri (fiction).

Of course, I’m not too happy about that. In truth, I also wouldn’t be happy if it were a million Russian citizens who needlessly died (or those from any other country on earth). Dmitry may or may not have had second thoughts about killing a million Americans. If he did, he didn’t share it with me. You and I would both understand that he would be greatly rewarded for his patriotic efforts on behalf of Putin’s ambitions to weaken or destroy the United States of America. So, let’s go check in on Dmitri and discover what his reward was for his innovative attack on America.

—————————

Just as the Commissar arranged, Dmitry was the last one to enter the conference room. A broad grin broke out on Dmitry’s face as he realized what was happening. The Commissar had arranged a celebration, complete with flags and bunting.

“Why today?” Muttered Dmitry and immediately realized because America was drowning in new cases — breaking 100,000/day.

The Commissar himself poured shots for everyone. Dmitry noted the brand and raised his eyebrows. This was the good stuff, he noted to himself.

Dmitry greatly appreciated the gesture. Ilya, in particular, gave him a very inviting smile. Even Olga raised her glass and mouthed the words acknowledging that he had been right.

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

After the toast, and the synchronous clapping, Dmitry walked up to the dais and took the mike. He beamed and bowed and gestured for silence.

“This was a team effort. And I say we toast the leader of our team, the man we affectionately call “The Commissar.” Dmitri held his glass aloft. A few other toasts were offered and the din in the room grew correspondingly. Dmitry glanced at the clock. Hours before quitting time, and most folks were already impaired. He enjoyed a shot, but he didn’t really relish being impaired. His current buzz was plenty. Too much in fact. He decided to sneak away and check to see what his web crawlers and sentiment analysis programs had turned up.

He turned suddenly. The large beefy hand of The Commissar came down heavily on his shoulder. “Hey! Congratulations again, Dmitry. Now. I need to see you in my office.”

The Commissar gestured to a chair for Dmitry and he himself walked around his desk and sat in his appropriately more comfortable version. He enjoyed the plushness. The Commissar chuckled as he recalled that line from Animal Farm, “all are equal but some are more equal than others.” He smiled at Dmitry and wordlessly arose and sauntered over to his private reserve where he kept the really good vodka. He swung around with two shot glasses and handed one to Dmitry.

“Dmitry. You should be proud. Here’s to you!” The Commissar tossed his glass back and Dmitry did the same.

“Oh, my God! That’s good! Thank you, Commissar!”

“Dmitry, It’s nothing. You have come to the attention of Putin himself! He has a special assignment for you — something he says will require a combination of discipline, mathematical brilliance, and out of the box thinking. Well, you’re it. I have no idea what the situation is, but you were asked for specifically and by name! Congratulations! Sorry, I don’t have more details, but I think you’ll like this part. It’s on the Caspian! You’re going to have your own damned dacha there! I’m more than a bit jealous, but you deserve it! Hey! Look at the time! You’ve got to get back to your apartment and pack. I’ll arrange to send on your stuff here. The way things usually work, your contact will come by and have tickets for you. I won’t even find out specifically who you’ll be working for! Your talent has been noticed. Go. And Congratulations!”

Dmitry stuttered, “Are you… ? Really? This is so … sudden. I mean, I’m not going to say I’m not flattered or protest some false modesty, but … shouldn’t I stay and take Operation SuperSpreader to its logical conclusion.”

The Commissar shrugged. “It’s not my decision. Sorry. I don’t think we have much choice here. Just go get yourself ready. And sober. Your contact will be there shortly. Sorry, I don’t have more info. It’s obviously top secret. Beyond my clearance level. We’ll be okay here. You’ve done an excellent job — a generous job of sharing your expertise. We’ll be fine. GO! I’ll let your co-workers know what’s happening.”

Dmitry frowned. He looked at the blank poker face of his boss. He glanced at the party which had not diminished in intensity during his absence. If anything, they were becoming more boisterous. OK. The Caspian! That did sound nice. Moscow was already damned cold but he knew it would become much worse. He spent the Metro ride home trying to decide what to pack. Replaying the Commissar’s comments however, he realized he had no idea even what country he’d be in or whether he’d be on the relatively warm side.

He stumbled up the steps to his third story studio. “Crap,” he muttered and he threw himself on the couch. I just need a nap before that guy — what was his name? He shook his head, trying to sober himself up. Maybe cold water. Or coffee. But where am I going? His head still spinning, Dmitry conked out.

Meanwhile, the boss they called The Commissar had gone back in to share the happy news with everyone in the section. He glanced around. People were wasted. Oh, well. He tapped the side of a glass with a caviar knife and asked for attention several times. It was times like this that having a mike was helpful. People quieted quickly.

“Hey, I just have a very short announcement to make. I received orders from high up — from very high up, that Dmitry has been transferred on an emergency basis to another location. Meanwhile, the division head says to scuttle all our records on Project SuperSpreader. If anyone asks, tell them it was my idea, and mine alone. None of you should admit to having anything to do with it. And, don’t mention Dmitry. He is such an important asset now that we want there to be no way for foreign agents to trace him or find him. The CIA may be onto us and they will think nothing of killing him or torturing him for information. So…as far as the outside world goes, he was never here.”

The Commissar prided himself on being able to read faces, even those trained in deception. People with alcohol were happy people. They were used to hearing arbitrary decisions. They were used to obedience.

“Oh, one more thing, before you get back to partying. Dmitry told me to give everyone his regards and his thanks — and his regret for not having time to say goodbye to everyone personally. I’m sorry I don’t know anything more about his promotion and assignment. Top Secret. Now, Party!”

Back in his apartment, Dmitry heard a knock or a telephone or possibly a doorbell. What was it? He had had way, way too much to drink. But, he recalled, or thought he recalled, it was only three shots. I should have a buzz, but not — how can I be this drunk. He tried to swing his legs over the edge of the couch but they didn’t move. Suddenly, he jerked his head. There was a man here. $hit! He thought, It’s my contact. I’ve got to get it together.

The man smiled genially, yawned and glanced at his watch. “Ah, you’re still here. Well, not for long. Sorry. I got here a little early. If you’re embarrassed to die in front of me, I could leave and come back.”

Dmitry just couldn’t think straight. “What? What? Caspian?”

The man tilted his head with curiosity as though wondering precisely how this one would die. “There’s no Caspian, my friend.” He chuckled a bit. “Nice idea by the way — the whole death cult thing. I would have never thought of it. Well, maybe. But I never would have thought it could work. Brilliant really. Thing is, it’s so brilliant, people like your Commissar feel it might be more appropriate if someone with a longer career deserves to get the credit. Don’t worry. It won’t be long.” He paused and then added thoughtfully, “If you’re in pain or anything, just give me a sign. I can break your neck. SNAP! Real quick. Just give me a wink.”

Dmitry cast his mind back. Who was this man? What was he saying the Commissar who gave me his special vodka wants to … an image flashed into Dmitry’s mind. The clear vodka had only been poured into one glass, not both. Only Dmitry had actually drunk the clear liquid. No wonder it tasted so good. Liquid death.

The man chuckled the deep chuckle of someone who revels in evil. “I see the truth is dawning on you, Dmitry. You’re supposed to be a genius. You should understand — in a system that puts power over truth, the people at the top are not the most able or the smartest or the most educated or the most talented. They are the cruelest and most ruthless. I hope you find that useful info in the next world.”

Dmitry realized he was going blind. He blinked several times and squinted to look into the face of this man who had come to … take the body, he supposed. The nameless man stared right back as though he were a stamp collector staring at a rare stamp for that flaw, that flaw, that fatal flaw. Dmitry realized that his had been trusting his boss.

This is part of a longer story line in four chapters. Here are links to other chapters.

Chapter 1: Plans for us; some GRUesome

Chapter 2: Finding the Needleman in the American Haystack

Chapter 4: https://wordpress.com/post/petersironwood.com/5422

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

A Profound and Utter Failure

Index to a Pattern Language for Collaboration & Teamwork

https://www.amazon.com/author/truthtable

Opponent does not mean Enemy

03 Tuesday Nov 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Democracy, unity

Today when we were playing tennis the ball flew out of the court and rolled between the wall and the fence. No-one could get it out. Notice: I said “No-one” — but when I worked together with someone on the other team, he lifted up the fence an inch and I pushed it out with my racquet.

Photo by Oliver Sju00f6stru00f6m on Pexels.com

Prior to Trump, I thought that’s what politics was like in America. Different teams working within a common framework. My opponents are not my “enemy” — and if the rules of the game are put aside and truth does not matter and whoever has the most power gets to demand victory no matter what the score is…? What’s the point of playing?

Self-quarantining in a fashion, I suppose.

Despite their fights, their fondness grows.

Don’t you wish that I could teach what each of us already knows?

How to hold a grudge forever and forever and forever and a day.

Instead, they seek and find another way to play.

Thank God we’re so much smarter, eh?

The Truth Train

A Profound and Utter Failure

The Isle of Right

The only “Them” that counts is all of “US”

The Declaration of Interdependence

The Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

Index for Pattern Language for Cooperation

Author Page on Amazon

That Cold Walk Home

01 Sunday Nov 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

fiction, politics, story, Trumpism

Ted sighed and shivered slightly. It was one of those windy fall days when the clouds would scuttle around to play their little game of roulette with the temperature. Direct sunshine made him sweat for a time tempting him to loosen his tie and remove his black suit coat. Not the right move. Not the right time. Anyway, sure enough a moment later, the clouds were back and the sweat made the late October wind feel even colder. He looked around. It was a nice location. Lots of tall trees. A margin of rhododendrons. A winding path led down to little duck pond.

He glanced over at Darla but he couldn’t see her eyes beneath the black veil. He inched a little closer. As he did so, everyone else moved further away from him. She had not been shy about telling everyone that her sister Anne’s death had been his fault.

That was hardly fair, Ted thought to himself. He hadn’t even wanted to go the rally. He just went to — it was complicated. Ted didn’t support Heel Spurs, but his folks did. And they had teased him, and badgered him, and told him that he couldn’t really argue against him if he had never even been to one of his rallies. Ted had refused immediately two weeks ago when they had announced that they were going and insisted he come along. “Mom, geez. All he does is lie the whole time! He never says anything insightful or … he’s not very educated.”

“We’re not educated enough! Isn’t that what you’re really saying, Ted? We’re not good enough for the College Boy! Your Dad and I both worked so we could put you through college and this is how you repay us? By being too snooty to attend a rally with your uneducated parents?”

“Oh, geez. Mom, that is not what I said. I just don’t see the point. And I wish you wouldn’t go either! It’s not safe!”

Then, his Dad had weighed in as well. “Ted, you can’t just live in fear your whole life. How about some courage? Stop wearing that stupid mask everywhere.” He had shaken her head and added, “You act like there’s still a pandemic.”

Ted had sighed and tried to explain that there was still a pandemic, that wearing a mask wasn’t “stupid” and that Heel Spurs was a liar.

The quarrel had escalated, as quarrels often seemed to these days, and ended with an ultimatum. Ted would either join them at the rally or he could pay his own tuition for his senior year.

Ted had at last agreed. He knew he would regret it. But he had no idea just how much.

At the rally itself, he had been mortified on behalf of his parents. They had cheered on cue. They had chanted on cue. They had laughed on cue. They had booed on cue. He supposed they would have quite happily farted on cue if told to. And, he could see the excitement in their eyes. In fact, they had seemed to adore the Mango Mussolini. They hung on his every word. Ted recalled having wondered at the time whether #45 talked nonsense and non-sequitur all the time as an intentional technique for getting his “supporters” to hang on his every word.

After the event ended, his parents had still been excited. They had introduced themselves to another couple from a nearby suburb. As it turned out, they also had a boy in college and he also had not yet realized that only Trump told the truth about the world and that every other news organization, TV channel, and the “Deep State” were brain-washing Americans not to trust the President.

Ted watched as the couple exchanged phone numbers and business cards. He had decided that it was rather useless to “take the bait” on politics and instead got revenge in his own small way by steering the conversation toward economics. He was now in the middle of his sixth economic course. “Hey, I’m loving college. I just found out something cool last week in my on-line ‘Economic Incentives’ class. I was really shocked. I had always thought it was good to pay CEO’s lots and lots of money so that a company would have better leadership. And it turns out, that’s not true! They’ve actually studied it. It sounds kind of logical, but it doesn’t turn out that way empirically.”

Silence.

At last, Ted’s Dad said, “When are those busses going to appear? I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting cold. It was warm on the bus, but man. It’s cold out here.”

“Well,” drawled the other man, “They did say they’d be here soon. I’m sure they’ll show up in the next ten minutes.”

Only they didn’t show up in the next ten minutes. Nor the next sixty minutes.

Ted had finally insisted. “Look, I run every day. Enough of this nonsense. I’m going to run back and get our car. I’ll be back in half an hour. Meanwhile, here. Take this coat. I’ll be more comfortable running like this.”

Mom had said, “Okay, but what about our new friends here?”

“Well, they will catch the bus,” Ted had reasoned. I can’t drive both cars back. And, none of you are running with me. If the bus comes five minutes after I leave, they’re better off. And, if not, they’re no worse off. Right?”

He had agreed that if the bus came right away, his parents could call him and he could get back in time to board with them. If it were a longer time, he would call them when he got to the car. If they were on the bus, he wait for them at the car. If the bus still hadn’t come, they’d decide what to do then.

In the end, Ted had run to the car, started it up, and driven back to the rally site before the bus showed up. Ted’s parents had insisted that they drive their new friends to their car.

Ted had been the only one wearing a mask.

He overheard her mother’s part of the conversation when the apology came a few days later.

Ted had said, “Mom, who was that? You sounded upset.”

His mom bit her lip and frowned. “Ted, that was — you remember that couple we went to the Rally with?”

Ted nodded. “Sure.”

“Well, honey. She and her husband both tested positive for COVID. Can you believe that?”

Ted’s eyes widened. “Yes, of course, I believe it. I told you it wasn’t a hoax.”

Ted’s mom kept acting as though she couldn’t decide what to do next. She confided to Ted, “Let’s not tell your father. No need to worry him.”

“WHAT!? Mom, surely you jest! Of course we have to tell him! He needs to tell the people he’s been with too!”

“Well,” said his mother, “I just don’t understand it. Didn’t the President himself say we had turned the corner and it was nothing to worry about? Well, anyway, at least it isn’t serious. And soon, we’ll have a vaccine. And treatments that cure it, just like for him!”

“Mom, mom, mom. No. He’s lying. We don’t have a vaccine. No-one knows exactly when you’ll get access to it, but it definitely won’t be in time to prevent an infection from those friends in the car. And treatments? You won’t get the treatment he got. You would have to sell the house and car and we probably still couldn’t afford it. If — if he was even sick at all. He might have faked the whole thing.”

“Now, why would he do that honey? He’s Making America Great Again!”

Ted could see that her spirits actually lifted as she parroted that last phrase.

“Indeed he is,” added Ted’s dad. “Now, what’s for dinner?”

Ted and his mother exchanged looks. She bit her lip and shook her head, looked down at the floor. Ted thought his mom should be the one to explain the situation.

“Say, Dad. You know that nice couple that we met at the rally? Well, right before you walked in, Mom was having a conversation with that lady. And she was just about to tell me what they talked about. Why not tell us both at the same time, Mom. Kill two birds with one stone, as it were.”

As it turned out, there were more than two birds killed.

The first bird was the woman of the couple they had met at the rally.
The husband had a bad case but survived. But without his wife of 47 years, and debilitated, he wasn’t sure why he had bothered.

The second bird was Ted’s own mother. She was perhaps “lucky” in that she died over the course of a few days.

The third bird, Ted’s Dad, never did get COVID. He got pneumonia waiting for a bus and died from that.

And now, here we are at the funeral of the fourth bird, Anne. Anne had been a wonderful kid. Ted had never viewed her as some kind of “necessary evil” to put up with in order to get himself in the — let us say — “good graces” of his girlfriend Darla. No, Ted had genuinely liked Anne. She was intelligent, knowledgeable, and beautiful. And, she was really genuinely nice. She was what you might call perfect.

Except she wasn’t. She had been born with a compromised immune system. So, while Ted and Darla had never felt the least bit sick and Ted had gotten tested, he never received his test results.

Darla never did forgive Ted. Nor did Ted forgive himself. Not smart, but perfectly understandable, having just lost his parents and ruined his love life, that Ted would take up hard drugs and alcohol. I suppose it’s no surprise Ted himself soon became bird number five.

————————————————

Index to a Pattern Language for Collaboration

Trumpism is a New Religion

Essays on America: Wednesday

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Fascism Leads to Chaos

T-Rump Swan Song

30 Friday Oct 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

coronavirus, COVID19, Cult, pandemic, politics, treason, Trumpandemic

“Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes!

His floating hair!

The Ridin’ Biden?

He plays fair!

How dare he dare!

So unwise!

He has a socialistic plan

To ban the planets who rotate right!

He’s mean and keen

And he will break your overbite!

He’ll do whatever

He damned well pleases!

Oh, Base, oh Base

Get down on your kneeses!

I despise you all

And hope you fall

And die of cold

Or die of heat;

It never gets old

To watch you fold.

I let you die of Trumpandemic

But now I’m out to scare

You to death with the dire predictions

Of imaginary Biden

Whose leads widen

My lies no longer can be sold!

He’ll square the moon!

Outlaw balloon!

Eat a loon!

Eliminate June!

He’ll replace the flag

With an all-black rag!

He’ll make water run uphill!

He’ll make the sun too chill!

So much solar power

Sucked from the sun each hour!

It will die! I wouldn’t lie!

You know I never do!

And I love everyone!

(Who isn’t Muslim or Jew,

Or dark, or smart, or thinks,

Or cares, or loves

Or anyone who cannot afford

A yacht and gloves).

But people like that?

They hardly count at all.

Long as you stick with me,

You’ll have a ball.

But lest you forget

Let me now resume.

I’ve no evidence but you can presume

Biden will cancel Christmas!

And even cancel sex!

Ivanka thinks he uses hypertext!

He’ll turn off gravity!

Outlaw depravity!

Make everyone marry a woman of color

Maybe your own daughter. Did I mention Ivanka?

She’s also a brilliant business tycoon billionaire like me.

Oh, but yeah, we were talking about Obama and how

He tried to make America — you know he’s from Kenya?

Did I mention that I am a mental giant?

Yep. Went to the Doctors and they were amazed!

They said my brain was hardly grazed!

They told me: “man, woman, person, camera, TV”

And I said:

Hey! that’s me!

A story about me!

I am a man

(Or at least pretend to be one)

I grabbed at women by the score;

Raped more than a few;

It didn’t count because a woman isn’t really a person.

I confessed it all on camera; it all was taped.

But then on TV, I simply japed.

All was forgiven by my faceless base.

They all need me, but I don’t need any one of them.

They are what I call the “Minutes”.

There are people you need for a few minutes — and when those minutes are over,

The photo-op done?

You’ve no more need of them.

But there are others I think of as the “Hours” —

These are people you need to be your tool

For an hour or two; long enough to win a suit.

Long enough to sell a lie.

And, a few are the “Days” —

They are not a momentary craze.

I might wait a month or two

Before I chop them up and throw them in the stew.

And that rhymes with slew

I guess you knew!

I’m over two hundred thousand and twenty-two!

Way ahead of Putin who

Has not passed thirty two!

But Oh, yes, I was talking about how terrible Obama was!

Or, wait, I seem to be in a bit of a fuzz.

Clinton, Hilary that’s the one we’ll lock her up!

Because why should a black or a woman be POTUS

And not me?! ME!?! Born rich and lost it all.

Pity me, pity me, oh, poor me!

Let me dis you and kiss you

And spread my sick death

I’ll unmask you

And you and task

You to suck in my breath.

Kim Jung Un really opened my eyes!

To be a leader, you needn’t be wise!

Just grab for the cruel-stick don’t ever let go!

Demand to be king in the absolute know!

Watch me steer America

Down into flame.

With all of my fingers

I’ll spread out the blame.”

America wake.

And give a good shake.

Another Trump term

Would be a mistake.

One day soon, we’ll all recall

We work best when we work as one.

Working together will add to the fun.

Work together for the good of all.

—————————————————

Trumpism is a new religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

The Ailing King of Agitate

Life is a Dance

Author Page on Amazon

Fascism Leads to Chaos

26 Monday Oct 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

America, Democracy, Dictatorship, economy, pandemic, politics, Resistance, USA, Vote

One of the sadder misconceptions about a fascist dictatorship is that life will at least be clear and predictable. There will be clear rules, laid out in black and white, and if you keep your nose clean and do as you’re told, you’ll be safe and your family will be safe. Only trouble-makers will get in trouble. In this view, Democracy seems like a cool idea, but in reality, there is endless discord and disagreement. Some begin to think that we’ll all be so much better off if we just have one source of information that we all agree on, regardless of how bogus that source is.

What will actually happen under a dictatorship is the opposite of this promise.

There will be more chaos, not less.

Think about it. In our current society, truth ultimately rules over power. Yes, of course, there are people who are afraid to speak truth to power. And most of us have had that boss who is simply inept or opinionated and doesn’t care much about reality. But they are the exception. Most people in a corporation can be brought round if you have truth on your side. For some decision makers, convincing them of what is best for the organization as a whole is enough. But sometimes, you also have to find a way to explain that it’s also in their personal interest to do what’s best for the company. But most bosses and managers don’t act like complete jerks. And part of the reason is that they know they will be held accountable in some way if they behave too far outside the norm.

In a culture where power trumps truth, however, the only thing that matters is power, not truth. Some people will nonetheless have a tendency to be regular in their behavior. So, you can count on that, at least. Except, of course, that you cannot count on that. Because at any time, and for any unforeseen reason, that person who follows some principles or values or code or flow-chart or best practices — they can be over-ridden by someone higher up. If they don’t toe the line, they will be fired and someone else will replace them who will do as they’re told.

You might be doing a great job when all at once you’re fired — not for anything at all related to your performance — no, you could be fired for telling the truth. And, you could even be fired for your brother telling the truth.

There is no predictability. There is only chaos. Chaos is what a dictator thrives on. By continual change, dictated from the top in completely unpredictable ways, the dictator gains more and more control. For instance, let’s imagine that the dictator (or even a would-be dictator with inside knowledge) brokers a wonderful trade deal with China in which both parties benefit; a real win/win situation. If this happens in real life, word will leak out and eventually there will be confirmation and the stock market will tend to go up. But it’s a lot of work to make such a deal.

Imagine instead that you decided to grant some monetary favors to some of your largest donors. You tell them that you’re about to make a big announcement of a wonderful trade deal with China. They buy stocks low. You make your announcement. The stock market goes up. They sell stocks high. Everyone discovers there’s no “there” there and the stock market goes back down. Meanwhile, your friends made millions.

For everyone else though, it’s simply chaos. It makes financial planning hard; it makes career planning difficult; it makes all planning difficult. Remember: at any time and for any reason, an “order from headquarters” could render all your previous planning useless. The person you have teamed with for years could be hauled off suddenly for a political crime. Of course, at first you’ll find it hard to believe. After all, you’ve known Frank for years. He never seemed like the type to step out of line. But there is no-one to plead the other side in a dictatorship — not honestly. All trials become sham trials. The outcome is known in advance. If the powerful like you, you go free, no matter how heinous your crime and how strong the evidence. If the powerful don’t like you, you’ll be jailed, or executed, or (most fun of all) tortured until you give the names of five or six of your friends as also being enemies of the state. Truth doesn’t matter any more. The rule of law doesn’t matter any more.

More and more wealth will be funneled to the already very rich. That will make everyone else more desperate and crime will increase. More and more people will be incarcerated essentially being a slave work force. They will literally be working and surviving and nothing more. No more attempts at rehabilitation. Who wants them rehabilitated? They are cheap labor. And, what’s equally important, they serve as a great reminder to everyone not in prison that prison is theirs for the asking. All they have to do is utter the truth or fail to shout “Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler!” loudly enough and they too can have a one way ticket to hell.

What happened when Mao became dictator of China? Educated people were sent out into the fields. Many were executed. Society was turned completely on its head. Russian Revolution: Same. Hitler’s Germany — much of it was bombed, millions killed, turned ordinary people into monsters. It’s always the same. The founding fathers had seen it over and over in country after country in age after age. Absolute power cannot be safely bestowed on anyone — not even a person of great character and wisdom.

George Washington faced danger, exhibited leadership and helped our young nation survive.

Yet, he did not want to be king.

Donald Trump ran from danger, exhibited no leadership and will have needlessly killed a quarter million Americans. He’s isolated us from our allies. He’s divided the country against itself. He’s railed against the free press since day one. He’s replaced non-partisan experts throughout government with inept lackeys. He is preparing for a fascist state. He’s a willing accomplice in the destruction of American.

Yet he does want to be King.

And if he does? Life will be less regular and less predictable and less organized. It will be more chaotic as well as more sadistic. Is that really the world you want your kids and grandkids to grow up in?

———————————————

At Least He’s Our Monster

Where Does Your Loyalty Lie?

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions

Happy Talk Lies

Author Page on Amazon

Index to Pattern Language for Cooperation & Collaboration

Tu-Swift’s Reunion

24 Saturday Oct 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

fiction, free, leadership, legend, myths, Veritas

Tu-Swift’s eyes darted immediately to what he most wanted to see. There she was, her back turned away, with only a tress of hair across the back of her ear, but he recognizer her. Cat Eyes poured over more of the writings she had discovered. “Books” — that was they word they had learned for such large sheaves of knowledge marked down. Six of her “students” nearly encircled her. As he neared, he noticed his heart beating fast and hard, though he only caught momentary glimpses of her. At a distance of a medium-sized fallen tree, he stopped and gulped hard. Cat Eyes was still turned away from him when suddenly, she turned her head and looked him straight in the eye. What happened next seemed inexplicable to Tu-Swift. She turned, saw him, smiled and then — she flew to him — or perhaps floated to him — or ran to him. After a very long time and a very short time, she wrapped her arms around him tightly and he responded in kind. He loved the smell of her, though now, he noticed a slight tinge of spicy mint. If anything, that made her smell even better!

After far too short a time, they drew apart slightly, still holding on and they began exchanging news. After a few moments of over-talking each other, they both laughed and promised that they would take turns, just as any civilized Veritas knows how to do. They played a game they called “make five” and thus, it was determined that Tu-Swift would begin. He described how the red death had spread through the tribe and how the solution had appeared in a dream of She Who Saves Many Lives. Eagle Eyes and Shadow Walker had gone to reconnoiter the giant stone encampment of the Z-Lotz and they had been captured. At this point in the story, he backed off enough to look into her face. He saw that her eyes already brimmed with a score of urgent questions. He smiled at her; spoke gently; put a hand on each side of her face as he said, “Cat Eyes. There is no hurry. I am here for as long as it pleases you. I will answer any question from you. Ever.” Then, he kissed her on the lips.

Instead of resuming his narrative uninterrupted (as was common practice among the Veritas), he smiled and asked, “What is your most pressing question?”

Cat Eyes said, “I have so many, but are they okay? I mean, if they were captured, in a large city, they must have died! Is that what happened?”

Tu-Swift shook his head and answered, “No, they are both okay. More than okay. Shadow Walker killed NUT-PI and became king of the Z-LOTZ!”

Cat Eyes’s eyes widened. “But how is that possible?!”

Tu-Swift shrugged. “That’s the thing. We do not yet know. We’ve only sent a few messages back and forth on eagles. They say that Shadow Walker is King & both are fine, but they haven’t gotten to the how part yet.”

Cat Eyes shook her head. “What? What!? What could be more important to tell than to tell how they escaped?”

Tu-Swift smiled. “I’ll tell you, given half a chance. Cat Eyes, your parents are alive! They will likely arrive here themselves in a half moon’s time. They will be among a larger party of visitors. Many Paths has an idea that she wants to discuss among all the Veritas.”

“My parents are alive!? What? How? How? What? Tell me!”

“I’m really sorry, Cat Eyes. Believe me, I’m curious too. We have been sitting around a campfire speculating about so many things. But soon, we will know. A small party is coming from the Z-Lotz city and that includes your parents. We will absorb their story and send them on, if they are able, along with a few others. You and I will find out at the same time, if I may stay here, of course.” Tu-Swift lifted his eyebrows.

“You’d better! Or, I swear, I’ll break both your knees!”

“You wouldn’t be the first to try that.”

Tu-Swift meant it as a joke, but Cat Eyes felt she had been insensitive. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it, of course. I forgot about your knee. But you were strong enough to make the journey here so, I guess it’s better?”

“Yes, thanks. I’m not back to full speed quite yet, but I’m getting there. I meant it as a joke, though. I’m not bothered. Even if I am never the fastest one in the tribe, what of that? I’m alive; I’m well. So many died. Do many of us.” He paused and looked at Cat Eyes.

She bit her lip and asked the question that Tu-Swift willed her to ask, “Tu-Swift, how is Suze? Why isn’t she here with you?”

Tears welled up in the eyes of Tu-Swift, soon echoed by those Cat Eyes.

Cat Eyes gently said, “I’m so sorry, Tu-Swift. I loved her too. Without her help, and yours, of course, we would still not know how to decode these messages. But, that aside, she was so … alive. So much, herself.”

“I know. I know.”

“Who else? Who else is gone, Tu-Swift?”

So Tu-Swift told of Stone Chipper and his son Horse Viewer and of so many others. And, he could see each time that he told of a person, Cat Eyes felt sorrow. In her relatively short time at the Center Place of the Veritas, she had come to know every one of the people there as an individual. She understood as well that each death was also a blow to the whole village and a special blow to those closest to the person who had just died.

Tu-Swift himself felt a great heaviness. The recitation of every single name on the list felt like another tree trunk had fallen on his drooping shoulders. At the end, at last, he spoke of Many Paths and She Who Saves Many Lives.

“Many Paths grew very sick, Cat Eyes. She Who Saves Many Lives and I took care of her. Many Paths is fine now, but She Who Saves Many Lives herself became quite ill. She was still alive when I left to see you, but — but quite ill — and talking a lot about the Tree of Life and how we were all just parts of it. It makes me think that she thinks she’s dying. But I don’t really know. But the last piece of my news is about the nature of Many Path’s dream.

“The dream of She Who Saves Many Lives,” he continued, “allowed us to save many lives in the Center Place of the Veritas. Now, none are any longer sick. It may be that the dream of Many Paths that will end up saving even more lives, not just now, but for the future as well. She was much taken by the notion that all these — books — that you study — that they came from another time when there was more — so much more — but also less — so much less. And, she is — she wants to prevent that from happening again. She wants to bring all the tribes together. But she wants to know first, whether the Veritas here could agree to such a plan. And she would like to know what more you have learned from all these books. And, I do want to hear your news, but … I want you to know that I am so happy to see you. I missed you, Cat Eyes.”

They embraced again, each feeling the pain and comfort of the other.

————————————————-

The Creation Myth of the Veritas

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

The Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

The Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

https://www.amazon.com/author/truthtable

Finding the Needle Man in the Haystack of America

20 Tuesday Oct 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

America, Democracy, fiction, Putin, Russia, story, USA

Dmitry paced the fifteen feet of his fifth floor studio apartment, sat down, immediately got up and began pacing again. “Damn!”he muttered under his breath. “I should have never gotten involved in this to start with.”

Natasha knew better than to follow her instincts and try to comfort him. She knew from their decade together that Dmitry never liked to be comforted when he paced. Instead, she tried to reason with him. “Why are you so sure you’re in trouble? Maybe … “

“Because I know, dammit. How many times has Vlad called someone in for a “special meeting” and that person simply disappeared?”

Natasha nodded. “OK,” she admitted, “but this time may be different. Do you have any idea what it’s about?”

“Oh, hell yes. I know exactly what it’s about! The GRU took up my idea to morph the American political party known as GOP into a death cult. They double checked my computer modeling and eventually most everyone agreed it was worth a try, however absurd it seemed on the face of it. But in six months of work, we have yet to find anyone depraved enough to come on board. We’ve compromised quite a few GOP Senators, but none of them will go along with actually killing tens of thousands of their countrymen.”

Natasha frowned and said gently, “Should you be telling me this?”

“No, but what the hell. I’m going down anyway. We couldn’t find anyone that crooked. No-one.”

Natasha realized that if Dmitry really did get disappeared, she was in mortal danger as well. After all, her job was to ensure his success. And, if he really did fail big time, the axe would fall even harder on his handler. He knew damned well that he shouldn’t be saying anything about this to his ‘girlfriend’. Maybe she would report him. Maybe not. First things first. “Hey, what about a prominent actor or businessman? It doesn’t have to be a politician does it? Didn’t they have a popular President who was only a second rate actor?”

“You don’t think we thought of that? We tried … we got close with a few. They’re okay with stealing money, but actually killing people — so many wimpy Americans. For some weird reason, they draw the line at murder. We need someone who has no grasp of reality. On the edge of insanity. Most business successes — unless they just inherited all their wealth — and even then, they’ll just lose their inherited wealth if they can’t face reality so … and actors? Sure there are a lot on the edge. But not over the edge…well, none that would be popular enough. We’ve tried successful people in religion, business, show business…but no luck. There has to be something. But we haven’t found it. What are we missing?”

Natasha spoke quietly. “What about unsuccessful people, Dmitry?”

“What? What are you talking about? Why would we want someone unsuccessful?”

“OK, Dmitry, just hear me out. Someone who is actually successful has some sense of accomplishment. They are not going to be that easy to puppetize. On the other hand…if you could find someone who is actually a failure as a politician, or a failure as a businessperson or a failure as an actor….”

Dmitry stopped pacing and looked at Natasha. “Wait a moment! You might be onto something, Natasha! We have been baying at the moon all this time when we really should be baying at the streetlight!”

Natasha smiled, “Or, even a porch light. Or a picture of the moon.”

Dmitry frowned. “A porch light? What are you talking about? What picture?”

Natasha tilted her head and clucked her tongue. “He — or she — but probably he — he could be a complete failure. But someone who wants to be seen as successful. Someone who has lied about his success would be perfect.”

Dmitry began pacing again. “I see what you mean, but there’s one problem. Someone that inept would be too inept to carry out the assignment even though — I agree that they might be willing — how can they be inept and competent at the same time?”

Natasha thought for a moment. “Their ineptitude could actually be an asset, Dmitry. They could be saying and doing all sorts of random and idiotic things. But that would distract the American people from the real action. See what I mean? The more inept and stupid he is publicly, the more people will discount the effectiveness of our puppet — to the point where they won’t see our operations and plans at all.”

Dmitry walked over to the window and stared out at the harsh sodium lit streets of Moscow. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of this himself. Someone who was actually an abject failure but who liked to project the image of a success. Someone who was a complete sociopath, obviously, and so hungry for success, they would betray their country, their party, everything. But does such a person even exist, he wondered. He turned back toward Natasha.

“It might just work. If I could go in tomorrow with a few likely names, I might just turn this thing around. Can you start searching? I’m not sure how to find such a person, but it’s worth a try. I’m going to call — it’s late — but not too late. I’ll get a research team on it too. I can’t tell them why. I just need the names of some complete frauds, maybe even someone in legal trouble but not in jail. There has to be someone in a country of 370 million people.” For the first time in many days, Dmitry laughed. “Maybe we can put an ad in FORBES or FORTUNE. Wanted: Complete business failure. Must be vainglorious and divorced from reality. If only we could be that open about it!” He laughed again.

Natasha smiled. She wondered whether Dmitry would ever discover her own assignment. She liked Dmitry. She really did. She enjoyed their love-making sessions. How would he react to discover that their falling in love had been orchestrated by the GRU. All their so-called geniuses had to be overseen. After all, how else could the Kremlin ensure that people such as Dmitry didn’t become jaded, compromised, or even double agents? Maybe she could make him see that. But maybe not. When it came to mathematical modeling, not to mention chess, Dmitry really was a genius. But when it came to people, his career would have been minor indeed without Natasha taking care of the people side of things.

She had grown genuinely fond of him. It was sad to think that if she succeeded in helping Dmitry carry out his audacious plot, she herself would probably have to be the one to poison him. Maybe she could talk her superiors into making it a quick-acting one or even a fall from the balcony? She had to be careful though. Too much push in that direction would bring suspicion on her. Her handlers might think that she had “gone soft” — really fallen in love. She couldn’t let that happen. No, she’d carry out whatever plans they had. There was always an outside chance that the powers that be would not want to “tie up the loose ends.” After all, he did do excellent modeling. And, teamed up with her, they might even be rewarded with a bigger apartment and a higher salary. Natasha doubted it, but — one never knew.

First things first, she thought. She sat down at the keyboard. How the hell to find someone who is both a gigantic failure but also a con man who has always portrayed himself as a success? Rich. That’s where to start. Someone who inherited a lot of money but never actually accomplished much on their own. As for Dmitry…she really hoped the GRU decided to keep him on. It would be a pain to be assigned to someone else. Ah, well, she thought, such is life.

She typed: fraud loser business failure con man

She smiled and thought to herself: This may be easier than I thought.

——————————————————————————-

Prequel to this story: Plans for us; some GRUesome

Here are links to chapters subsequent to today’s blog.

Chapter 3: https://wordpress.com/post/petersironwood.com/5400

Chapter 4: https://wordpress.com/post/petersironwood.com/5422

Trumpism is a new religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Unmasked

The Ailing King of Agitate

The only “Them” that counts is all of US

Where does your loyalty lie?

Essays on America: My cousin Bobby

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Essays on America: Wednesday

Article on Trump

Let me not…

20 Tuesday Oct 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

communication, empathy, listening, translation

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments….”

— W. Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

I once dreamt that I was an octopus. I was not, as you might imagine, a psychoactive octopus tending to a garden for the benefit of a yellow submarine housing the best band ever (prove me wrong in comments). Nor did I exist as a free-ranging creature of the deep blue see who had a rich life evading predators and predating prey. Nope. Not me. I occupied the body of an octopus who had the misfortune of being in a small tank inside a lab. Inside my mind though, I was still me. I had no idea what they were going to do to me, but I knew my first priority had to be finding a way to communicate with them!

It’s no easy task. You might want to take a few minutes and just consider how you would go about it. Answers like “I would simply steal and pencil and write ‘I am here’?” Are not fair game. How are you going to get out of your little tank? How are you going to crawl around with no water? Although the octopus’s tentacles are pretty cool, there’s no guarantee you could exercise the proper control. Anyway, the point isn’t so much to solve the problem as to do these two things:

First, really imagine that you are an octopus and you have all the pros and cons associated with that in the real world but that you also have exactly your same sense of selfhood and you want to live.

Second, how would you go about telling your captors that you were alive and conscious and wanted to be put back in the ocean — and then, how would you successfully convince them to actually carry out your wishes? As I say, it isn’t so much the solution but the process of trying that I think is valuable.

Photo by Jean van der Meulen on Pexels.com

Our communication with animals is actually quite remarkable. We have learned a lot from a host of scientific studies about things we did not previously know; e.g., how bees dance to communicate to other bees about the location of pollen sources. Even before the advent of science however, humanity has learned to to communicate to an extent with many kinds of animals. That ability has helped us survive. We have somewhat cooperative, somewhat exploitative relationships with numerous other species. And, we’re not the only species with those kind of cooperative/competitive relationships either.

I am experimenting, in a small way, with trying to understand more about the minds of other species and how to communicate with them. I generally greet all the “obvious-sized” creatures that I encounter in the garden in a friendly, cheerful voice. Why not? The price is right! And, although I am more than somewhat doubtful that they understand my words, I think that on average, they understand my love quite well. It’s possible that a tone of voice that is pleasant to one species is very unpleasant to another. But in general, I would expect sounds that are violent, discordant, loud, and suddenly loud would be unpleasant to most species and trigger a fight or flight response.

On the other hand, music or singing or speaking gently and re-assuringly is felt by most species to be pleasurable. Most will still scurry away, but they will let you get much closer. At least, that’s been my experience. Can you really imagine it otherwise? Meet a deer in the woods and scream at it and it will approach you? But if you walk up slowly and talk gently or sing, it will scamper off more quickly? If humans were that tone-deaf to other species, we would have never “domesticated” cattle, dogs, cats, birds, horses, etc. and our own lives would be immeasurably less rich as a result.

Now, we come to the issue of cats. It’s fairly easy to tell whether a dog understands you. I am not saying it is always easy to make a dog understand you, but you can tell when they do. A cat? Not so much. Oh, sometimes, sure. If you say, “Time for Dinner” and they all gather around, they know what’s happening and they show it. But in other cases, where there is no immediate reward, it’s hard to tell. I love my cats. And, I think, in many ways, they even love me back. But they’re out for themselves. You know it. I know it. They know it. And they know I know it. A dog is eager to please you. A cat believes in their very bones that you want nothing more out of life than to please them. And the ironic thing is, that because of that, it’s harder to communicate with them (which is actually bad for them). It’s very difficult to distinguish between their not understanding and their not caring.

Hence, I decided to make some communication attempts with my cats that were not aimed at getting them to do anything. Of course, that already happens with petting, for instance, but let’s see if further common ground can be shared in a conscious way.

Shadow is now our oldest cat. She is jet-black and bad-tempered except when it comes to Luna, our smallest cat. With Luna, she is homicidal. With the others, she’s just mean, particularly right before dinner. She’ll bat any other cat who comes within striking distance including her own two daughters who were adopted at the same time. On the other hand, she is very affectionate to humans and loves to sit in my lap and be petted.

At night, generally around midnight to 1 am, but it could be earlier or later depending on what would be most disruptive to our sleep cycle, Shadow has for years taken to finding cloth of various kinds and loudly crowing while she carries it about the house. Not terribly surprising, and more pleasant than the “partially eaten dead bunny” version.

Complicating matters, Shadow may have an accomplice, her daughter, Tally.

After several years of this, it slowly dawned on me that she was often pairing things. She would put two paired socks down next to each other, often in lines that were close to parallel. She would not — or at least I never observed such — to put a sock next to a dish towel, for instance, while there were many instances of two socks or two dish towels. Sadly, this cannot be completely explained because socks are always closer to each other than they are to dish towels in our house. At first, the number of dish towels was limited because I would always put one where Shadow couldn’t find it. Over time, however, as she discovered more and more ways to find the dish towels she couldn’t find, the number of dish towels in any one … “arrangement” … grew.

Somewhat jokingly, I began to refer to the dish towel arrangements as her “works of art.”

But then, it occurred to me. Maybe they are exactly that.

Or, maybe they are moves in an elaborate game of cat and human that she is trying to teach me.

Or, maybe they are her attempt to communicate with me that she is a person — a cat of a person — or a person of a cat — who just happens to be inside a cat body. She cannot speak, or write. Her brain doesn’t allow her to do all the things I can do (or, vice versa, by the way). But to her, inside her heart, it’s much like me inside mine. And, if that’s true, then maybe we can learn to “communicate” using the dish towels.

For such an endeavor, I want to try to keep an open mind. I’m going to try not to assume that it’s a game or that we need to take turns or that she’s paying any attention to the world in the same way that I am. Of course, I will fail at this, but I think I will still learn more by trying than by not trying.

What do you think?

————————————

A Cat Is a Cat and That’s That

A Suddenly Springing Something

A Legend about Finding Common Ground

The Only “Them” That Matters is All of US

Index to a Pattern Language for Collaboration

Essays on America: Highlights & Lowlifes

14 Wednesday Oct 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

confirmation, Democracy, GOP, pandemic, politics, Supreme Court, treason, voting

Democrat still clinging to the Rule of Law: “Are you against the Affordable Care Act? Do you realize destroying it would put the health of millions of Americans at risk and that we are in the middle of a pandemic?”

AB: “I don’t comment on things in the abstract so I can’t say.”

Democrat believing in the Rule of Law: “But you did write opinions that it should be trashed.”

AB: “Oh, that!. Oh, sure. But I was just writing as an academic. Just expressing my opinion as an academic. It has nothing whatever necessarily to do with what I would do in a specific case. I’d have to read the law, listen to the arguments, pray for guidance, confer with my colleagues, understand the facts of the case and then rule however the President told me to.”

Democrat: “And you do realize that the President read your opinion…well, no, didn’t read it I’m sure, but he was no doubt assured by the Federalist society that you could be counted on to do whatever he says. Right?”

AB: “Oh, I’d be so flattered if he read it, but I didn’t know that. I’m sure it’s just my sheer brilliance that made him pick me.”

Democrat: “You realize that he has said publicly that he would pick a judge who would tear down the Affordable Care Act, right? So, he at least thinks he knows how you would vote. Correct?”

AB: “Oh, my. I have no idea what such a stable genius as the President might think. Who knows? But I can assure you and everyone listening that I would look to the law and the facts and make a fair and informed decision. You know, justices have to swear to be impartial.”

Democrat: “Yes, I’m familiar with the concept of ‘Oath of Office.’ After all, Trump swore an ‘Oath of Office’ to defend our country. But what he’s actually done is sell it out to Putin and the Russian oligarchs to whom he owes half a billion dollars. And, the GOP Senators swore a solemn oath to run a fair trial after Trump’s impeachment. And, all the while Mitch McConman laughed, smiled, and said he could guarantee that Trump would walk free and that he would “coordinate” the trial with Trump’s legal team. And, the GOP Senators refused to call witnesses or subpoena documents, so, again, I’m pretty clear how much an oath is worth when it’s made by the Gang Of Putin. But let’s examine another issue. Trump has also said he wants to be lifetime dictator. If he claims he wants to be dictator and the case comes to the Supreme Court and you are confirmed, can you assure the American people that you will not take his side? Is it ever okay for the President to become a dictator?”

AB: “Well, as I have said so many times in the last few days, I’m a strict constitutionalist. I don’t believe it’s up to us to re-interpret the Constitution but to hang instead on its every word. That said, I can’t comment on hypotheticals. So, who knows? But I can assure you that I would read the applicable law and the facts of the case and make a decision based on the constitution.”

Dem: “So you cannot — right here — today, assure the American people that you will not approve Trump’s bid to become dictator?”

AB: “It would depend on the specifics. I can tell you this though. The word ‘dictator’ does not appear in the Constitution. So, apparently, the Founding Fathers must have thought it would be just fine. Otherwise they would have put a clause in specifically forbidding it. And they didn’t. So…but I am in no way promising that I would approve his dictatorship. It would depend on the arguments and so on and so forth ad nauseam.”

Dem: “Putin’s Puppet seems to think that it is vital to get you on the court right now so that you can rule on his bogus claims of voter fraud. He has publicly said that’s why he needs you on the court.”

AB: “I’m flattered, of course, that he needs me. I had no idea he said that. How sweet. But I would have to look at the arguments on both sides, and the applicable law, and the facts of the case. Then, I would make a determination.”

Dem: “You realize that study after study has found that voter fraud is a nearly non-existent problem?”

AB: “Since the President has already said he’s going to put this case before the Supreme Court, I can’t really comment on a case which I may have to rule on.”

Dem: “Since the President has said that he is putting you on the court now because he will need you to make sure he wins regardless of the vote totals, don’t you feel you should recuse yourself from such a case if it does come to the Court? Otherwise, even if you were trying to be fair, don’t you think a reasonable person would infer that there is a conflict of interest?”

AB: “Well, my mentor Judge Scalia did not recuse himself from a case where Dick Cheney and he had an extended hunting trip together right before the case. Cheney had a material interest and I want to be more right wing than Attila the Hun. But I can’t actually say. You know? I’d have to see exactly what the case was and then decide not to recuse myself. I mean, why would I? I’m always fair in my own mind, so why recuse?”

Dem: “Do you think black people should be allowed to vote in this country? Are you aware that we are in the middle of an election right now and that the Republicans are suppressing the vote in a whole host of ways? In rich white neighborhoods, people might wait five minutes, but in many areas where there are a preponderance of people of color, there are lines that are up to eleven hours long. Is this equal protection under the law?”

AB: “Well, you know, I don’t want to give opinions on things unless I actually know the facts of the case. You say there are long lines and that the black vote is being suppressed but who knows? What does reporting prove? What does eyewitness prove? Unless it is brought to court and we have a chance to review the law, check with the President and see what he wants to do, who knows?”

Dem: “Did you say you would have to check with the President?”

AB: “Absolutely. Oh, wait. Did you think I said President? I said precedent. Maybe if you’d take the damned mask off, I could understand you better. The pandemic’s over anyway. Our fearless leader already said that. But whatever. I don’t see what my religion has to do with it.”

Trumputinist Senator: “Exactly. The Constitution guarantees religious freedom and yet the Democrats here today have repeatedly said you shouldn’t serve because of your religion! It’s preposterous!”

AB: “I know! I have a right to believe the earth is the center of the universe and that it’s 6000 years old and that women should be utter slaves to their husbands and that birth control, abortion, and in vitro fertilization are all tools of the devil if I want! And, yet the Dems keep saying I can’t serve because of my religion! I don’t see why a Catholic can’t be on the Supreme Court. It’s not like I’m Muslim or something weird like that.”

Dem: “What Senator has said that you could not serve because of your religion?”

AB: “I forget. Lots of them. All of them. None of them. But they intimated it.”

Dem: “Which Senator intimated that you are unworthy to serve because of your religious beliefs?”

Photo by Oladimeji Ajegbile on Pexels.com

AB: “Somebody. I don’t know. Maybe they were wearing a mask. Which is silly. Because the pandemic’s over. It’s over. Our Fearless Leader said so! You were asking me about voting rights. That’s one example. The Bible says only white people should vote — people like Jesus.”

Dem: “You think Jesus was white?”

AB: “Well, sure. That’s what the picture looks like in my church. Blond hair like me and blue eyes like me. See, there you are again, questioning my religion.”

Dem: “No, I’m not. I’m questioning your history. Jesus was almost certainly dark-skinned and dark haired and brown eyed.”

AB: “Where does it say that in the Constitution?”

Dem: “Constitution? What are you talking about?”

AB: “You know, the law of the land, the … oh, I mean … I mean, the Bible. Where does it say in the Bible that Jesus wasn’t Aryan? And, anyway, did you know I adopted colored children?”

Dem: “That’s very nice. I firmly believe that you, like other Americans, can believe as you wish. But it concerns me that you may sometimes confuse what the Constitution says with what the Bible says. Does that ever happen?”

AB: “Absolutely not! But if it did, let’s not forget that the country was founded by Evangelical Christians!”

Dem: “Partly, perhaps. Thomas Pain was an atheist. Thomas Jefferson was a deist. As was Benjamin Franklin. As was Alexander Hamilton in his later years. Anyway, would you support the idea that America should be a religious theocracy?”

AB: “I wouldn’t care to speculate about hypocrites or hypocrisy. They have a long and stories history in American politics. It would depend on the specifics of the case.”

Dem: “Hypocrisy? Do you mean hypotheticals?”

AB: “Yes, that’s what I said — hypotheticals. I don’t do hypotheticals.”

Dem: “So, if the President intentionally killed a quarter million Americans, and a class action lawsuit were brought by the families of those intentionally killed, you could not say whether that was okay or not?”

AB: “Of course not. That’s a perfect example. The President is so gentle, I’m sure he wouldn’t hurt a fly intentionally. Well, not unless it were stealing the show from Pence. But you know. I would need to know specifically which quarter million Americans were killed and many of them were probably nobodies or old, sick people anyway. And many of them just didn’t take care of themselves. Heart disease, cancer, diabetes…aren’t these really just the products of bad decisions?”

Dem: “Sometimes. Often people are born with pre-existing conditions. And sometimes, people get those diseases from bad luck although certainly lack of financial resources can play a part as well.”

AB: “Well there you go! If you’re not born rich, whose fault is that? But as I say, it would depend. I can’t say anything. I was told not to say anything and I’m pretty sure I succeeded.”

Dem: “So, just to recap, if the President breaks the law and then argues that he should have absolute power and be able to break any law he wants, you would say — what?”

AB: “I can’t say. I really can’t say. I’m under orders not to say anything about anything. And — we’re done! We’re done! I’m in! I’m in! No-one has a conscience and no-one will vote against me! I avoided saying all those bad things you were trying to get me to say and I win! I win!”