The Journal
Serving the Metropolitan Area
Since 1872
January 8th
NEW FRONTIERS of
CONTEMPT!
By Jack Parnell - retired Congressman and Independent Presidential
candidate
Syndicated
by Acme Features
Have to confess
so, now, a'fore "Snake" Carville, “Sloppy”
Steve Bannon, Karl Rove, Ralph Reed, Robbie Mooch, Anthony Mooch, Stevie Minooch, Screamin’ Howie Dean, Ronna MacDonna, Crazy Abrams, Prince Rebus, Brad Forsale, Debbie Wasshername or whomsoever
newbie Publocrats pluck from that great river of pig
sewage as are called consultancies to trash me, come next election season...
My boys, they read "Souljacker"!
Now, if you deem the
parenting persuasion a class, you'll find males of the species divided between
those who cut their intellectual teeth on D.C. comics, as opposed to them as
grew up on Marvels. (Yeah, there were adolescents as swore by the undergrounds…
Trashman and Pissgums and Mister Natural… also those
who never tackled anything more challenging than "Archie" or "$crooge McDuck", maybe, but
let's toss the both.)
Anyway, I'm proud to
say I was a D.C. boy, grew up a D.C. man and stayed so; and not only ‘cause the
Senator brought me up to the big, bad city. Pick up a vintage Batman or a Superman...
Green Lantern, even, before the movie... and there unrolled a world before you,
world in black and white (at least between the covers, where things mattered).
Troubled men in spandex with masks and capes, bound on savin'
the world, want it or don’t. Those Marvel heroes seemed suspicious; all that psychological
hosing hanging out. Spiderman, Thor and
the Hulk… not to mention Iron Man, (Iron’s brittle and it rusts, couldn’t Tony Starkweather have upgraded to Steel Man?)… they all smelt like liberals to me; liberal Democrats!
Like the rasslers on the WCW as opposed to the real
stuff on WWF before Ted Turner tanked and the animal lovers chopped off Vince’s
nuts. Might suffice for witty
conversation over quiche with Woody Allen, Babs and Bono, but not the sort
you'd want watching your back should some Souljacker pop
out'n a manhole.
This bothers me. Where
I come from, s'alright for bodies in the funnies to
dress up in Mardi Gras drag, whisper stuff like "The joy of life is the
power to take life!", long as it's understood we have a villain here. But D.C. and Marvel have loosened
their entry requirements to any old cosplay freek and have been joined by dozens of insistently dirty
competitor-trolls, and Souljacker's their hero!
Now, if the world is
a zero-sum society, who wouldn't care to augment their potency at the expense
of oafs who deserve getting their hearts ripped out, blood drunk
and them thin blue vapors as seem to represent someone’s essence sniffed up like lines of happy powder? Nuns, Morty Scow out
in California tells me, nuns… beating each other senseless over
the expired produce grocers set out - ripping off habits and rollin’ round in dumpsters like the gals at Slick Phil's
Catwalk, over the Ohio line. Carmelites strangling Sallies with rosaries! Banks charging the fifteen-buck fees to cash ten dollar checks.
Eight six-buck-an-hour wino Santas (no minwage for independent contractors since jolly old Saint
Nick can accept jolly old tips) gunned
down this past Christmas season (two by ISIS, six by “domestic” terrorists as
is our new euphemism for madmen), not to mention Denver... where the malls sent
their Kringles to meet with kids in the county jail
so's the mall-bomber couldn't get at them.
Donald Trump – pere et fils!
The plague!
The war and the inflacession!
The Donkeycrats...
And them Souljacker folks - they've budgeted two hundred-eighty million
for their movie that's to open just in time for next Christmas, barring
another strike or variant.
Menacing as it may sound,
these days, I grew up in a country where kids rode bicycles (without mandatory
helmets) to schools (without metal detectors and contraband-sniffing Rottweilers)!
Even went trick or treating of a Halloween… soliciting, then eating, candy bars
as weighed something when you held them in your hand, like Mexican pesos used
to do! People got off and on buses, trains and planes without armed cretins
making them strip down and take rectal probes before strangers and family while
guiltily complying with the demand: “Your papers, please!” Civilized folk
didn’t eavesdrop on other people’s conversations or use little flying bugs to
peep into windows and take pictures of their privates to post on You Tube. That
place used to be called the Land of the Free, where we Americans said what we
thought and did what we damn well wanted, though if anything we did
happened to violate common sense or common-sense law, we paid the consequences,
and, mostly, without whining like all those “Pity Me!” MAGAteen
refuseniks facing the Omega Variant death penalty for
frolicking at a Lake of the Ozarks bash (as caused those envious foreigners to
call us the “Home of the Brave”).
No screechy atheists
kicking over Christmas crčches in the town square. No white lawyers pretendin'
to represent the woo-woo-Indians (as apart from the from-India Indians) filing lawsuits
to ban the Star Spangled Banner n’ Declaration of Independence as defamatory! They’re staying on their reservations, so to
speak, protesting offensive MBL and NFL mascots. Nobody giving you the sack for having said the
n-word thirty years ago after some nword stuck a gun
into your face.
And nobody applying to
work down at the copy shop having to take psychological tests that ask: "Would
you rather sleep with your mother or kiss a boy?"; then selling your
answers to the insurance companies.
I know whereof I speak
on the topic of juvenile delinquency! Back when I was a pup, boys drove hot-rods
up and down Strips, talked back in class – read Henry Miller and "Catcher in
the Rye" under the sheets, with flashlights. Comic books, too! Everywhere you looked lurked sex and drugs and
rock and roll.
We grew scalp and facial
hair, burned bras... the gals, at least,
in them days, mostly... once we left school, we joined the Army and burned
babies, or else resisted the government and burned draft cards. Blew up the
random toilet, too! People supposed to know their place and drink from toilety-smellin’ water fountains set out especially for them
forgot to do so, or just plain refused. Girls discovered birth control and...
since the dollar had already begun devaluing down to what pesos used to be...
took on careers of their own, not just jobs to fill until meeting Mister Right.
We were rotten kids,
as the likes of Bill O’Reilly and Mike Pence never tired of telling us until
the one six when MAGA turned out to be a playpen of rotten homicidal kids, and not at all ashamed at being so. Now our
progeny, even our progeny's progeny – these are pale revenants at the banquet of
youthful sybaritism... sure, they have their sex
and drugs and music, but all these are derivative, corporate, watered down and,
most probably, being videotaped for sale to Rupert Murdoch if he hasn’t died
this week. The young are polite, indistinct... Bidenesque…
except, now and again, until some explode and gun down enemies or strangers. Or their families.
Who wouldn't love kids
like that? We don't! We hate 'em!
We plant’em in private madrassas, as teach Israel blew
up the St. Louis arch while Satan was out seeding Wyoming with fake dinosaur
fossils, or in public schools unfit to train an organ-grinder's monkey… then go
ape when they turn twenty-one and can't make change. "We were surprised at
just how much animosity there is toward young people in the employer
community," concludes Robert Zemsky, this pollster for the University of
Pennsylvania in whose focus groups, the response was almost scatological.
"The trouble is
if you dump on young people long enough, it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy."
People of any age ain’t worth what they used to be, especially Americans as expect
too many toys and necessities for employers to pay them to buy when there are
Chinese kids available for a bowl of rice, or voicemail and robocalling apps
for the price of a cheap CD. The private
and public sector termites, elected or not, oppress us because we believe we deserve
to be kicked round. We've crossed that line this Frenchman, Jacques Legoff, I think he was, drew in the bloody sand a tad a’fore that 1963 incident at Dallas... as he called his "New
Frontier of Contempt". But I believe it was P. T. Barnum who first noted that
Americans love to be fooled. We embrace cretinous
bullies who kick us round then, every four years, try to shake our hands. In
Nigeria, they lynch glandhandlers,
political or otherwise, due to the quantity of occult villains said to be able
to snatch testicles through a dude's trousers, or robes... whatever... just by
shaking hands.
Back in 1963, it was
only the leftist college professors as drank tea with pinkie fingers raised who
mocked the American public as “sheeple”. Now, we have right-wing teabaggers with
three-day stubbles in red ballcaps and sweaty Kid
Rock hoodies as do the same.
Now that Sleepy Joe
is sleeping in the White House basement while Kamalala
rules the roost and signs Federal legislation to overturn state and local rent controls,
just like she did when she was San Francisco’s D.A. and main squeeze of the
Feinstein/Willie Brown/Leota Helmsley
troika of working and producing-class eradifications and
evictions while that last lame dick in the White House as stoked the 2021 insurrection
limped off into his casino and reality show mental sunset, praying that the Grungy
Old Party will choose another successor from among the less repulsive progeny
to Djonald, or Bush the Third, or some slender man
who argues that the world began in 4004 BC. Also more Mormons, the economic aspirationist, unsanctified Governor or the little Senator from
Florida, the neo-Secessionist or cat-fearing ex-Attorney General and the one as
played a prosecutor on the tube… the Doctor, the Lawyer, the crypto-pirate; the
Professor, the Movie Star, another billionaire with funny hair and a goofy wife
as well as, probably, the ghost of Gilligan. (RIP Mary Anne, we still missya!) Various Democrats...
speaking of rising from the dead after the 2021 race war meltdown... brushing
the maggots off their cuffs and falling into lockstep behind their trite and
true old gerontocracy: perhaps the sleepy old Prez again.
Or the hot to trot
black and from-India Indian Acting Prez and Vice, or
the loud woman (on the left) as claimed to be an Indian… er,
Native American… or, if moderate and progressive wings start flying in circles,
some old retread again. That
other Vice from Y2K or the brain-injured former First Lady or Swiftboat Sam again, the Bern-man or else maybe a fresh
(under eighty) face. Maybe the pretend
Mexican, a Texican whose band just couldn’t cut it –
twice! One of those real Latino twins,
doomed to years of ‘splainin’ that they’re not the
progeny of Fidel or even Raul! That pornstar lawyer, out of jail now! The billionaires! Martin O’Malley! Just a sneakier articulation of that delusion promoted
by Martin Regalia, of the National Chamber of Commerce, "...we're not
(just) the rats on the treadmill, we're the rats that built the treadmill."
Are we bein’ set up for another Clinton-Bush pigfight…
or, maybe, a Hugh Romney-Hunter Biden scuffle like something out of those
Italian commix where the vampires in the nursing homes fall over one another
for a bottle of blood? Like the
honorable ex-Senator Lott used to be fond of saying: "Republicans are from
Mars, Democrats from Venus." (Neither of which is habitable.) Some less charitable sorts prefer consigning their
faction to Heaven, and those other guys to Hell. (I even sort of pity Anne Coulter, who progressed
from calling her enemies “atheists” to “traitors”, then “demons” from the fiery
pit… what does she do for an encore? How
will she deal with me?)
I think it's time we
had a President from, and for, the Earth.
|
CLICK the CATFISH to go to
PAST and PRESENT EPISODES of "BLACK HELICOPTERS" and to OTHER JACK PARNELL COLUMNS |