Christmas Awokenings
And so, on Christmas morning, having suffered the night visitations of vexing spirits — or was that just the strange interaction of Zyprexa and Zolpidem — Joe Biden woke up (in a manner of speaking) to find himself transformed. He was no longer dogged by the prospect of being president of the US, but, rather, was convinced he had become the provincial plenipotentiary of a Chinese overseas possession known as Golden Wok West, where CCP General Secretary Xi Jinping can order up any asset for take-out. What a relief, Joe thought, as they brought in his morning meds. Here, now, was a one-horse pony of a different color, Joe mused, chugging down his 5mg of Haldol.
Ol’ Joe went to bed on the blessed silent night fretting that soon he’d have to answer to all those caterwauling losers about to be tossed from their McHouses and apartments after nearly a year of nonpayment. But no, the shabby dwellings would now just become the property of the People’s Liberation Army, as that very fine organization prepared to sort things out in the flea market once known as America.
Was there anything left of value? Wasn’t that a puzzlement? The former so-called Yang-kees had squandered all their laid-up treasure turning their continent into a demolition derby — six-laners lined by muffler shops, chain stores, and fried food shacks — and when all their financial resources were used up, they’d borrowed so much more money that all the certified public accountants who ever lived could not keep up with the compounded interest calculations if they worked double-shifts until the end of time. In short, the self-demolition of America was fait accompli.
Now, all that was left for Joe Biden to do was to sign some paperwork and, maybe three times a week, emerge from his basement to smile and explain to eager members of the inquisitive news media why he preferred General Tso’s Chicken over Hunan Beef. At least that’s how things seemed to shake out in Joe Biden’s brain on Christmas morning as Dr. Jill helped him to the bathroom….
Then, there was the Golden Golem of Greatness, a.k.a. President Donald Trump. He arose from his rococo bed in Mar Lago unmolested by spookish visitations, but, rather, faced with some rather stark decisions about how to proceed with the possible takeover of the USA by agents of China. There was some sentiment among his advisors to send out US marshals and start arresting hundreds of persons suspected of gaming the recent election by means of ballot fraud and fiddling with Dominion vote tabulation machines. Or, other advisors countered, he might just tough it out until the great showdown in Congress January 6, when Vice President Mike Pence would preside over the touchy matter of which electoral delegation was worthy of pitching its votes one way or the other.
All this was a procedure that few Americans actually understood, but it did follow the recondite passages in the constitution regarding disputed elections… and it had been trotted out a couple of times before — 1824 and 1876 — in our now longish history of operating as a republic. It would require the state legislators of various swing states to search their very souls as they appeared to defy the official vote tabulation, and therefore some sense of the democratic underlayment to this complex business of legitimizing government. But the language of the constitution did, in fact, leave it up to them.
Half the nation would howl and commence to torching whatever was left to destroy in cities owned by Democratic Party mayors and governors — who would just stand by and let it rip. The 2018 Executive Order 13848 provides a justification for contending with foreign interference in a federal election (and its unfortunate potential after-effects, like rioting and looting). Ironic, I’m sure you are thinking, after Mr. Trump’s antagonists pressed that same foreign interference stratagem falsely back in 2016, and used it as a bludgeon to beat him about the head for four years. But perhaps there is something to it this time, and maybe the foreign power in question this time is China, not Russia. Where’s the evidence? You might prepare yourself to see it. I think it’s coming. This was a hard enough year, of course, without completely demolishing what little remained of America’s battered Christmas spirit. But that will be over in a few hours. And now that you’ve opened your meager presents, and gone through the other ritual motions of the holiday, the nation’s mood shifts from nervous repose to a determined resolution of this disgraceful affront to our honor. Are you ready for it?
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Fine Christmas Reading ! ! !
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Attention Movie Producers!
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A Too-Big-To-Fail Bankster
Three Teenagers who bring him down
Gothic doings on a Connecticut Estate.
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At Ponsonby Hall, a new Hampshire prep school for screw-ups, things are far from all right.
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A child is born… but not exactly the way he thought it happened. And now he must leave home at Christmas time. $7.50 — Cheap! Buy!
Something Strange is going on at Camp Timahoe in Lost Indian, Vermont, summer of 1962.
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New Paintings by JHK 2018 — 2019
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