The Journal


Serving the Metropolitan Area


Since 1872


October 18th




By Jack Parnell - retired Congressman and Independent Presidential candidate


Syndicated by Acme Features 


          Who could have imagined the elections as have already transpired in this chaotic century - let alone forecast the next?

          Were hubris was bottled and sold by liters, this President resting in a rest home set up in a cabana at Mar a Lago, that Vice, Cabinet and Presidential factotums and relatives laboring under indictments and our divided, dysfunctional Congress would, between them, retire the National Debt, bring Zazzbo, Kim Da One and Comandante Cuadros to heel and set the e-con'my back on track instead of alternatin' the speculative bubble with their dead-cat bounce.

          Now that the same old Congress as is popular among five percent of the voters has been mostly returned to office due to the money and the gerrymandering, soon enough, now, them big parties will both have started nominating their 2020 candidates as seem mostly like the 2016 rejects... the Wife or the Son (and brother), most likely again (since so many teavengelical Holy Ghosters are in the running that they’ll likely cancel one another out). Or maybe there will be an upset – some scandal or another and an old, dark hyena will slip in… this Mormon, that other Mormon from China, the used-to-be Attorney General, the judge turned televangelist or, maybe, the televangelist turned Guv'nor.  The black doctor or pizza guy or one of the Spanish guys or, maybe, Condoleezza!  Might be Brother Ross will throw his raggedy ol’ Stetson back into that ring again for old times' sake if his ear infection cleans up, Warren Buffet?  Nader too... or somebody like him.  Or some newer wolverine - another businessman – not Cuban, maybe the Tesla guy, the Starbucks guy?  Hell, even that Martin dude as raised the price of pills to fight off zombie plagues to five thousand and just got pardoned!  Martin or Charlie Sheen, maybe, or Kiefer Sutherland or the chicken seller.  Or one or another of those hedge fund guys comes back.   A Libertarian… as’ll wrangle three percent of the vote, maybe the guy from KISS, as might strike five.  Or the cyber-killer, or magician.  Roseanne Barr if Djonald gets trumped in the primaries – she’s good for her two unless Johnny Knoxville throws his back into the ring.  Some old lefty like the Bern or an un-nominatable old radical centrist like Rudy G. or Bloomberg or Lieberman. Maybe, too, that Jesse Jackson-Al Sharpton party gets off the ground, the Christians... and a dozen other spoilers, as might even keep our next President from going into office with even a forty percent plurality.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but won’t Jared Kushner be of age come 2020… he’s already running the country while Ivanka wrangles with the Dominicans and Palestinians at the UN and his father in law counts the imaginary lizards scarpering across his bedclothes whilst devouring cheeseburgers under that tent at Mar a Lago.

If the CNC did shape up as a new party, running Austin, myself or someone else as wanted the job... maybe, even, the both of us under two new parties… we could declare moral victory if we picked off a few states, threw the mess into the House of Representatives, then went home to celebrate. Could do that!

          Won't though. We're in to win, not spoil. No Naders in this man's CNC!

          I'd hope the CNC would do a better job of keeping our issues up front than did the Reforms or Greens, and focus on the facts. Which are that our two institutional parties' lick the boots of their Chinese, Wall Street or Arab paymasters and distract the voters with scapegoats cravenly as gasoline mobs of Nairobi kept their corrupt dictator seated by rushing out with cries of "Mwizi!" (or "thief!") and setting totally innocuous bystanders aflame whenever the finger of scandal began circling the heads of the powers as be.

          The Trumpster and the Bern were on to something about both institutional parties being corrupt.  Almost bust a gut laughing when that Prince Rebus or whatever his name… one of those fired guys… gloated that the Grand Ol’ Party was working the grassroots.  The way they were bribin’ delegates, the only grassroots should be the voters.

          Since the ex-Aygee, that one as lost his last real race to a dead man and fears calico cats, has all but stated anyone raising the matter of who really bombed St. Louis is unpatriotic, maybe a traitor, I'll pass on to simpler times in simpler places.

          In America since, at least, Strom Thurmond's ol’ '48, electoral division's been less economic and geographical, more racial (cunningly coded) and cultural. Ancient concepts of liberal and conservative are more or less useless as coherent ideological statements; only as character defects which each are fond of flinging at the other like dead cats... hey, I'll admit to flinging my share of pussies at the both! The liberal's a fag, and the conservative, having lost its balancing-the-checkbook imperative, is code for them as want to turn the clock back to the fifties… 1950, those some; 1850, the most.

          An age of political floundering's dropped down upon us. This Republic founded by adventurers, liberated by patriots, made wealthy by innovators and secure by dogface heroes is being dragged back to the status of spectacle and spectatorship... a mob, no better than those Romans as filled arenas dedicated to Caligula and Nero to watch lions eat Christians; duly destined to themselves be eaten by those Christians, in the end.  I mean the Romans and their Gods… lions, these days, get shot by dentists.

          Democracy, of course, was already old when BC turned AD. The Greek politicians had to leave town if voted out'n office with broken pieces of pottery called ostraka... they'd be ostracized. Stealing stamps, complainin' on airplanes… not to mention them airport restroom follies, let alone hanky panky with the Russians… and turnin' pages finally got the likes of Newt, Rosty, Larry, Flynn and Foley out like gum from under our shoes, but they, at least, kept their homes and pensions (‘cept that FBI guy as pissed off POTUS, or was he CIA)  McQuade?  Or Newt who, at least, keeps coming back from the Realm Below, like olDicky Nixon and various others of the walking dead as mostly inhabit the television… if’n you call winning the nomination of the Natural Law Party a resurrection.  But there's never a shortage of chittering, chattering seventy-something termites to take their place.

          Been said that ol’ Jerry Brown’s thinking of changing his mind ‘bout retirement!

          People crave modern ways and toys, as NWO poster boy Ithiel de Sola Pool once pronounced: "seeing commodities, seeing how people live or hearing popular music." Trouble is, them as see want to have, and can't. Dissatisfaction follows… in China or Iran no less than here. "They make you feel you're not a complete or total person unless you use that particular brand of deodorant," says Chuck Smith from stage right. "You can't truly obtain full manhood until you use that particular cologne. The whole system is based upon creating a fictitious need in your mind... for the luxuries, the ease, the soft things in life."  Ask Eliot Spitzer, John-Boy Edwards, the Downtown Abbey Schlockmeister, the Wienermobile and the Weinsteinermobile!  Ask the Secret Service.

          Thus the pandering to microconstituencies as play off against each other in the negative advertising to depress voter turnout! That's part of the plan. If the polls show you down, say 45 to 40 percent... with fifteen percent as don't give a rat's ass... you can try moving the other guy's folks into your camp. Or... if you've done your research and read that True-the-Vote playbook... you can sling mud so thick as, even if it makes another five percent of your people stay home in disgust, it makes twelve percent of your opponent's people do likewise.  

          Unless, of course, there's a Catfish in the race, sweepin' that riverbottom!  Makin’ the living better for the people at the bottom instead of either harassing or cosseting them on the top, long as they do right and pay their taxes.

          So, let me throw out a few million votes.  If elected, first order of business would be to raise taxes on the one percent and the ninety-nine percent and cut handouts to the forty-seven percent and the one percent.  Tax the income – forty five percent tops with another ten percent until the National Debt shrinks back to ten trill.  Tax the gas, the cellphones and the Twitters too… five or even ten cents a call won’t mean the end of the world, and it’ll probably rid us of most telemarketers as understand that their message ain’t worth a dime.  Get rid of all them Monday holidays, too, chop heads off any turkey donated to the White House for Thanksgiving and pardon, instead, those relatives in Michigan and Alabama who beat the crap out of TV reporters as came after them at the scene... one a shooting, other a fire... asking: "But, how do you feel?" while the gurneys were haulin' away the remains of their loved ones.

          Not that I'd let myself get boxed in, as Wilhelm Reich did... blaming all his troubles on men from outer space... but I do sometimes hold to the conviction that this world's under the influence of evil spirits as populate the scary books and movies. "There is some kind of force out there that needs our energy," says the Dr. Angela Browne-Miller, up at that White House Conference on Families, "that feeds on it like a shark eats little fish... keeping people unintelligent as a form of social control.

          "Keeping the human species unaware of the fact that it is not in control of its intelligence is a way of controlling us as a life form."

          If there are bad aliens out there, well, I can state without equivocating, that the CNC will stand agin' 'em! Even if ol' Jenks out in Owsley County wants to hire 'em to pick his sour persimmons.

          And even if it's just plain old human cussedness, as'll vote for the dead-cat reforms of our institutional parties, the CNC can do its best to amuse you in the process. Least we can do is tie pretty bows an' yellow ribbons onto all them dead pussies as go whizzing through God's own hallowed, depleted ozone!