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Tag Archives: irony

The Irony Age

01 Tuesday Apr 2025

Posted by petersironwood in America, essay

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Democracy, irony, life, politics, truth, USA, writing

(AI generated image to the prompt: “A blacksmith wields a large hammer. He strikes down on an anvil. The anvil is composed of people.” 

There is no simple or universal answer to when “The Stone Age”, “The Bronze Age,” and “The Iron Age” occurred. The timing varied widely depending on the region. These names refer to the types of materials used for tools. More recently, many people refer to the “Industrial Age” or the “Industrial Revolution” and the “Computer Age” or the “Computer Revolution.” 

Now, we see humanity entering a new age, perhaps best referred to as “The Irony Age.” At least in The United States of America, we are well into “The Irony Age” though we are not the only such country. I use the term “The Irony Age” to refer to an age where people’s behavior, individually and collectively, is determined by the informational world they inhabit rather than the real world in which they live. 

I use the word “determined” and not the word “influenced.” Words, images, and stories have always influenced human behavior. Indeed, this kind of influence exists in the non-human world as well. The social behavior of ants depends on chemical signaling. Bees that have foraged and found sources of pollen and nectar “dance” for other bees so as to describe the size, contents, and location of these sources for other foraging workers. 

Words can be used, not only to influence, direct, teach, or share but also to mislead and control. This is nothing new, but now the conditions are right for “The Age of Irony” in which these misleading communications actually override reality. Examples of such misleading communications abound.

Politically, we can see The Age of Irony in the names of countries. The official name of North Korea, for instance, in not “The Totalitarian Dictatorship of Kim Jong-Un” but is rather “The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.” In reality it is not a republic; it is not a country for the people and it is not at all democratic. 

It is not only in the political realm that we find such ironies. People have been touting “miracle cures” my entire life and before. Various “tonics” have been sold by charlatans throughout the history of America. They often contained opium, tobacco, alcohol, and other noxious substances. Sometimes, people would fall for it and spend money on something that would supposedly fix a malady (or even every malady) and it would make them sicker. There has always been deception. Three things in modern society contribute to making it “The Age of Irony” and not just an age that contains some irony. 

First, most people most of the time are not narcissistic sociopaths. Most people most of the time are decent and tell the truth. Studies show that people are particularly likely to be ethical and fair to those with whom they are in direct contact. (See, for instance, Predictably Irrational by Dan Ariely). If you are at a face to face meeting, for instance, and a tray of cookies gets passed around, there are very few people who will immediately grab all the cookies for themselves. As the physical distance grows and the bad behavior becomes more abstract, however, more people are willing to cheat a little and some few people will cheat as much as they can. 

In the past, almost all of our interactions were fairly local. Charlatans who sold “miracle cures” tended to be itinerant. If they stayed too long in one place, they were likely to be “run out of town on a rail” (See, for instance, Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain). Now, however, false cures are sold via podcasts, television, and social media. In The Age of Irony, a large proportion of our purchases are done remotely and the people who sell us nostrums are much harder to bring to justice. Equally importantly, it’s much easier for them to “live with” their evil deeds because they don’t have to face social consequences—they don’t know or see the people harmed by their lies. So, the first thing that contributes to making this The Irony Age is distance. Increased distanced means decreased accountability both legally and socially.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com



The second major reason that America is entering “The Irony Age” is the ubiquity and power of entertainment. This is partly a side-effect of increased prosperity. Increased prosperity means that people have more time to be entertained. In addition, television, for instance, now shows images that are larger, in color, and in higher definition. Perhaps more importantly, there are many more channels. Advertising is more targeted. And, a greater proportion of live TV time is advertising time. 

More recently, podcasting, time on social media, and gaming are also more compelling and more targeted. People are spending less time in face to face interaction and more time is spent in remote interaction. 

The pacing of entertainment is also changing. People are spending more time “channel surfing” and interacting in short sequences like chat. This means long, thoughtful discussions are relatively rare while clever one-liners and short videos are relatively more predominant. 

(AI generated image to the prompt: “A very large room is filled with robots typing on computers. Hung from the ceiling is a very large dollar sign.”) 

While there have always been unusually talented storytellers and orators, now science has formalized these talents and made them essentially available to anyone with a huge amount of money. An extremely wealthy individual no longer needs to be clever or charismatic in order to influence people. He or she can pay for the expertise to make them appear clever and charismatic. Taken together, these trends mean that the tools to manipulate people are generally much more powerful than before. 

There is also a potential counter-trend. People are more educated than they were hundreds of years ago. In theory, this should enable them to be critical thinkers and be less likely to believe a lie. In most cases, however, people do not use their education and intelligence to decide whether to believe something or someone but instead use their education and intelligence to defend their current beliefs whatever they may be. They come to view themselves and their “team” as being under “attack” when a belief is questioned and they view their role as to use their brain to defend their team—not to question whether they are on the right team. 

What about the Butter Dish?

Trumpism is a new Religion

Plans for US; some GRUsome

Happy Talk Lies 

The third trend is the self-reinforcing vicious cycle of wealth, greed, and power. This has enabled—some would say guaranteed—that the most sociopathic, greedy, self-centered people on the entire planet now control weapons, information and entertainment channels, and the wealth. It isn’t merely a random set of people in control—it’s largely the very worse people in control. Just to take one example, there are many hundreds of local radio and stations, newspapers, and publishers. But they are not independent of each other. They are controlled by a few major companies. The same applies to food and banking. Your experience is that you go to the grocery store and see hundreds of brands. They look different. They taste different. They are advertised to appeal to different groups. But, behind the scenes, there are a ten companies that control things.


https://www.businessinsider.com/10-companies-control-the-food-industry-2016-9?op=1

Briefly, here are a list of some of the major Ironies which are prevalent in the attempted destruction of America.

Many people voted they way they did because the slogan “Make America Great Again” resonated with their love of America and they desired to make it great again. In reality, America, though far from perfect, was already great and Putin’s plans are aimed at making America much worse, not better. Plans are now being implemented to make nearly every aspect of America worse.

Many people voted the way they did because they thought they were voting for a “strong leader” who would do whatever it took to put America first. In reality, that “leader” is extremely cowardly and has been his entire life. He was so cowardly, he begged his daddy to bribe doctors so he could avoid military service. He has a long record of forcing himself on women because he’s too cowardly to risk being rejected. He’s so cowardly, he can’t even publicly tell the truth about his height and weight or the status of his mental faculties. He’s so cowardly, he can’t even admit to a single mistake. 

Many people voted the way they did because they thought their candidate and his party were better for the economy. What’s the evidence of that? The party and the candidate claim to be better. Historical fact shows quite the opposite. But neither party has done such a remarkably bad job with economy as what we are now witnessing. 

(AI-generated image to the prompt: “A ghost town with tumbleweed. Nothing grows. A sign proclaims: ‘Golden Prosperity Estates’.”)

Many people voted the way they did because they thought their candidate would restore law and order. Why? Because they said so. What actually happens when you vote in a serial rapist who is also a convicted felon, a fraud, and a tax cheat? He pardons traitors who viciously attacked police and he attacks judges who do not agree with him and ignores the rule of law and the Constitution he swore to uphold.

Many people voted the way they did because they were sick of the government telling them what to do. Instead, they voted for less regulation and more freedom. The reality is that while the current Misadministration is trying to reduce regulations on air quality, water quality, and food quality, they are also trying to institute regulations on whom you can love, what you can do with your own body, what you can say, whether and how you can worship, what you can read, and whom you can protest against.

Many people voted as they voted because they bought the story that illegal immigrants were a “drain” on the economy. The truth is that many such immigrants were contributing to the economy including paying taxes and social security and were unable to reap many of the benefits of citizens. Moreover, far from being disproportionally criminal, immigrants were less likely to be criminals than natural born US citizens. 

Many people voted as they voted because they specifically thought a more complete wall and more agents at the border would keep immigrants out. In fact, walls are much more effective at keeping people in a country against their will than keeping people out against their will. If the Misadministration is successful in destroying the National Parks, the Economy, and the Rule of Law, a wall won’t be necessary at all to keep people out. No-one will want to come. But it can be quite useful in keeping people in. On the US side of the border, the military can be deployed along with machine guns, land mines, and search lights. The Berlin Wall wasn’t put up by East Germany to keep West Germans from coming into East Germany. It was built to keep the East Germans from fleeing the repressive and ineffective government of East Germany. That’s the real reason Putin wants walls around America—to keep American citizens in. 

(AI generated image to the prompt: A large wall with many signs. Signs read: “Up is Down” “Good is Bad” “Power is Truth” “Truth is a Lie.” “Lies are truth” “Life is Death”)

In The Ironic Age, the Ironies don’t stop with the fact that many people voted as they did but got the exact opposite of what they voted for. It isn’t turtles all the way down. In The Ironic Age, it’s ironies all the way down. 

Some people continue to “like” the current misadministration and think that by showing loyalty to it, they are helping their “hero.” In fact, supporting him in his bad policies and decisions is the very worst thing for him as well as for the country. It’s precisely like “helping” a drug addict by giving him heroin. Such an action doesn’t “satisfy” the addict. It just increases their tolerance for the drug and makes them want even more. It’s the same with narcissistic sociopaths. Telling them their ideas are wonderful no matter how stupid and counter-productive they are doesn’t help the person at all. It just encourages them to be more stupid and disconnected from the actual results. It won’t “moderate” or “reform” him any more than agreeing with a spousal abuser will make them less likely to abuse you in the future. 

(AI generated image to the prompt: “A doctor in a white coat tosses a bottle of vodka to a ragged drunk lying in the gutter.”)

As I said, it’s ironies all the way down. President Mush and his side-kick know that they are “smart enough” to view everyone else as a tool. To them, people who have actual friends, have empathy, or love? Those are fools. What they fail to see, however, is that Putin is like them. He doesn’t seem them as peers at all. To him, they are the tools. They are his fools. Once he achieves his goals about dividing and destroying America, they will have served their purpose and he will take over the reins. Apparently, they are too busy slaking their greed to have noticed what has happened to the enablers of Stalin and Putin once they become too successful.

Perhaps the most fundamental irony of all is that even Putin cannot win. Narcissistic sociopaths die too. They live their entire lives fundamentally disconnected from true love and friendship. Not only are their days on earth numbered as individuals—just like everyone else—they have traded in the joys of life for a grim fight that ends in their own destruction.  

Cancer always loses in the end. Yes, of course, cancer causes destruction and even death. So, it can cause others to lose, but cancer itself always loses.

Always. 

——————-

Cancer always Loses in the End

At Least he’s our Monster

The Orange Man

Stoned Soup

The Three Blind Mice

Essays on America: The Game

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Word for War

The Crows and Me

The Long Red Tie

All that we have lost

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Imagine all the People

Take a Glance; Join the Dance

The Broken Times

Life is a Dance

Dance of Billions

Life will Find a Way

Math Class: Who are you?

Ironic

28 Saturday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, satire, story

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, fiction, irony, politics, satire, story, truth, USA

So, our instructor assigned us to write a story with a strong emphasis on irony. Mine is about a hypothetical future American tragedy of a coup financed and designed by the Kremlin. By way of summary, this is how it related to irony and I appended this to the story for the instructor’s edification. 

“And, the most ironic part of the whole American tragedy was this: even though he spent his entire life conning others, it was beyond his ken to consider that Vlademort Putrid was likewise conning him. He had been lying and bragging so long about his competence in all things that he actually came to believe he was smarter and a better strategist than Putrid. Putrid likely could have done it alone. But, of course, he did not do it alone. Putrid had the collaboration of highly trained, highly dedicated KBG/GRU professionals to help. 

“In principle, perhaps he could have enlisted American experts, but he didn’t feel the need. Furthermore, he faced a real dilemma. He couldn’t openly ask any but the corrupt for help against American interests. And those who were corrupt were generally far less competent and always less well connected to a healthy network of professionals than their more numerous and genuinely patriotic counterparts. 

“I said that was the most ironic part of the whole American tragedy, but there are near contenders. Another highly ironic part of his entire con game was that the played the game as though the only thing in the universe that mattered was his own pleasure. Of course, no matter what moves he made or is yet to make, he is not actually immortal in and of himself. By lying to himself and everyone else, he essentially cut himself off from being part of The Great Tree of Life (or at least from being a non-cancerous part). Rather than living on through his actions that benefited the whole, he delimited his life, curtailed it, circumscribed it to his own physical mortality. 

“The intertwined corollary of the above is that even while he lived, he missed out on the best feeling in life: being in caring and loving honest relationships. In order to absolutely and positively ensure that he grabbed as much as possible for himself, he limited his “prizes” to mere material crap and the pleasure of cruelty. “

So, this is how they responded: 

“When it comes to being ironic, this is definitely A plus material. 

However, sad to say, there are also some serious problems with your narrative. First, of all Americans are too well educated to fall for the lies of a known con man. And, why not simply make the character more believable? It’s not plausible that so many people would fall for the con. Apart from that, the cowardice you portray on the part of so many within his own party is also unbelievable. 

Still, the mechanics of the writing was also clean, so I’m giving you a B+. Next time, focus on believability rather than forgoing that to punch the irony.”

Was that a fair grade, I ask you? 


Poker Chip

Donnie’s Final Gift

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Ailing King of Agitate

Dick-Taters

The Titanic

Con-Con’s Special Friend

Trumpism is a New Religion

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Wednesday

Labelism

My Cousin Bobby

Where Does Your Loyalty Lie?

Dance of Billions

Be Careful What You Wish For

21 Saturday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, irony, Kevin, poem, poetry, politics, USA

The Kevin said he’d lead the band!

Be strongest man in all the land! 

But when the traitors came to slay,

The Kevin hid then ran away.

The Kevin blamed the Trump that day! 

But soon, it seemed, he flew the coop! 

To Florida to eat a scoop. 

And there he pledged to be a wimp. 

For coups and couscous be a simp.

For nuts & guns, he’d play the pimp. 

And now he sits atop his throne.

He reaps as sown; his cover’s blown.

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com

He brags that now he leads the band!

When really he just pounds the sand.

The saddest man in all the land. 

Pretends to power; total slave. 

Photo by Clown Caramello on Pexels.com

And here’s the really foul deprave:

By wanting all the power for him.

The Kevin’s just a shadow limn.

There’s nothing left of what was him.

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com

A rootless rot upon the land,

He opens gate for treason’s band.

So bent upon his bid for power.

He lost it all in shameful hour.

The joyous tune has turned note sour. 

Photo by Julius Silver on Pexels.com

Bereft of honor, truth and heart,

Robotic role – a walk-on part. 

The words upon his lips are dust.

As Putrid speaks, so Kevin must.

His mettle now just rotted rust. 

Photo by Wendelin Jacober on Pexels.com

Essays on America: The Game

My Cousin Bobby

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Poker Chip

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Come back to the light

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Crows and Me

After All

Peace

Life is a Dance

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

BREAK IT!

Satire Slain

Freaky Friday Fibbing Fest

Thrumperdome

22 Wednesday Apr 2020

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

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

COVID19, fiction, irony, life, pandemic, parable, politics, satire, story, truth

animal snake reptile closeup

Photo by Donald Tong on Pexels.com

The three walked arm in arm down the now-deserted street. Sure, it was unusual for three homophobes to walk lock-step, arm in arm, down the street — any street. Luckily, their fully loaded assault weapons hung loosely down their sides so no-one would question their manhood. After all, what says, “I am a manly man; I am courageous!” more than having a weapon of indiscriminate destruction hanging by your side?  Bigly manly.

The heat was stifling on this hot, humid, hazy day. Brain Krimp kept swatting vaguely at his face. But it wasn’t helping. Where were these damned flies coming from? he wondered. He couldn’t see them. Maybe they aren’t flies, he thought. Brain turned to his companions and asked, “Hey, Henry? Bill Bee? You guys hearing some kind of buzzing insect? I don’t see them.”

“Nah,” offered Henry. “But — you know — sometimes those antibody shots make me … they screw up my hearing.” 

Brain glanced over at Billy Bee. “You?” 

“Yeah, they are a pain. But better than dying with a tube stuck down your throat, right? Anyway, just ignore it.” 

Brain nodded. He was trying to ignore it, he thought to himself. But instead of lessening, the sound grew louder. It wasn’t so much a buzz as a whisper. But what the hell was it saying? 

photo of person wearing face mask

Photo by EVG photos on Pexels.com

“Thank you.” This time Brain heard it distinctly. He looked at his companions furtively. They didn’t seem to have noticed. Maybe it was just the shots. 

“Thank you!” It was more distinct this time. And louder. Surely, they had heard that. “Seriously, didn’t you guys hear that?” 

“I think one of the survivors was leaning out the window thanking us,” said Henry. “Good for him. At least somebody knows reopening was for the best.” 

“Yeah,” added Billy BeeBop. “There were way too many people. Still are. And way too uppity. Those that are left will know their place. Mark my words. And almost all the wealth will be controlled by the likes of us.” 

road in between buildings

Photo by B.O.A.photography on Pexels.com

Brain scanned the apartment buildings on both sides of the street. He didn’t see anyone hanging out, but the sound was growing louder. Only…only, it wasn’t sound so much as sense — a kind of impression or even mind reading. Someone — or something — was out there and it was signaling or saying “Thank you.” It seemed to grow louder and more distinct. And, yet, Brain still had the odd feeling that it was not sound so much as thought. Best not to bring it up again. It wouldn’t do to have his co-conspirators think him soft in the head. 

At last, they arrived at their goal: The Cache. It had been decided to gather all the best loot in one place and “Der Fooler” had agreed to amass the portion from their states right here at Mercedes-Benz — well, Brain corrected himself quickly, it used to be called that. Of course, now, it was called “T-RUMP Stadium, Peachtree.” All the Stadiums were called T-RUMP something or other now. It made it easy for the T-Rump to remember their names. He just referred to them all as T-Rump stadium, T-Rump river, T-Rump highway, and so on. Of course, everyone else was confused about what he was really referring to. That caused inefficiency, delay, mistakes and rework. But that only made the lives of the proles more miserable (which was half the fun anyway). It didn’t impact the nabobs — so who gave a damn really. 

But, thought Brain, that damned buzzing does bother me. Not enough to spoil my take of the spoils though. Come on! He pep-talked himself and attempted to put on his game face.

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

The armed squadron that accompanied the three governors came up to the Cache guards and showed their credentials. They entered together through the runway, just as the Falcons had once done not so long ago. A dumbed-down version of Pomp and Circumstance was being played full blast. TASS photographers snapped pictures as they went out with the governors like a second skin. Once the trio arrived on the staging area for the nabobs. “The Govs” as they were collectively known, waved to the crowd. Each one stepped forward in turn as their various accomplishments were touted over the loudspeakers. 

Bill BeeBop grinned from ear to ear. The other two had seen the vast mountain of stuff on TV, but apparently Bill had missed it. He was astounded how much stuff was here! Of course, it had been collected and transported here from three states, though much of it was from right here in Atlanta. It was surprising how much wealth had been collected all told. 

First, they had confiscated everything from people who died intestate. Of course, normally, one would expect the family to divide such things in the absence of a formal will. But the T-Rump had declared that such wealth would be needed to pay for all the social services required by the proles. Of course, there were exceptions for the nabobs.

The second wave of stuff had been stolen from people who were alive, but too sick to fight back. Of course, there had been the occasional necessity to put someone down who objected, despite being deathly ill, to having ICE steal whatever family heirlooms they had been wanting to bequeath to their son or daughter or special friend. But they had only numbered in the hundreds. It was nothing compared to the untold thousands who had died from the virus itself. In many ways, the shootings had probably been a kind of mercy killing for the very ill, Brain consoled himself. 

analog antique blur classic

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The third wave of re-assignments had been the most fun of all. While it had been fun to steal stuff from poor people, the third wave had taken things from various “Enemies of the State” and since it had included engineers, scientists, politicians, reporters, newscasters, top government officials and so on, it tended to be much better stuff.

And, now, there it was. All the stuff from all three states. Each of the governors got one hour to collect their favorites and put it in their wheelbarrow. At the far side of the stadium, their three “opponents” milled about nervously. They too each had a wheelbarrow. Of sorts. There was no wheel. Instead, a triangle of metal went down to a bare hub which scraped along the ground. Everyone could see this would make moving the wheelbarrow much more difficult. 

Their “weaponry” differed as well. While each of the governors had a fully loaded assault weapon with four extra clips, the proles were each outfitted with a nail file. True, it was a metal nail file. And, it did have a sharp point on one side. 

person holding black and red hair brush

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

But still. 

Henry was so excited and eager to start the games that he damned near forgot to put his hand over his heart when the Russian anthem started. He felt a sharp elbow in the ribs; turned quickly and was about to smack Brain when he realized what was happening. He put his hand over his heart and looked up with what he hoped looked like a beatific and radiant smile. He wondered whether T-Rump was watching live, or even in person. Of course, the real whereabouts of the T-Rump were always a carefully guarded state secret since so many still openly despised him even though everyone in America was so much better off. At least if you believe the T-Rump. 

The gigantic bull horn sounded and they got moving. Henry noticed that one of those damned cowardly proles had ignored his wheelbarrow and simply run and grabbed a single large trophy of some kind and began running for the exit. 

That really rankled Henry’s sense of fair play. “What the hell?” he said aloud. “We’re supposed to be giving people a frigging show, for God’s sake. You can’t just go sneak off with one item. For a split second, Henry half-wished he had a high powered rifle instead of the AK-47, but what the hell. He sprayed a long burst over in the general direction of the running figure of the prole who had damned near made it to the exit. “Oh, man! That is sick! I shoulda got me one of these a long time ago.” He laughed as the torn figure of the running prole crumpled and the trophy spilled out of his nearly severed hand. 

Henry felt good. He glanced quickly in the vicinity of the fallen prole and realized the had also hit an usher, a guard, and at least two spectators. “Damned, I’m good!” he yelled and turned back toward garnering more wealth for himself. 

It took nothing like an hour to complete the “contest.” Each of the three governors smiled for the cameras and stood waving at the crowd, sweat pouring down off their brows and down the backs of their necks. 

But who had won? At last, the stadium scoreboard lit up. They estimated the total wealth as — too close to call. Each of the governors had collected approximately one million dollars worth of stuff. Eventually, a more careful and detailed appraisal of the goods would undoubtedly reveal which one was the real winner. But for now, it was a tie. A three-way tie. 

people cheering during soccer match

Photo by Martí Pardo on Pexels.com

The scoreboard presented more details. Prole contestants had successfully acquired nothing! The crowd — who were 99% proles, by the way, cheered and waved their hands wildly. Total number of prole competitors dead: three! Again, a wild cheer went up from the crowd. Total number killed, competitors and audience and staff — 34. Now a half-hearted half-cheer went up. Not that decent a total really. Especially, when you considered that COVID19 was still killing about 3K per day and rising. 

Now, the scoreboard switched to video mode and there he was!! The enhanced image of the T-Rump appeared. His hands appeared almost normal and even his skin looked vaguely humanoid. A great cheer went up from the crowd. Vast clouds of oxytocin laced with oxycontin were released into the crowd. After some minutes of cheering, the T-Rump gestured for silence.

“Not terrible. Not great. I gotta say. A tie? Come on guys! Who wants a tie? Should I let this stay a TIE? “

The crowd roared back “NO!” 

“No. See? I’m a genius. I know what people want. Hey, guys! We’re on to round two. Round two rules are this. One of you has to die and the others will fight for their share of the dead guy’s loot? Got it? GO!” 

Brain and Henry immediately crouched down and began firing first and aiming later. Billy BeeBop just stood still with a surprised look on his face. He said, “I thought we were all on the same…” The hole through his throat made the last word difficult to decipher. It might have been “side” or “team” or “cabal” or “conspiracy” though the last two were likely not in that man’s vocabulary, even before his head was torn apart.  

Brain wasn’t sure whether or not the T-Rump would decide there would only be one winner or not, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Nor was Henry. As it dawned on each of them that they had been mortally wounded, each felt an overwhelming feeling of outrage at having been betrayed. 

Just before his head hit the astroturf, Brain had a strange thought: we could have cooperated. The blood kept draining from his body and that meant draining from his thinking apparatus as well. Before he lost consciousness forever, Brain sudden realized in a flashbulb of insight who had been thanking him: COVID19! He had been one of the Meta-carriers and they thanked him profusely. It was nice to be needed, he thought. They assured him that he had achieved the Christian equivalent of a saint. Then, he died.

T-Rump got on the video feed and held his fists up in triumph. “Now, that’s more like it! Am I right?” 

He pointed to the scoreboard, which was now framed by fireworks that were shaped like a golden hammer and sickle framed on a large red background. 

Total Number Killed: 255! Much better!

photo of fireworks display

Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

Total Wealth estimate: Three Billion dollars for the T-Rump and 0 for anyone else! 

T-Rump smiled beatifically and said, “OK folks! There are 255 bodies out there! You know what to do!” He began to lead the chant. 

“Eat them raw! Eat them raw! EAT THEM RAW!” Some of the proles were still surprisingly nimble and sprang over other proles and railings and seat backs alike. 

Soon, the chant was replaced by the soothing sound of thousands of teeth crunching on fresh kill.

After all, the proles were hungry. Very hungry. 

T-Rump smiled beatifically as he looked on the cannibalistic carnage. He had one last announcement. 

“You guys have been great! Enjoy your dinner! I want to account — right today — today. I am announcing the results of next year’s World Series! Which will be played right here in Trump Stadium! And — you ready for this — the winners of the World Series will be The Trump Falcons.” 

The proles paused for a moment and clapped, each suspiciously eyeing their neighbor to see who would break back for the human flesh first. 

food steak meat raw

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

——————————————-

If Only — A fictional crime story about two very real historical characters.

A Horror Story of Karma.

At Least he’s our Monster.

Legends of the Veritas: The Orange Man
 

Ambition!

04 Wednesday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

ambition, greed, irony, life, materiality, mindfulness, poem, poetry, SHRUGS, spiritual, truth, worship

IMG_1442

I’ll be Number One!
They’ll say I’ve won!
Biggest man in all the land!
Forego the loving touch
Of a lovely lover’s hand.
A tracing finger
Long will linger —
But no so much
As a mountain carved,
A fountain named,
A people starved,
A nation flamed!

Some children caged!

 

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I hunger yet
To win the bet;
To march the march
Through desolate lands;
Light the torch
On tortured hands;
Found a city;
Show no pity;
Conquer all;
Steal the ball!

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I may not know
Of crystal snow
Or love in bed —
Silky hair wet
Falling full across my face;
Laughter; holy grace —
But instead
I get
No forced solitude.
I have the multitude
At beck and call
And in my thrall.
On flashbulb feasts
I will dine,
Roasted beasts,
And finest wine!

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And when the game
At last is won
And My Own Name
Heads everyone’s,
I’ll laugh and flash
From bed of death:
I held the lash!
No wasted clock
On balderdash
Or poppycock.
I rushed ahead
To this final bower
My ultimate power.
So I could lay
Beneath cold ground
Beneath the sound
Of crashing drum
— beat
And brashing horn
— blast
And marching man
— feet
And now at long
— last

With my last breath,
Content.

Perfectly content.
Serene.
Perfectly serene.
Yet —
Yet, I wonder —
Is it too late?
Have I missed … ?
Could I just have a chance to — ?

Oh.
I see.
It’s over.

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Author Page on Amazon.

The Game— What does one do, if one has so much wealth and power that you literally want for nothing?

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