They look like sweet town-folk, salf-of-the-earth, flannel and jeans. People that watch the sun come up. Handsome. Christian. My God their pies are good. Killers who pray your mamby-pamby principles die with you, slaughtered in the street, your thoughtful guts lapped up by well-trained Republican dogs named Dog. (Damn. I forgot the warning. “Warning.”) But! But! “How did this happen?” as the flagpole stakes your throat, as unprecedented wheezes through gurgled blood and your solidarity-warm pink hat floats down Constitution Avenue, used and dark and alone. You didn’t see them multiply. You wouldn’t see them grow — in Kansas and Missoura, Texas and ‘Bama, Ken-Tuck-y, right beneath your woke-ness and your museum arrogance and your holier-than-thou Lululemon mindfulness. Yeah, see? You’re kinda responsible. They knew they were safe. They knew you wouldn’t think it, then wouldn’t believe it — “Love is Love,” right? — “We’re all in this together,” right? — as Proud Sons and their Daughters trained for war right under your upturned noses, groomed generals in broad daylight, bought Armani camo, nice blue suits (they already had the bullets and the guns left over from squirrel practice) — red necks covered by executive collars, red ties to hide the splatter. They left their hayseeds at home this time. You were ready for zombies, sunken-eyed okies whose farms were ripped away by BigBanks, grandpas with four teeth chattering all the way to the West Coast (or something like that). Oh, they had your number! Talk about stealth! Their fabric was fine, the Stanford and Yale and Harvard degrees genuine — plus “Wow! He lifts weights, he’s so sexy!” (See my companion lecture on MetroSexual Roles in the Conservative Cause.) “Consensus?” you pleaded. “Let’s talk,” you bleated because — let’s face it — you’re afraid to fight with anything other than words; and refusing to believe evil exists and is usually HOT and BEAUTIFUL, you left the Gate to the Sanctuary unguarded, let WhiteNation and WomansPlace shit defile ravage the Holy of Holies, our Temple, us. Maybe if they had worn identifying armbands? I know what you’re thinking because that’s what you do — I hear your “protest”: “Wouldn’t we be just like them if we used our fists instead of words?” “If we don’t move beyond labels?” “Help them heal?” That’s why they’ll win, StupidBuford and LazyEyeLorraine, because they listened to a real Grandma who said: “Don’t leave your head so open your brains fall out.” You thought she was old — she only had one dress — you never saw her on Facebook — Insta? — and then, and then: after Tucker and Rush and Hannity Ltd. after Laura and Huckabee and Kayleigh visited; giving guns to teenage saps doning MAGA hunting caps (so they’d know who not to cap); after speeching D+ mobs, after fisting fascist slobs — (did you get the little Eliot homage?) — cops bleeding out on marble blinded betrayed — the hunt was on! Smoke-out the out-raged enemy like rabbits or Funny Cousin Earl, who voted for Carter and was then dead on his river-raft, thinking he was family; target those limp-wristed Dem-o-crats whose Cities call to Our Young as Jezebel tempted Jesus (it’s in the Bible); forget, TexasTed, that HE CALLED YOUR WIFE UGLY — AND YOU LET HIM; we’ve got to corner all codlers, socialists and fags, show them MTG would win a pig-fight, make that Puerto Rican loudmouth BITCH run the Gov’ment Maze to her death, execute California, hang the un-Hung Next-in-Line — am I being dramatic? Because what they want, what LittleHornedMan masked with this “false-flag not-coup” — right? — is to come: your ideas, shred like your well-intentioned intestines, disemboweled from well-toned tummies, blood sausage for rabid-stupid hungry children — your ideas, your precious and diverse ideas that helped BobJoe survive his nail-to-the-head accident and paid for his black-hating diabetic momma’s nursing home, high-falutin' ideas like Medicare and Social Security and vaccines (CONSPIRACY! CONSPIRACY! ) — equality — dead with you. * Liberals, people who can think and probably don’t want to die (martyrdom being highly overrated), listen to Grandma, please: “If it walks like a duck and quacks, it’s dinner.” There are no town-folk. There are no Christians. There are no rights. There are armies. This is America. And their soldiers will sip sherry right before carving out your heart. (Yes, this will be on the test.)
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G Beckman 