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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Category Archives: apocalypse

Donnie’s Last Gift

23 Saturday Jul 2022

Posted by petersironwood in apocalypse

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

life, politics, satire, sociopath, story, truth

Fred shook his head as he clicked off his cellphone and laid it down carefully on the bedside table charger. His reading light was still on. He glanced over and saw that Geri was awake. He wished for a moment that the phone call had never happened; that it had just been a bad dream. He could see from Geri’s expression that she knew he was upset.

“Well?” She began. “Was that who I think it was?” Her exasperated tone, Fred knew, wasn’t a reproach to him. He shrugged. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Of course. He’s coming over in the morning on his way to close a big important deal, so he says. Wants to share the fruits of his genius by showering the boys with gifts.” 

Geri sighed. She was, by now, quite familiar with Uncle Donnie’s “gifts” to the boys. The first such gift had come somewhere around their seventh birthday, he had “gifted them”  bee bee guns. That would have been bad enough, but Uncle Donnie didn’t stop there. He regaled them with stories about his “bravery” in the “big war” and how he had shot many more “Japs” (as he called them) than he had ever gotten proper credit for. Of course, like all of Donnie’s stories, he completely fabricated this one. He had never been drafted and he certainly never volunteered. He never served in armed services. So far as Geri could tell, he’d never served anywhere for anything. Nonetheless, when she looked at the glowing faces of her admiring twins, she didn’t have the heart to debunk his tall tales. Donnie had left soon after an enormous breakfast to close an ‘enormous’ deal, the details of which he couldn’t disclose for legal reasons, but he assured them all, they’d soon be reading about it in the paper. 

Donnie’s parting words had been: “Tell Daddy to take you to Dick’s soon! They have your rifles waiting for you! Who knows? Maybe some day, you’ll be a war hero too!.” 

That evening, Geri & Fred had had the worst fight of their marriage. She couldn’t understand why Fred had not told the boys they weren’t old enough to have bee bee guns and that their Uncle Donnie had told them a pack of lies. Fred had ended up yelling and saying things he didn’t mean. Geri had ended up yelling and saying things she didn’t mean. They had never really “resolved” that conflict. But they eventually moved on. Since Uncle Donnie’s visits were only occasional, they came to an uneasy cease-fire about the necessity of debunking his lies. Geri promised not to burst the bubble of Donnie’s lies, but Fred understood that if she were ever asked directly, she would tell the truth. Fred said he would do the same. As it turned out, the boys never asked either of their parents whether Uncle Donnie’s tales were true. 

Now, Fred regretted not havingmcalled Donnie out on his lies when he first told them. Well, Fred reasoned, now it was ‘water under the bridge.’ Hopefully, this visit wouldn’t last too long. Fred turned the light out. He knew he’d no longer be able concentrate on his book. Sleep would take awhile. He knew there was no point in worrying about Donnie’s visit or trying to guess what lies he would fill his sons’ heads with next. But that knowledge didn’t bring sleep.

Photo by Rodrigo Souza on Pexels.com



Geri for her part, also lay awake in the dark, struggling to find the argument that would convince Fred to permanently sever ties with his brother. How do you convince someone to forsake their demented and destructive brother? She worried about Donnie’s impact on her sons. What of them? They were bright boys, so their teachers all said. How could they keep falling for Uncle Donnie’s lies? Of course, when the four of them had arrived at the gun shop, Donnie had not paid for the rifles. What he had done was to have the stocks engraved with the boy’s names: “Teddy” and “Ronnie.” Uncle Donnie had assured the store owner that his brother Fred would come by and pay for the rifles and the engraving. Normally, the store owner insisted on cash up front for engraving, but after Donnie explained his status as a war hero and explained that he needed every cent right now to buy the old armory downtown where he was going to make a “first class” shelter for homeless veterans, the store owner agreed and even contributed twenty bucks of his own money. 

Fred had paid the two hundred bucks for the air rifles and engraving. Every time Uncle Donnie visited from then on, Donnie had reminded the boys how he had “bought them” engraved air rifles and asked how their target practice was coming. They complained that their Dad had insisted on strict rules about using the guns. For one thing, they had to wear safety goggles. For another, they could only aim and shoot at paper targets stapled to trees. Uncle Donnie had clicked his tongue and wondered aloud what was wrong with his brother. “When I was in basic training, you know what we did? We shot at each other with live ammo! That way, we learned to duck and aim quickly so when I finally took all those island back from the Japs, it was easy. You don’t get to be a soldier by being a coward! Tell you what, boys, I’ll talk to brother Fred & see whether I can talk some sense into him!”

Geri swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She could tell that Fred was awake and upset too. She said, “Fred, I’m going to make some chamomile tea for myself. You want me to make you some too?” 

Fred sighed. “Yeah, I suppose. Thanks, sweetheart. Actually, how about that Sleepy Time Tea instead? That has hibiscus too. I think it works better.” 

Photo by Mareefe on Pexels.com

The tea quickly sent Geri into dreamland, but Fred still couldn’t get to sleep until about 3 am. He kept going over the other disastrous “gifts” that Donnie had promised over the years. He couldn’t think of a single time that his brother had actually paid even a single dime for any of the gifts he had promised the twins. Nonetheless, the boys kept accepting the idea that Uncle Donnie was their generous and prosperous benefactor. On the few occasions when Fred had tried to set the record straight, the boys just looked at each other and shook their heads. Usually Teddy would pipe up first with a comment like: “It’s okay, Dad. We understand. Uncle Donnie explained it to us. You pay for our house, our clothes, Christmas and birthday presents. And, you’re not rich like Uncle Donnie. He says we shouldn’t expect you to buy extra gifts and that he’s happy to do it.”

Fred had not wanted to come right out and call his brother a liar. To the boys, Donnie was a war hero and a rich successful businessman. To Fred, it was more than a little maddening. After all, the boys had been there when he went to pick up their rifles. Apparently, they had been so focused on how “cool” the rifles looked and were so busy imagining getting a chance to shoot, that they had paid no attention to the fact that he, their father, had paid for the rifles and the engraving. 

Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com

It seemed to Fred, only moments after he finally fell asleep that he heard the front doorbell ring.
“Crap,” he muttered aloud. He rolled over. Geri was sitting up in bed. Then, Fred heard the the twins sprint down the upstairs hallway and piston their feet down the stairs. He could hear the happy greetings though he couldn’t make out what was being said. Fred & Geri exchanged a look. Fred took a leak, did a cursory job of brushing his teeth and ambled over to the bedroom door. He turned to look at Geri. “Are you coming down soon?” 

Geri frowned. “Geez. It’s only 6:30 am! Who visits someone that early on a Saturday morning?” 

Fred nodded. He said, “We know who. My brother. Donnie. Anyhow, I’m awake. You ready for coffee or breakfast?” 

Geri half-smiled. “Coffee sounds nice. I’m not ready for breakfast. Tell everyone I’ll be down in a little while. We should use up those eggs. Maybe an omelet for everyone? You can just leave a bit for me?” 

Fred smiled. After all, he did enjoy his life. Most days. They were a very lucky family, he reminded himself. His wife had barely survived having the twins. Lost a lot of blood. It had been touch and go. But all was well. And then, there was the accident. Randy could have easily lost his right eye. Probably would have if the bee bee would have struck a quarter inch over. After that little incident, Fred had put away their rifles for a month and made them promise to always wear their goggles no matter what his demented brother Donnie said.

Fred reached the top of the steps and heard the front door slam. Had the boys gone out for a walk? He took a quick detour into the boys’ room and peered out into the soft predawn. He saw the boys pile into the back seat of Fred’s “custom-made luxury car.” At least, that’s what Fred called it. Where the hell was he taking them? Not exactly cool not to discuss with us. Probably just driving around the block, Fred supposed.

Fred supposed wrong. 

The boys did not return for breakfast. Or lunch. Geri and Fred were both worried, though Fred was reluctant to call the cops on his own brother. Donnie didn’t answer his cellphone. Nor did the boys. Upon checking their room, he found both cellphones on the nightstands. The boys hadn’t known they were going to be away long. Even Uncle Donnie couldn’t have kept them from wanting to text their friends. Their friends! Fred tried calling some of the friends of the twins. None of them admitting to know of any plans. In fact, Judy & Jill had expected the twins after lunch to come study algebra together. 

Photo by olia danilevich on Pexels.com

Fred was fighting a feeling of dread. He felt the shadow of Geri in the doorway and looked over at her. She just stared at him. Fred nodded. “Okay. Okay. I’ll call.” 

Fred still felt bad about calling the cops on his brother. He explained the situation and, in turn, the cops explained that since the man was a close member of their family, there was nothing to be worried about and that, in any case, their hands were tied for 24 hours. Fred wanted to explain that Uncle Donnie wasn’t an “ordinary” Uncle. He wanted to make them see that his brother was a liar; unreliable; a cheat. But he didn’t know these police officers. To them, it was just an Uncle out for a joy ride and all would be well by dinner time. Fred reassured himself that the police were likely right. He supposed the twins would be back by dinner.

Fred supposed wrong. 

Geri didn’t exactly blame Fred. But when the weeks dragged on and no leads arose, Geri stopped crying audibly. Her cheeks bore the light little tracks of tears, silently shed, and she moved on past chamomile tea to heavy drinking and then to opioids. Fred became obsessed with finding the twins. Everyone at work understood. Nonetheless, he was eventually put on unpaid leave. On the few occasions when he tried to concentrate on some time-critical problem, he utterly failed. 

Fred combed the neighborhood for the third time, hoping to trigger the memory of someone who might have seen Donnie’s wreck of a car and noted which way it had turned. But only one jogger, Alice, had noticed the car. At that point, the car was still going the same direction Fred himself had seen although Alice noticed that the car had no plates. But questioning her for the third time turned up nothing new.

Photo by Denniz Futalan on Pexels.com



When Fred returned home from a day of canvasing, Geri was gone. Geri’s clothes were gone. On the kitchen table, she had left a short hand-written note:

“I can’t. Goodbye.” 

Fred supposed she would eventually return. 

Fred supposed wrong.


Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Siren Song

Poker Chips

My Cousin Bobby

Where does your loyalty lie?

The Stopping Rule

The Ailing King of Agitate

Stoned Soup

The Three Blind Mice

The Orange Man

A Little is not a Lot

The Oxymorons of the Mango Mussolini

True Believer

The Triply Toxic Worm

The Mammoth and the Mouse

Teliot State

Con-Con’s Special Friend

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

Donnie Boy Watches a Veteran’s Parade

Donnie Gets a Hamster

Their Dead Shark Eyes

Imagine all the people

Dance of Billions



 

After All

30 Thursday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, poetry

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

Democracy, poem, poetry, politics, USA

“There is always light…” Amanda Gorman

Silver buttons, golden boughs, ornately jeweled fingers.  

Adorning ditches alongside random tires and used syringes. 

So much depends upon a little red gully 

Filled with muddy, bloody, rain-water. 

“There is always light if … ” – Amanda Gorman

The demagogue was not a demigod after all.

Dictatorship turned out not to be so much fun after all. 

And after all, after all the joy of wanton cruelty faded

Survivors just got jaded and all the joy faded.

After all the promises unkept and all the lies exposed, 

After all the hypocrisy grew like hairy poison vines

And after all the trees were felled, life itself rebelled.  

After all the hate replaced each and every seed and every need.

It wasn’t so much fun after all. Not to die nor even to bleed.

“There is always light if we are brave enough…” Amanda Gorman

They shoot horses don’t they? 

Yes —
Buttheyshootdogsandcats and anythingtheycan.
Food is scarce, for sure.
But it isn’t just for food.
It used to be for fun.

But now it’s just another humdrum way to fight boredom

Laced with randomness and ruin and rum. 

“There is always light if we are brave enough to see it.” Amanda Gorman

Even the scab-faced Bannonites.
And the golden calves of sanctimonium,
Radioactive to the core, 

As is the mango pit they still adore,
Even they who wanted check and slay,

All are nothing more than shadows on the dead and empty warscape.

Killing off the ecosphere had all the “inconvenience” of a rape. 

“There is always light if we are brave enough to see it. There is always light…” Amanda Gorman

This was the summer of our discontent. 

Too hot to live, the grid had nothing more to give. 

Lack of AC proved a prize for everyone!

Not just those too poor. Surprise!

The greed, after all, charged its own lightning fast steed 

Of the apocalypse. 

After all the trials and after all the errors, 
After all the pilgrims and their progress.
After all the pillage and the patriots
No-one was saved, after all.  

There was only the infinite regress —

Not to the mythical fifties,

Not to flags Confederate, 

Not to ages medieval

Nor even to Empires Latinate

After all, after all the shattered dreams of millions, 

Just aching to be free, 

We let it all slip away; 

Pretending not to know our history,

Pretending that there is no devil to pay

When we cheat each other day after day after day after day. 

“There is always light if we are brave enough to see it. There is always light if we are brave enough…” Amanda Gorman

It doesn’t make anything great, after all.

It doesn’t make anything better, after all.

Being a baby that fusses and musses

Isn’t so wise after all

When there are no adults left to clean up the messes.

“There is always light if we are brave enough to see it. There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

After all the pain.

After all the suffering.

After all the self-imposed blindness. 

All we really thirst for 

Is a little human kindness. 

So we search inside the bombed out marts.

We search beside the broken body parts. 

We search beneath the fallen walls.

We search abandoned shopping malls. 

What we find, after all, 

Is what we should have seen before it all. 

We have nothing but each other.

So why would we kill a brother after all? 

After all, 

A Civil War 

Is not so civil…

After all.


Author Page on Amazon

Guernica

Dance of Billions

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Crows and Me

The US Extreme Court

Clarence, but not Darrow

The only them that counts is all of us

We’re all in this together

Supreme Sedition



 

The Broken Times

15 Wednesday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, poetry

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

politics

Only the skulls remain

Upon the pikes.

Oddly, you cannot tell without the clothes

Without the skin

Who was who and who was not.

Is it so surprising after all?

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” – Amanda Gorman



Once upon a time, 

The legend goes, 

People knew how to repair the cars but

That was long ago. 

After awhile, it did them little good. 

No parts were to be found.

When all the lines went dead. 

Electric grids were hit and miss. 

“There is always light, if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Is it so surprising, after all?

No-one now recalls just when

The Broken Times began

Or what was the straw that broke 

The camel’s back.

We’ll never really know which straw it is.

The one we’ll choose to blame.

Of course, it’s really all the straws.

The straw men.

The straw arguments. 

The spines of straw.

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman


At some point, 

The weight of lies outweighed the weight of law

When the rule of law was replaced

By the rule of power.

Is it so surprising, after all?

At first, the ones with guns tried to steal everything. 

Well-rehearsed by then in lies, 

They loved to scream and rationalize 

That they needed the grub.

Along the way, they killed the very ones 

Who could have helped their grandkids survive. 

They did not revive. 

They had no time to reinvent.

Nor wits to circumvent. 

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Is it surprising after all?

Everything went to hell,

Even the hand-baskets never arrived

Supply chains lay all shattered

No-one trusted anyone; not anyone.

Lies became the  way of the people; the lay of the land.

It’s monotonous music that rocking and rollicking band.

If you don’t mind hearing nothing else at all, at all, at all.

If you don’t mind truth being stripped from every strip mall. 

“There is always light if you are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Is it so surprising after all?

Everyone became a thug of sorts, a liar and a thief. 

That’s life on the street, they say. 

That’s all the life that’s left: 

The life of sneak and slay

The life that’s steal and cheat. 

Is it so surprising, after all?

That after choosing lies and guns

Eschewing truth;

That after losing by a lot,

The child who would be czar,

Touted lies both obvious and bizarre 

Which losers slurped as they embraced 

To show their fealty to the lie; 

Is it so surprising after all?

That a nation fell

And every life went straight to hell? 

Is it so surprising, after all?

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Is it so surprising, after all?

That so-called undesirables were rounded up

Forced to drink a poison cup

Or shot upon the spot? 

That books were burned 

True love spurned. 

Justice adjourned?

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Is it so surprising, after all?

With science denied 

And so many lies

The crops all died?

The billionaires learned all too late

They didn’t know how to operate

Factories or companies after all. 

Is it so surprising, after all?

That no-one can recall

The Times before the Broken Times? 

The times before the broken rhythms 

And the times before the rhyme broke?

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman



In the corner, I spy a broken box. 

A guitar! That’s what it was called. 

In the Times Before the Broken Times.

All the music now 

All the music now, 

If you can call it that, 

Is all the same. 

Guitars are illegal and inedible. 

Like phono graffs. 

And once I think we had 

Shiny photo graffs.

Illegal now as well

Hard to tell 

What, if anything, remains okay. 

Since the Broken Times began. 

Is that so surprising, after all?

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Dance of Billions

Listen you can hear the echoes of your actions

Ripples

Take a glance; join the dance

The only them that counts is all of us

Dick-Taters

A Profound and Utter Failure

Where does your loyalty lie

The Orange Man

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

The update problem

What about the butter dish?

The ailing kind of agitate

The Game

My Cousin Bobby

Wednesdays

Happy Talk Lies

American Dream

The Declaration of Interdependence

The Bill of Obligations

Pattern Language for Collaboration & Cooperation

Author Page on Amazon

The Stopping Rule

.

Satire Saturday: Gifts for WORMS

04 Saturday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Democracy, parody, politics, satire, truth, USA

It’s nearly Christmas! Well, not really. But before you know it, Yuletide decorations will be everywhere and it will be well past the optimal time to choose a gift for your favorite ultra-wealthy, tax-avoiding, dead-eyed, sociopath who already has everything. 

Never fear! I am here! I have catalogued those items most needed for the very neediest amongst us: the born-rich, old white males who, as we all know (because they tell us constantly) are the most unfairly treated group in all human history. They selflessly spend their own precious time prescribing what others may or may not do in their “private lives” because — let’s face it — women, and POC and Native Americans and immigrants and college kids and Hispanics and did I already mention immigrants? And females and homosexuals and lesbians and vegans and vegetarians and people who believe in science and evolution and math and facts and such can not be trusted to make decisions for themselves! Oh, my no! So, the old white guys are stepping up and stepping in whether they’re wanted or not. They don’t have time left over from this precious work of theirs to find presents for themselves. We have to … I should say, we have the privilege to do it for them. It’s a daunting task, but I have made it much easier for us all! 

Each gift chosen from this catalog will be wrapped with one ton of earth-trashing plastic! But mainly it’s the gift itself that will let you know that you did your part to show your appreciation for the tireless efforts of that under-represented under-appreciated segment of our society — the White Old Rich Male Sociopaths — WORMS for short — among us. Their vision is legendary, often extending far beyond their fingernails all the way to their bank accounts. Their courage is so awesome as to require almost no statement. Almost. But just to remind folks of one of a few of their sacrifices, imagine an eleven year old gets raped by her step-father and now she has to agonize about whether to have an abortion or have a baby to take care of. No problem! The WORMS have graciously decided to take that decision completely off the table for her. Whew! Problem solved. 

Photo by BROTE studio on Pexels.com

And, that’s not all. What about that troubled teen Todd, a child of one of the WORMS, whose teacher threw him out of the spelling bee in the first round simply for misspelling the word “treason.” Come on! One word and he’s out? What kind of bee is that? He spelled it: E-L-E-C-T-I-O-N. Pretty darned close! Right? E, T, O, and N are in both words! Anyway, free and fair elections are treasonous as everyone knows. Women shouldn’t be allowed to vote unless their owners/husbands can be sure they’ll vote as ordered like Amy Bare-it. And POC? Seriously? Who says they can vote? Anyway, the point is, terrible problems like this are solved all the time by those unspoken heroes, the WORMS. In this case, the WORMS are making sure kids like Todd have access to assault weapons so they can express their frustrations in an appropriate fashion — by honoring the Constitution and its Most Holy Second Amendment. Who but the WORMS are there to make sure that no-one actually reads the Second Amendment because that would confuse ordinary mortals since the Founding Fathers accidentally spelled “individual” as “well-ordered militia.” A typo. Obviously. Duh!

Anyway, no need to keep dwelling on how utterly fantastic and under-appreciated the WORMS are. I’ll just say one more thing and then, I promise to move on to the exciting catalog itself. Did you know that some of the non-WORMS are trying to change your habits so that the earth is viable for future generations? What nonsense, right? Who cares if future generations are flooded, or starved, or can’t get clean drinking water, or thousands of species die or humans are plunged into endless war? Trivial stuff like that can always be solved by the WORMS. But meanwhile, they’re trying to reduce plastic? Plastic? Are they nuts? In the beginning, Ben heard the word! And the word was “Plastics”! ‘Nuff said.  

As for the gifts themselves, the first thing to say is that you can rest assured that none of these gifts will be the kind of worthless trinkets that poor people buy with their money — you know — trivialities like clean water, food, clothing, shelter, health care. What fun are necessities? How crude! How rude! No sir! None of these gifts will be consist of necessities. These are gifts that show distinctiveness and fine taste.

Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com



CATALOG OF FINE GIFTS FOR WORMS

(All prices are current estimates based on current Market Conditions. All prices are subject to change without prior notice). 

US Representative  What better gift for WORMS than having their very own US Representative in their pocket? Representatives come in a variety of special flavors including, but not limited to:

Wacko Conspiracy Theorists! One of our most popular items! Whether it’s Jewish Space Lasers or Ersatz meat from a Peach Tree Jar or Vaccines with Computer Tracking Devices, your WORMS can own a US Representative who will spout ridiculous absurdities to distract everyone from their tireless work destroying US Democracy! Current Market Price: $300,000. 

Gun-Toting Incompetents! What better way to help squelch any semblance of stately debate than to have your very own Representative show up with an assault weapon, hand grenades, or even a sawed off shotgun! Is it illegal? Sure it is! That just makes it all the more fun! Can be yours to give for the low, low introductory price of only $6969.

Table Banging Blowhards! What a nice gift this makes for WORMS. Whether it’s a child rapist or merely a former wrestling coach who looks away from sexual predation right under his nose, the Table Banging Blowhard will quickly turn any substantive debate about policy into a shouting match. What a fun way to destroy the world’s oldest continuous democracy! $75,000.

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

US Senator If there’s one thing WORMS like more than their own “Representative”, it’s having their own Senator! One of the advantages of owning a Senator is that they never have to show their ownership by actually voting on things. They can simply refuse to vote! You remember those movies where a Senator “stands on principle” and yacks it up till everyone loses patience and interest on a topic? Those were the bad old days. In today’s Senate, they don’t actually have to filibuster to filibuster; they just have to say they will.

The Hypocrite’s Hypocrite! Made from moldy bread and manure heaps, yet much resembling an aging turtle, these fine folks can not only speak from both sides of their mouth at the same time; they can do it with mock sincerity! They can explain on Monday why even considering thinking about nominating a Supreme Court justice with a Presidential election only a decade away is against common sense, the spirit of the Constitution, the Legend of Babe Ruth, the rules of propriety, and the bylaws of Kentucky’s largest Chicken!  On Tuesday, they will explain why it is crucial to confirm a Supreme Court justice with a Presidential election already on-going! Each Hypocrite’s Hypocrite comes with dead shark eyes and is guaranteed to have undergone a complete bilateral ethicsectomy.  Price — a mere $500,000.


The Sick Sycophant! The sick sycophant will periodically make a run for the Presidency! During this time, they will explain, with apparent sincerity, why the would-be dictator they are running against would not be good for America. They will explain that he is a failed businessman, a liar, a crook, a racist, a sexual predator (self-proclaimed) and that he has zero experience relevant to being a President, or even, come to think of it, anything else. But have no fear! Once the incompetent liar becomes Putin’s nominee, The Sick Sycophant (SS for short) will tout the would-be dick-tater as the best thing since sliced stupidity! If the would-be dick-tater lies, the SS will repeat the lie endlessly. If the would-be dick-tater tells people to drink bleach or stick UV light up their butt, the SS will demonstrate. If the would-be dick-tater tries to sell out his own country to become an actual dick-tater, the SS will vote against impeachment.  On special today for only $666, 666. 

The Kinky Kid Killer! Often referred to as the KKK, the Kinky Kid Killer will tout how we must protect the innocent life of a fertilized egg or even an egg that might be fertilized or the sacred right of a man to fertilize any egg he wants to, and meanwhile, ensure that actual living, breathing, loving kids are killed on a regular basis. He or she will explain how Americans will never be safe in schools, movie theaters, grocery stores, street corners, rock concerts, post offices, or hospitals until every man, woman, and child in America has their own personal arsenal of conventional, atomic, chemical, and biological weapons. While the favorite way for the KKK to kill kids is via shredding caliber automatic weapons, the KKK is quite versatile. They will often support rolling back food safety regulations, safe water regulations, air pollution standards, workplace safety standards and, naturally, oppose free health care, child care, after school care and lowering taxes on the poor. The KKK is one of our top line items at an even $1,000,000 but guess what? You only have to pay one half of the cost! That’s right! If you act now, the Kremlin will funnel the other half of the cost through the NRA! What a bargain! You really can’t afford not to buy one of these Senators for your favorite WORMS.

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com



Extreme Court Justice These items have only been recently added to our catalog! Act now before it’s too late! The US Extreme Court (formerly known as the US Supreme Court) is the final authority on Big Lies and Partisan Bickering. Help the WORMS completely control every aspect of American life from the proper bedroom behavior to health care options to controlling the press and the media. 

The Logician Magician The Logician Magician will cry, scream, threaten, frown, and lie on command! He will wave his hands and drink beer. Hey, he likes beer! He will show you that he cannot possibly have sexually assaulted someone because — Look here! Look here! — There’s no entry in his calendar for the alleged sexual assault! Well, if that doesn’t establish his innocence, nothing will. Also, did I mention that he likes beer? Price: $2,000,000. 

Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com

The Memory Leak The Memory Leak will answer any question you don’t ask and none of the questions you do ask. Nonetheless, he will eventually make you believe that he’s answered your actual question. For example, if asked about allegations about sexual misconduct he is accused of actually doing, he will say, “I would never do anything designed at making a woman uncomfortable!” (Translation: I only bring up the topic of pubic hairs on my can of coke to turn her on and thereby give her pleasure; not to make her uncomfortable). If pressed for more information, he will say he can’t remember.  If asked about whether he supports the decision in Roe v. Wade, he will say, “It’s settled law!” (Translation: The right wing has spent tens of millions of dollars getting conservative justices so we wouldn’t overturn it!) If asked whether he debated the issue in law school, he will say, “I don’t think it ever came up.” (Translation: Seriously? I’m not answering that.) “Should I recuse myself as judge simply because my wife is a probably defendant? My wife? I didn’t remember she was my wife.” (Translation: eff yew) Price: $1,500,000.

Photo by lascot studio on Pexels.com

The Handmaiden The Handmaiden has plausible deniability about everything because she belongs to a cult that believes women should defer to their husbands on all things. Price may seem high on this one, but remember, these are lifetime appointments and she’s barely out of her teens. Price: $3,000,000. 

The Witch-Hunter This guy’s still truly PO’d that Sally Jones wouldn’t agree to be his date for the Senior Prom. Instead, she went with Charlie Jenkins just because Charlie was the football team running back and made All-State. If the Witch-Hunter happens to run across a part of the Constitution he doesn’t like such as the Ninth Amendment (also known as the “Democracy for Dummies” Amendment which basically says just because a right isn’t explicitly listed doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist), he will find an earlier precedent from some other source such as Attila the Hun, say, or an English judge who sentenced women to be burned at the stake for being a witch like Sally who should have gone to the Prom with the judge, but instead chose Charlie Jenkins, damn him. He wants women to be property, not to be mean, of course, but because — you know — it’s nature’s way! Men are bigger and stronger and live longer and are much more likely to be rapists and killers so men are obviously superior! Even the Taliban knows that! And so what if men can’t have babies? How fair is that? How can men even know if the baby is really theirs? You have to keep them indoors and locked up. For their own good, of course. WORMS will love this gift, but this particular robot seems a bit damaged so it can be yours to gift for the bargain basement price of $1,750,000.

Join the club! Help buy American Democracy for WORMS! 

Remember our motto: “The life you ruin may be your own, but you’ll ruin lots of others as well!” 

Remember our second motto: “All sales are final. We are not responsible. For anything. If we were, we wouldn’t be selling the country to the Kremlin.” 

—————————-

Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

Bill of Obligations: Article One

Bill of Obligations: Article Two

The Extreme Court

Clarence but not Darrow

Siren Song

The Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Game

The Orange Man

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

The Triply Toxic Worm

26 Thursday May 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, psychology

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

politics, USA

Here’s what it’s like:

A talking worm develops an extremely loud screaming sound. He’s wrinkled and ugly and orange. But neither his physical ugliness nor his rancorous sound is his worst feature. He has evolved an extremely toxic poison.

How is it so toxic? 

It is really three separate toxins: Fear and Hate and Greed. Together they are much more toxic than any one of them is alone. 

He blackmails everyone around him, from sea to shining sea. He threatens to release the poison into the air if he doesn’t always get his way. 

His way is to take all the money.
His way is to take all the power.

His way is to use the money and power to make more toxin. 

He uses the extra toxin to threaten even more people that he will release the poison into the air if he doesn’t get his way.

Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com



His way is to take all the money.
His way is to take all the power.

His way is to use the money and power to make more toxin. 

Eventually, he tries to blackmail everyone on earth. 

He explains that he is a “self-made worm” — that it is his right to take over the world because he and he alone made the world. 

That is, of course, a lie. 

Life evolved for 4 billion years. All his ancestors, and the life his ancestors interacted with created the conditions for him to make the toxins. He doesn’t mind that he lies. Lying is fun!



He gets his way.
To him, that’s all that matters.

He gets all the money. 

He gets all the power. 

He’s bored.

For fun, he releases the poison any way. 

But now, it’s enough to destroy every living thing on earth.

Including the ugly orange worm. 

The end?

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

——————

Dick-Taters

The Ailing King of Agitate

Stoned Soup

The Three Blind Mice

Where does your loyalty lie?

Wednesday

The Stopping rule

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Update Problem

Poker Chip

My Cousin Bobby

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Author Page on Amazon

The Extreme Court

That Cold Walk Home

A Little is not a Lot

The Crows and Me

27 Wednesday Apr 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

Democracy, Dictatorship, fiction, freedom, story, Ukraine, USA

You think your backpack is plenty large enough.

Sure you do. 

Just like I did. 

Of course it seems large enough when you think you’re headed to grandpa’s farm for the weekend. That’s what I was doing when the bombing started. Mom & Dad were going to drive me there after work. But they never made it home. Not yet.

The backpack seems large enough until you find yourself rushing all around the house, like I did, trying to decide what to stuff in it to get away from the bombs. Water? Food? Our pet cat, Lucy? Weapons? Extra clothes? Some of each? Radio? Batteries? Chargers? Electricity. Phone? The kitchen knives, unsheathed?  

Photo by Rodrigo Souza on Pexels.com

Meanwhile … the noise never stops. No word from folks. Think you’ll get used to the explosions and the inhuman screams of pain. But you don’t. Not really. You think you’ll find a place that’s better than the last place you were. But you don’t. 

No, you won’t get used to it. At least, I never did. You won’t find a better place, either. At, least I never did. 

Just death everywhere Stench. And noise which I never did get used to. 

The “sharpness” in the explosions evaporated though. I studied enough bio to know what happened. I lost some hair cells is all. They still make a huge THWOMP in my sternum and they still hurt my ears. Oh, yes. The nearby explosions are plenty loud. They are just dull. 

Like everything else now, I guess.

I don’t hear birds any more. Maybe there are a few left. What’s that thing about canaries and coal mines? Hard to believe the air here used to be clear enough to breathe without choking. It never used to stink thisbad either. Maybe the stench killed the robins and jays. 

Maybe the birds all flew away first. Smart. They have their own built in method of transportation. Anyway, whether the birds are all dead or all flown away, I don’t know. I just know I don’t hear them. Anyway, why would they be singing? I like to think they flew away. All I know for sure is that they’re gone.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com



Except for the crows*.

I remember in the “before times” being grossed out at the way the crows picked the meat off the bones of road kill. I remember wondering: “Do they get sick from rotting meat ? Or, do they just never realize that rotting meat makes them sick? Or do they do know it makes them sick but they’re so damned hungry, that they don’t care.” 

I was sure, back then, that I’d never be that hungry.

What did I know? 

Anyway, I thought the crows were gross, all right. But they were brave! They’d swoop out to their sickening feast of squashed squirrel or raccoon or unlucky dog and peck away at the rotting carcass while a car or truck would zoom right at them! Only at the last second, they would angrily flit out of the way. I never saw one get hit. 

I guess I kind of wanted one of them to get hit. It would serve them right for being so gross! 

“For being so gross.” 

As best I can understand it, that’s how all this started. Some folks were being gross. I guess I never really saw them being gross. My parents thought it was a good idea to kill all the gross people but others didn’t agree. I don’t know what the grossness even was. My folks — did I mention I haven’t seen them since all this started? — any way, my folks never explained it. 

That was back in what I call the “before times” when we could just drive to the grocery and get fresh vegetables and fruits, butter, cheese, chips, cookies, bread. Olives. I especially liked olives. My folks thought that it was weird for an eight year old to love olives so much. In fact, they called it “gross.” 

Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on Pexels.com

They were joking. I think they were joking. They may have been joking. I kind of miss them. I don’t think they thought I was gross back then. Lots of people eat olives. I don’t think I started the war. Olives?

I don’t know. I don’t think I was gross enough to deserve to die. Like I said, I’m not sure what the “grossness” was all about — not the grossness that they were killing each other about. 

No-one should eat road kill. Or bomb kill. 

And no-one does. 

Except for the crows.

And me.

*Author’s Note: At the exact moment I wrote the line “Except for the crows” (the first time), the crows outside cawed loudly! Now, all I hear are the wind chimes.

—————————-

Absolute is not just a vodka

Dick-Taters 

Teliot State

Choose your weapons!

Unobtainium

The Con-Con Man’s Special Friend

Their Dead Shark Eyes 

The Dance of Billions

The Architecture of Karma 

Karmic Architecture II

Sea, Ground, Water, Light, Love

Guernica

All for one; and none for most 

Author Page on Amazon

A Tight Flock Unified by Division

18 Tuesday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

#Cult, America, cognitive dissonance, conformism, cowardice, cruelty, Democracy, division, fascism, Feedback, GOP, life, MAGA, politics, Trumpism, truth, unity, USA

herd of sheep

Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com

Does it seem odd to anyone else that — no wait. Hold on. I was about to say: “Does it seem odd to anyone else that the Trump death cult is only united by their devotion to Trump and the only common value in their “platform” is that they value hate and dividing people, not uniting people — and yet, they are completely unified. They are unified about division.”

abstract barbed wire black white black and white

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 
But then, I realized, in a twisted sort of way, this is actually logical. *Because* they are united in hatred and dismissing anyone different, they are terrified to stray from the pack. But what if they do it by accident? What if they see something that looks interesting or useful and head toward it? NO NO NO! They might be culled from the herd! (A fate that could literally be worse than death if they & Trump continue to destroy the rule of law). No-one in America will be safe. Neither red hats nor assault weapons will keep you safe from Trump’s predations which will include the same horrors that other cruel dictators have employed because they think it helps keep them in power and because they simply enjoy making others feel pain. 

woman in black tank top blindfolded

Photo by Thuanny Gantuss on Pexels.com

 
How can such a tight pack keep from disintegrating? By listening to Trump. To them, he is the ultimate authority on every single topic. In precisely this way, the entire flock knows exactly what to say (at least today; yes, it could change tomorrow, but they’ll be watching for his tweets again tomorrow or listening to Fox News to tell them what is real). They listen to the Oraclown and his reflection. 
IMG_9198————————-
For some reason, the real-world evil and treachery of Putin’s puppet always makes me think of these *purely fictional* stories about a child sociopath.
(Not suitable for children or people without a well-developed sense of values. To reiterate, these are pure fiction meant to illustrate how a sociopath “thinks.” For details about Donnie’s actual life, try his niece’s book:
https://www.amazon.com/Too-Much-Never-Enough-Dangerous/dp/1982141468
Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man
Donnie Boy Plays Captain Man
Donnie Boy Plays Soldier Man
Donnie Lets His Brother Take the Fall
Donnie Visits Granny
Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon in Spelling
Donnie Gets his Name on a Tennis Trophy
Donnie Gets a Hamster
Donnie Learns Golf!

Roar, Ocean, Roar!

17 Monday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 27 Comments

Tags

America, autocracy, COVID19, Democracy, ecology, fascism, pandemic, poem, poetry, Resistance, TheGreenNewDeal, truth, verse

 

snow covered mountain under blue sky

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

 

You think you are a stone. 

I say, we are a mountain. 

You think you are a thread. 

I say, we are a tapestry. 

You think you are a drop. 

I say, we are an ocean. 

 

big waves under cloudy sky

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

 

We are a mighty mountain 

A million men and women wise

Surprise! Surmise

What we can do —

You and you and me and you!

 

snow capped mountain

Photo by Life of Wu on Pexels.com

 

We are a tapestry: 

Rainbow rayed with light arrayed;

A pattern that will still unfold

Reveal our true color: bold

Share inventions not yet played. 

 

2D3064B5-D03E-4030-A3C0-607CAD849A52

 

We are an ocean 

A wave, a tide, a tidal wave

A thousand miles wide,

If we can summon brave 

Feel our brotherhood; eschew false pride.  

 

IMG_3794

 

Believe not those whose only play is hate and fear;

Empty promises that hide behind a hidden tier; 

Russian dolls and chopping halls, 

Down and drown in putrid falls,

Flimsy flash and dazzle — naught inside. 

 

D2560F07-0D3D-4CAC-A440-AD4D8E9BE79B_1_105_c

 

Voices of the damned divide and hide

The nature of the power of the people all in unity.

Czars seek division; cheat with false impunity. 

Have no love; offer no warm hand;

An iron glove; a loud brass band. 

 

abstract barbed wire black white black and white

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

You think you are a stone. 

I say, we are a mountain. 

You think you are a thread. 

I say, we are a tapestry. 

You think you are a drop. 

I say, we are an ocean. 

 

IMG_3071

 

—————————————————-

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Life is a Dance

The Declaration of Interdependence

Author Page on Amazon

Index of “best practices” in teamwork and collaboration

Comes the Reign

Trump Truth Treason

The Ailing King of Agitate

 

Put in the Fool; Put out the Fool

11 Tuesday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

America, Constitution, Democracy, double-cross, fascism, pandemic, politics, Putin, traitor, treason, truth, USA

E056DBCD-67B8-415B-9ECF-A7DE15F7164F_1_105_c

 

Another bright and shiny thing!

Let’s all shout and dance and sing!

It glitters in polluted air!

It makes you want to sit and stare!

The newest bright and shiny thing!

happy woman

Photo by Jesus Arias on Pexels.com

 

I’ll cage the babies! Ain’t it fun!

I’m chosen as The Chosen One!

I’ll bring you pain; I’ll bring you down. 

But as of now, my game’s in town!

At end of day, my game is done.

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

 

All my wondrous treacherous creatures!

All my crimes — now being reported! 

But I’ll fight back with reporters deported. 

Let’s open schools and kill some teachers!

They’re over-eager over-reachers!

burial cemetery countryside cross

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

 

Black lives matter? What’s with that? 

I’ve grown fatter! Chomp on my chat!

I’ll spew and spatter racist chatter.

I’ve stolen so much my platter is flatter.

I’m careful as a junkyard rat.

 

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

My Pelf on Shelf – he’s such a Sweetie!

Never tries to do his duty:

Lock me away to save the nation.

He’d rather mouth his incantation: 

“Lootie, Booty, Gawd-darned Tootie!”

person holiday people cute

Photo by Public Domain Pictures on Pexels.com

 

I’ll rest at last when all is mine,

“Der Fooler” they will claim’s divine! 

Pootie will show me how it’s done!

Torture, steal — it’s all such fun! 

Just drink a little chloroquine! 

brown and white snake

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

What’s that you’ve given me to drink? 

Why Vlad, you’ve broken rank

Given me polonium — and I drank. 

I threw others under bus and tank, 

But I gave you your life long prize. 

You betrayed me  – what a surprise!

You said I was the light — just right —

The son you never had

Oh, Vlad, Oh, Vlad.

You used me like a tool it seems.

close up photo of woman holding lollipop

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

 

I never thought in foulest dreams

You’d play me for the fool.

You’re bad. 

You promised me and now I’m had.

Winning bigly is so sad. 

I’ll tell! I’ll tell! They’ll all believe

Me when I say…

2E9EBFDF-8366-41E3-B9D1-47136A7D029B

————————————

Trumpism is a New Religion

You Bet Your Life!

Rejecting Adulthood

Essays on America: Wednesday

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Plans for us some GRUesome

What about the butter dish?

A profound and utter failure.

Essays on America: The Game

Winning by Cheating is Losing

 

Push Forward (or Sideways or Backwards)

10 Monday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, family, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

authoritarianism, Democracy, fascism, kakistocracy, KGB, NRA, pandemic, polltics, Resistance, Totalitarianism, Trumpism, truth

photo a man and woman doing martial arts

Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.com

Sometimes, you do literally have to push forward against evil that pushes you. 

But think. Not always. 
What is your opponent’s real target? What do you really have to defend against? Sometimes, if someone charges you, head bent in anger, it’s better to step aside, place your hands on their back and gently help them on their way. Sadly, this sometimes results in their falling on their face, ungratefully as well as ungracefully. But that cannot be blamed on you. You were just trying to help, after all.

I recall a similar trick from cowboy shows and such. Someone comes at you and instead of coming at them, you back away, grab their hands and roll backwards, putting both your feet on their torso. As they rock over you, you push your feet out flinging them behind you. I did actually successfully accomplish this a few times as a kid. 

photo of male gymnast practicing on gymnastic rings

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Direct confrontation is also useful because it continues to send a signal that there are others out there equally committed to resisting tyranny. But pick battles carefully. You don’t want to pick battles that will splinter your cause or ones that you will lose both tactically and in such a way that you have lost strategic advantage as well. 

Remember not to underestimate your adversary. It is not being orchestrated by the Liar-in-Chief. It is likely being orchestrated by ex-KGB/Russian oligarchs and/or American oligarchs who have already compromised a portion of government. They know what they’re doing. They’ve studied our weaknesses for decades. And now they are exploiting them more than ever. 

broken glass on wooden surface

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

Racism. Misogyny. Homophobia. Xenophobia. Lack of self-discipline. Greed. Shallow Thinking. Impulsivity. Anti-intellectualism. Etc. The litany could go on. America’s always been a work in progress and we’re no-where near perfect. All these weaknesses have their own inevitable costs to our society, with or without help from Moscow. But they can push on those cracks to make them wider. And, they have been, for decades, trying to sabotage our efforts to have our society become more open, freer, fairer, more just, and productive along with a higher quality of life. Now, the sabotage has moved into the all-out push. With Trump, they have a wrecking ball. They will have him wield the power of the Presidency to destroy as much of America as possible before early January. 

In the middle of a pandemic, we must work especially hard at keeping the fabric of society from fraying completely. However much you think you are showing your appreciation for others, especially across all boundaries, double it; triple it. We need to see ourselves as having one objective — not being enslaved by a tyrant. 

Once absolute rule were to be instantiated, it would be bloody difficult to revert to democracy. 

industry metal vintage technology

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

Let’s imagine what this might be like. One of the first moves, of course, will be to claim criminal charges against all of Trumputin’s political opponents. They will all be show trials, of course, using made up evidence. But how will the jury be sure of that? Run their own forensics tests? No, of course not. You see that once the Justice Department becomes the Injustice Department, absolutely no-one is safe.

Imagine. The local police chief takes a shine to your little girl or boy — away they go. What are you going to do about it? Complain? To whom? Going to tell a reporter? What reporter? Oh, you mean the one put in place by the Misadministration? The one who will be quickly replaced and possibly knee-capped if he writes anything critical of the Misadministration? The one who’s boss, the editor, is also on the take and has to approve everything before it’s printed. That one? I don’t think that reporter will have much to say about the kidnapping. Probably left wing terrorists, doncha know?

2E9EBFDF-8366-41E3-B9D1-47136A7D029B

Or, let’s say you own a local, home-made donut shop. You really do make damned good donuts and everyone in town, and even the surrounding towns knows it too. Especially the cinnamon sugar! For awhile, it looked as though covid might just destroy your business and the nest egg you’d set up. But, in fact, you made a few changes and reassured all your customers and by god if business hasn’t been better than ever! People don’t feel comfortable dining inside a restaurant, but they can call in their order to you, drive by, and pick up nice tasty fresh donuts. Almost like eating out with far less expense and risk of getting sick.

donuts hanging on wooden surface

Photo by Luis Quintero on Pexels.com

Well, now under the Trumputin dictatorship, it turns out that a friend of a pretty wealthy Russian oligarch has always wanted to retire and run a donut shop. Yours has great reviews so now it’s his. No, you don’t get money for it. Or maybe you did get half a fair price, but you didn’t really want to give it up for any price. One way or another, you are not happy. This isn’t “free enterprise” or “capitalism” or “competition” — no, it isn’t. What did you expect? Trump is the most cowardly person I can think of — he doesn’t want to compete in a fair contest of any kind. It’s not his thing. Even if he could have won 2020 fairly, he wouldn’t do it. Cheating is what gives him pleasure. If won without cheating, half the fun of destroying America would be gone. That’s the nature of his character and eventually that kind of cheating attitude permeates everything like the smell of a skunk. And, by the way, it turns out the that friend of a pretty wealthy Russian oligarch is both a horrible cook and a horrible manager! The donuts are for $hit and none of the employees are happy. But they are not allowed to quit. And the patrons? If anyone asks their opinion, they had damned well better say these donuts make them get down on their knees and thank GOD that the donut shop changed hands. Want to keep complaining? Fine, the gracious government has secured another spot for you to ply your cooking skills up in some Siberian prison camps. Goodbye.

The cancerous corruption that starts at the top, of course, eventually filters down to state governments, local governments, societies, book clubs, bowling leagues. As in Stalin’s Russia, no-one trusts anyone. Kids betray their parents. Parents betray each other. Step out of line, you die. Maybe you die at once. Maybe we sent you to Siberia to die slowly as with ex-cooks who complain. Either way, you die. Either way, by stealing you out of the fabric of your neighborhood, your family, and your network of friends & colleagues, the Trumputin Misadministration has damaged all of those fabrics as well. They have reinforced the message that the only thing you can really count on is a government who will always be there for you. Until you don’t behave exactly and precisely as you’re told to. If you fight, then the entire force of that gigantic faceless stone will be crushed down your face.

And, you will not be able to go to reporter. And you will not be looking for a good lawyer because everyone knows the conclusion of your trial is already pre-determined. And you will not get on social media and complain because nearly all of social media is bot-$hit crazy propaganda supporting the Misadministration.

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Oh, and guns? That will, of course, be one of the most ironic parts of this whole debacle. “Guns Rights” advocates, who for millennia (it feels like) have complained that liberals want to take their guns away — will, in fact, have their guns taken away. This will not be done by the left — who didn’t want to do it anyway, but by the dictatorship. Dictatorships really do take guns away. Yeah! That you were right about all along. The part where it all went sideways though was that although the NRA kept spewing the line that a well-armed citizenry kept us from tyranny, in actual practice, the guys in camo who donned their assault rifles did not stand up to actual terrorists or unmarked private militias. It was more fun, apparently, to stand up to unarmed nurses protesting to get needed equipment in order to save lives or to storm the capital building and protest legislators doing their jobs to save lives. Anyway, you won’t have any more right to own a gun than do Russian citizens. Maybe a few special hunting licenses for “special friends” of the Grand Supreme Leader. That’s it.

Everything is so horrible and absolute power is so absolute you probably think — good god, this will never change. Why did I bring children into this world? But things do change. The first major change of the Trumputin Misadministration is very minor wording change. It will be known henceforth in the shorter version — Putin Misadministration. Trump unfortunately had to be temporarily removed from duty to deal with a strange illness. Doctors think it is not COVID19 where the US death toll is now the best in the world. In a recent press conference Trump was able to inform the AmeriKKKan public that “supplemental autopsies” confirmed that the US only had three total COVID19 deaths while the rest (1.5 million) were all part of a liberal hoax. And those three would have been saved if only they had let the Stable Genius Savior puteth his hands upon them and administereth bleach unto them.

After Trump and his co-traitors all die of similar strange diseases within days of each other, Grand Supreme Leader Putin graciously names replacements for various Senators, Judges, and Cabinet Heads. Everyone in Congress is asked to swear a loyalty pledge to Putin. Those who refuse are never heard from again. 

brown and white snake

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Nothing in this grim scenario is inevitable. If enough people wake up soon enough to see what is afoot, the overthrow of America can be avoided. I hope for everyone’s sake that will happen. Even if not, eventually life, creativity, freedom, fairness — these forces will prevail. The philosophy of hate, like cancer in the human body, can only have temporary victory. In the end, fascism is incompatible with life. Like cancer, it will not create anything useful to the whole, and once it kills its host, it too will die.

“Be steadfast in purpose and flexible in tactics.” 

usa flag waving on white metal pole

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Cancer Always Loses in the End

Unmasked

What about the Butter Dish?

A Profound and Utter Failure

At Least he’s Our Monster

Plans for us; some GRUesome

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Stopping Rule

The Update Problem

Author Page on Amazon

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