Clusterfuck Nation
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In these horse latitudes of late summer, with the seas becalmed and the riggings a’creak, the Resistance’s ship-of-the-line (a.k.a. the Democratic Party) drifts ever further out of sight of land. Even so, a few of its crew members have jumped ship: New York’s mayor, stowaway Bill de Blasio, may have been shoved overboard. Former Colorado Gov. Hickenlooper walked the plank clutching the lifebuoy of a sure-thing senate seat. Washington State Gov. Jay Inslee went mad drinking seawater and dove in after hallucinating a school of beckoning mermaids. Months from now, the accursed vessel may be discovered mysteriously deserted, prompting tales of mutiny and cannibalism, like the brigantine Mary Celeste of legend.
That’s how lost and far out the Party looks more than a year from the general election. Back on dry land, the resourceful Golden Golem of Greatness made another flanking maneuver around the Resistance’s left, disarming the so-called Flores Rule from 1994 that underlay the racket of using children to evade the immigration laws. Now the kids can remain with their parents awaiting deportation, which is the natural consequence of sneaking across the border illegally. The Resistance cannot grok the reality that federal law actually applies in cases of border-jumping. Shrieks of “racism” rise from coastal yoga studios and cappuccino bars. Uncle Sam is racist through and through, from his run-down boot-heels to his chin-whiskers.
The New York Times, America’s journal of double-plus good-think, is proving this week with its “1619 Project,” that the NBA is actually the legitimate governing body of this land, contrary to the racist document purporting to be the “constitution.” How many three-pointers could that roly-poly little math freak, Ben Franklin, shoot? Don’t you understand that the Civil War was fought over the attempt by damnable whites to suppress basketball, The Times imputes. Can’t anybody play The Star-Spangled Banner blues anymore in its original form as a field holler, before that cad Francis Scott Key stole it and quashed all the flatted notes?
Elizabeth Warren set the stage for anointing herself America’s Race Hustler-in-Chief by addressing the niggling matter of her former claim to be a Cherokee Indian, since disproven by a DNA test. There was loose talk, you see, that she used the Cherokee ruse to bamboozle her overseers on the Harvard Plantation, where she got to work in the Big House known as the Harvard Law School based on her “diversity” bona fides — a “minority hire!” The claim was so transparently idiotic and dishonest that she was desperate to walk it back as delicately as possible, in order to keep up with the race hustling of her fellow pols chasing the nomination. A rain dance was arranged in the aptly-named heartland town of Sioux City.
Like anyone who’s being honest with themselves, I know that I have made mistakes,” said Ms. Warren, who was met with a standing ovation when she took the stage [The Times reported]. “I am sorry for harm I have caused. I have listened and I have learned a lot, and I am grateful for the many conversations that we’ve had together.”
Was a more disingenuous political statement ever contrived? A bundle of devious platitudinous promises of the sort that white people always offered the indigenous folk at a thousand crooked treaty councils? It would have been a little more satisfying, perhaps, if Ms. Warren had specified the mistakes made, e.g. I was falsely claiming a racial identity for career advancement. Now that’s an apology! “Listening and learning?” I dunno… sounds a little like groveling and pandering. Anyone can choke down a few bites of humble pie but please don’t make me eat that shit sandwich!
The Democratic contest may be peaking way too early. And Joe Biden hasn’t even had a chance to claim he is the out-of-wedlock grandson of W.C. Handy. There are indications that the political center is already a little tired of the Everything-Is-Racist trope that the party ran up the flagpole this summer. For The New York Times, it became the publicly acknowledged official editorial slant when newsroom chief Dean Baquet announced that the paper needed a replacement for the shredded gonfalon of RussiaGate.
That move by Mr. Baquet has more than a little quality of whistling past the graveyard. When the summer is over, ill winds will be blowing the SS Resistance close to the Reefs of Durham and Barr, when many of the ship’s officers — Ensigns Brennen, Clapper, Comey, Lynch, McCabe, and many others, perhaps even Admiral Obama — start perp-walking around the deck. What a mighty embarrassment that will be. The cry that “mistakes were made” won’t salvage the party’s reputation as it founders and sinks. Glug glug.
Previously Unpublished!
From the Jeff Greenaway Series
At Ponsonby Hall, a new Hampshire prep school for screw-ups, things are far from all right.
“Audaciously hilarious”
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Something Strange is going on at Camp Timahoe in Lost Indian, Vermont, summer of 1962.
“Rollicking fun”
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Great Summer Reading… JHK’s Hippie Novel!
“Simply the best novel about the 1960s.”
Read the first chapter here (click) on Patreon
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Only Seven Bucks!
JHK’s Three-Act Play
A log mansion in the Adirondack Mountains…
A big family on the run…
A nation in peril…
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