The Moment of Truth — December 15, 2001

Always Don’t Look on the Bright Side

Hi, I’m mejeffdorchen and this is the Moment of Truth, the lone stem-cell that’s the last hope of rejuvenating the decrepit heart of the body politic.

I was born in Detroit, and out there we’re raised to believe that if you fantasize about something in enough detail it will definitely not happen. So you should always fantasize about the worst possible scenario, to prevent its occurrence. The destructive effects this philosophy can have on the mind are easy to imagine, which is why I gave it up long ago, by going to a therapist and starting each day with a healthy bowl of serotonin reuptake inhibitors. But every now and then world events conspire to reactivate those lonely, forgotten neural pathways. Such are the times we live in.

We’re all interested to know what Israel’s gonna do once they’ve destroyed the civilian government of the Palestinians, leaving them with no social structure except that provided by militants whose members frequently blow themselves up in public thoroughfares.

I can’t believe Arafat’s still alive. At least, he is as I’m writing this. Yassir, that’s my Arafat. I expect he’ll be dying or retiring soon, though. And the question will remain, why couldn’t he get a decent shave?

Dick Army’s retiring. One of his corporate masters must have made him a space at the table. Look for him in the private sector, and just do a quick check to see if his new position has anything to do with legislation he championed while in Congress. I’m not saying he’s a crook. I’m just saying that you will probably come to that conclusion yourselves, as you would in a thousand other similar cases involving politicians cashing in on their favors to corporate whipcrackers.

Dick Army. Tom Delay. Are these pseudonyms, noms de guerre? Like Che and Lenin and Stalin and Attorney General John Asscrack? Because let me tell you, if your name is Richard you have your choice of several diminutives, such as Rick, Rich, or even Chard. So if you’re called Dick you’ve made that choice, the choice to be called Dick. It is not the public’s choice, but yours. So then if you act like one and people link your name with a derogatory euphemism for the human male shlong, as far as I’m concerned you have no one to blame but yourself. And if you’ve tried to get people to call you Rick or Chard, and still they won’t, maybe you should just face the fact that you are one. And if you go into politics waving around the name Dick Army, you’re just #8217; there’s just no way you could be any kind of nice guy. You’ve got an agenda behind that name, there. Just like you’ll never have a Republican attorney general named Scrumptious Puddin or Frieda Crooks. If the magazine Soldier of Fortune went into producing porn films, Dick Army would be a good name for an actor in one of them.

But now they’re saying that Tom Delay is even more of one than Dick Army. He could out-dick Army. But Tom Delay is not such a good Soldier of Fortune porn name. It’s a mediocre porn name at best. It would be a good name for a star of porn films centering around sexual dysfunction. Like the kind Pepsi made starring Bob Dole and Britney Spears. Please don’t put Bob Dole on television. That’s terrorism. He’s got viagra juice coming out of his tear ducts, his eyes are bugging out and he’s sweating semen, he’s clutching that little pencil like a coin-operated love meter registering Super-hot Love Machine.

I remember not long ago some schizo went off his meds and ran around the Capitol trying to shoot Tom Delay. Accident or design? I don’t know. I’m not willing to say. But here’s what to look for in the coming months: many schizos will go off their meds. This will do for John Asscrust what the Constitution won’t let him do, maybe: dissolve Congress. Or he may decide to suspend the Constitution and then just dissolve Congress by edict. Or maybe the President will just executively order himself the power to do anything he wants, and then Asscrust can be the one who makes sure that punishments fit crimes. If you criticize Asscrust you will be forced to wear a burqa and forbidden to go anywhere except in the company of a male relative. Because that’s what you must want, if you criticize Asscrust and thereby aid and abet the terrorists. You must want the burqa, so by golly Asscrust will give you the burqa! That’s the only way to show the terrorists that they haven’t won, by making our dissidents wear the burqa. That’s Asscrust’s solution, that’s his philosophy, that’s his idea, that’s what passes for policy in John Asscrud’s Justice Department.

This is his idea, and I know it sounds stupid because I’m purposely presenting it in its most stupid possible light. His idea is, there are these terrorist enemies of the US who hate us because we have democracy, so we must suspend democracy to catch the terrorists, otherwise the terrorists will have won. And anyone who disagrees with that must love the terrorists and therefore want to live like them, so treating dissidents in an undemocratic way is fine, since they must, like the terrorists they love, hate democracy as much as the terrorists do.

But Asscrust, you may ask. Aren’t we then rewarding these dissidents rather than punishing them, since we’re giving them what they love, which is undemocratic treatment? Well, no, says Asscrunch, I’m being sarcastic, like if you say to a little kid, well, if you like crying so much, why don’t I beat the crap out of you so you’ll have more to cry about.

And it’s at that point you start picturing Asscrust falling under a steamroller driven by a schizo who’s gone off his meds. And you think, boy, that movie Brazil was really good, but I don’t want to live in a world like that. But here we’ve given license to our government, the government that let Asscrust get in power in the first place, to fight a war on terrorism with no geographic boundaries, no clearly defined enemy, and no time limit. So, let’s say our crazy government wanted to bring back an enemy to justify all the things they liked to justify by pointing at the threat of communism. They could just make it terrorism. This was a clear and present danger, to anyone raised in the Detroit area, the day after New York was attacked. It was clear we were beginning the era of justification of any government action by the threat of terrorism. So if Asscramp wants to go arrest Archibald Buttle or Tuttle, he can just send his secret cops to go and get him, hold him without charges, even execute him in secret if they want to, though of course he and his department claim that they would ever want to. It’s an insult to suggest the executive branch would ever abuse their power to arrest and incarcerate anyone they want without trial. Therefore you should give the executive this power, to avoid insulting them.

So Senator Leahy might ask, “Well, why would you want to hold someone without telling them the charges against them?”

And Assbutt says, “We wouldn’t do that. The executive order doesn’t say that.”

“Well, what does it say?”

“Nothing yet except that we can do whatever we want to people suspected of having something to do with terrorism. But by ‘whatever we want’ we don’t mean anything objectionable. We are reasonable people. Are you saying we’re not? Huh? You want summa diss?”

“So you want the power to do anything you want, but you won’t do anything bad? Then why don’t we just list all the good things and say you can do them, and all the bad things and say you can’t do them, and let that be the rule?”

“Well, that’s just rude, tying our hands because you don’t trust us. I’m hurt. I’m insulted. I’m John Asscrust. I will dress you in a burqa and chase you around the justice department with a paddle.”

And who do we have to blame for letting this Asscrust slip through the crack? Please see my archived essay, Democratic Wimps To Let Ashcroft Slide. But the short answer is the Democrats. And the Republicans. There’s a cabal of ineptitude in Washington. It’s like price-fixing, the politicians have all got together and agreed not to let their intelligence rise above a certain level, not to do anything smarter than Sonny Bono would have done. What would Sonny do? We have such a collusion of dunces in power now that a clever enough fascist could set himself up pretty good. Hey, I’m always ready to be shipped off to a gulag, I mean, I’m from Detroit. I’ve always thought I’d die in an interrogation room being beaten by one of Oliver North’s Shoney’s Buffet-fed shtarkers. I was brought up getting my teeth drilled without anesthetic. I’m ready. But what are all you wussies gonna do?

I think a healthy clamp-down of fascism might be just what you marshmallows need. Slap you chumps awake. If you like the kind of solidarity terrorism has brought to our land, you’re gonna love fascism. You’d be surprised how cozy a family gets, huddled around a bowl of microwave dogmeat, with the voice of G. Gordon Liddy booming over a tinny loudspeaker calling the faithful to evening prayer.

And what’s the point of all this purposeful evil and stupidity? It’s all to distract us from noticing the corporate conjurers picking our pockets. Jesus, I paid more tax last year than Pepsi did. I paid more for the upkeep of highways than Pepsi did, Pepsi who ships millions of dollars worth of sugar water over those highways and uses my airwaves to broadcast its weird hypercapitalist porn. But, you know, we’ve got the Sonny Bono accord. So no help there. And in the media there’s a similar agreement. There’s an agreement among the press that once the trail of a story leads to the gross yet completely unnecessary disparity in wealth around the world, the journalistic brain automatically shuts down. They’ve had chips put into their heads for just this purpose. They come free with a facelift or a hair transplant.

Oh, but remember. September eleventh changed everything. And I’m still stuck in the past, before there were terrorists. So don’t worry, chumps. Let the madman rave on. It’s the only way to guarantee your safety. Someone’s gotta fantasize the worst-case scenario, or it might happen.

Doing my very best, I’m mejeffdorchen and this has been the Moment of Truth.