Coming to Amerika

Last updated on October 1, 2021

I heard so many people talking about how “outrageous” Joe Biden’s Covid-19 mandate speech was on September 9th, that I had to check it out on good old YouTube. I wanted to see it for myself, hear it from the horse’s mouth.

I could barely sit through it. The whole time all I could think was this: What a pool-pah.

A pool-pah is what Bokononists call a shit storm.

Biden was wearing a plum-colored suit, for chrissakes. It’s hard to take a grown man in a plum suit seriously. Does this color have some sort of occult significance? (That’s an open question to all readers. I’m familiar with the significance of purple, but plum is so specific.) Maybe after his talk he was planning to head straight over to the Masonic Lodge for bingo night. Everyone knows plum is a killer bingo color. Or maybe he was just donning his Professor Plum disguise.

Professor Plum. In the Conservatory. With a Candlestick.

Anthony Fauci. In the Gold Room. With a Hypodermic Needle.

Karl Marx. In the Closet. With a Dildo.

Uncle Joe delivered much of his speech in whispered tones, sharing his innermost thoughts with us privately, personally, as if we were perched on his lap like good little boys and girls. “We have the tools. Now we just have to finish the job – with truth, with science, with confidence,” he disingenuously murmured with his crusty old mummy lips. He was talking about getting everybody in the country inoculated.

He closed his bit by leaning forward and breathing “Get vaccinated!” into the mic. This was his whispered climax, the orgasmic culmination of his 27-minute ramble. Did Uncle Joe feel the collective, uncomfortable squirming in his lap? I doubt it. His focus was on following the last three steps in his script:

11. Clench fist when you say the word vaccinated.  12. Slap podium – Show them you mean it, Joe! 13. Don’t take any questions – Exit swiftly, stage right.

His podium slap was slightly mistimed. His swift exit was more of a shuffle. You can just feel Joe’s handlers grimacing each time he screws up.

Or are they grinning?

Old Swayback

I used to have this terrible old couch. I inherited it from a college dorm room, I think. I must have moved that couch a dozen times in my younger days – between dorms, apartments, rental houses. That couch was comfortable as hell. It sagged in all the right places. That’s how it got its name – Old Swayback. It was the perfect place to sit and eat an unevenly heated microwave burrito and watch an old Humphrey Bogart movie. Over the years it got to be pretty gross and smelly, due, no doubt, to the volume of absorbed fluids and gases and god-knows-what. Eventually it just had to go.

I’m just about to get rid of another Old Swayback. This one’s a concept, not a couch. Swayback Junior.

It’s a concept that I’ve carried around from place to place, a concept that’s brought me tons of comfort over the years. But just like Old Swayback the couch, Swayback Junior the concept is starting to smell a little weird. I think it might be time to let it go. I certainly can’t imagine carrying it forward into the next chapters of my life.

Here’s the gist it: Even the nastiest conspiracies have never really bothered me deep down, because, in and of themselves, they demonstrate how much effort is put into propagandizing Us. Basically, if They were not fundamentally afraid of Us, They would not spend so much time and energy trying to trick Us into accepting all Their bullshit. It’s obvious that They view Us as a herd of cattle that needs tending, and part of that tending is suppressing anything that might set Us off. Individually, We don’t pose much of a threat, but if a bunch of Us join forces, that could be a real problem. Basically, They’re worried about a cattle stampede. So it’s worth Their while to try to pacify Us.

The edicts of Swayback Junior declared that every elaborate lie and cover-up was proof that The Man was, in fact, at least a little bit afraid of Us. “Good!” I would say. “Let Them be afraid of Us and our stampede’n powers!” Swayback Junior was a beacon of hope. 

Nowadays, I’m starting to wonder.

Nowadays, it’s starting to feel like They’re not afraid of Us anymore. They’re starting to blurt things out loud, in broad daylight, about what They plan to do to Us. And as I look around me, aside from an occasional ear twitch or tail swish, most of the herd is just carrying on as usual, peacefully grazing. Professor Plum is telling Us to right to Our faces that Their “patience is wearing thin” and, by golly, They’re spooling up to do something about it. This is not the style of messaging We’re used to.

And yet…

Munch, munch. Swallow. Yawn. Munch, munch.

Where are all the alert and watchful eyes?! Where are all the tensely twitching legs?!

Munch, munch. Swallow. Dump. Munch, munch.

Spiritual Stampede

It’s obvious to me that Swayback Junior, as a concept, is ready to be put out to pasture. Goodbye, old friend. Thanks for the memories.

I need a new concept, a new story to tell myself. Something to help me sleep at night. Something I can tell the kiddos.

I’ll share with you what I have so far. I’m calling this new concept Bogie’s Burrito. I’m nixing the Swayback legacy naming convention, but at the same time honoring my fallen friends. Here’s the first draft:

Maybe, just maybe…all this increasingly aggressive, in-Our-face behavior by The Man in recent years is not evidence of some brilliant new offensive strategy. Maybe The Man is on defense. Maybe We are on the cusp of a spiritual awakening that is so fat and pregnant with Love that The Man is absolutely terrified. He’s panicking, freaking out. He’s afraid He’s going to lose His energetic hold on Us. He’s pulling out all His big guns as fast as He can in order to corral Us, prevent the inevitable: a spiritual stampede. But a spiritual stampede, sourced from within and tethered directly to Infinite Consciousness, does not manifest in the physical realm as a bunch of bleating, bumping heads and tripping, trotting feet like the stampedes of old. The Man knows this, but He’s stuck using conventional firepower like his biggest, baddest gun: Fear. Yes, Fear has the potential to do some damage, so He’s waving it around frantically. But We’ve seen that gun before, and to Us it’s starting to look more like a cap pistol than a cannon. We’re not afraid of that little toy! The more We see Him shouting and flailing about, the more We laugh – because We know that just means He’s getting desperate. He’s losing hold by the minute. We’ve got this!

Phil’s Two Cents

Whaddayathink? As we prepare to face the coming storm, can we find any comfort in wrapping ourselves up snugly in Bogie’s Burrito?

If we truly believe in it, I think it could do us some good. Our thoughts and beliefs are powerful that way.

And who knows? It may even be true.   

– “Phil”

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