Written by Tim Hollis

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Saturday, 28 July 2007

In light of recent and previous cave-ins by the wussiecrat majority in congress, we should all, by now, be disabused of any notions of political hope. But I have a dream. Actually, it happens sometimes in those Intermediate Bardos between sleep and what is called the wakeful state, or better regarded as the sanctioned hallucination, where a cosmic crack occurs in the collapse of a probability wave and you think you might be waking up to a sane world.

So, my dream, well, nightmare...it was awful: An idiotic leader had been installed by a neo-reagonite contingent of twisted pricks warmed over from the contra-hell of the eighties. They had declared war on Iraq, of all places, and were constantly sending diplomats in the form of highly aggressive lesbians abroad to threaten and scold any country that refused to comply with their criminal agenda or religious superstitions...I know it sounds crazy...

Anyway, we had virtually voted into some black hole Diebold machines and then five shills on the supreme court effected a coup, declaring, 'You assholes don't know how to vote. We'll vote.' So they voted for the loser...the winner?. Oh he was an amiable type who would never deign to interfere with fascism in the making...some black women in congress tried to intervene and I was rooting for them but they were dismissed as belligerent and, in a twist of irony theretofore unsurpassed, the loser presided ceremoniously over his own deposing.

It seems so real when you're dreaming this shit. Anyway, the news media were a coagulate of bewildered dishrags in thrall with the willingly complicit and reduced to absurdists in self-parody. There was introduced a blend of Orwellian news-speak and Cheneyesque boardroom jargon, such as Clear Skies and Healthy Forests and Iraqi Freedom and No Child Left Behind (just to cite a few) while any agencies conducive to those ends were maniacally sabotaged by mouth-breathing appointees.

Unsatiated by having heaped even more riches, if it can be believed, upon the rich, it was now time to relegate the population to abject slavery, bringing it in line with globalistic ambitions. A plethora of outsourcers, offshorers and their lesser, yet no less enthusiastic, offsuckers emerged. While these mugs were delivering irreversible blows to the economy, the war profiteers sallied forth with a vehemence that would hold up to shame all those namby pamby totalitarian disasters of the past.

Domestic and international laws were rendered to the document shredders as dissenters and people standing in the wrong place, such as in their homes, were rendered to black sites around the globe. A few 'terrst' attempts were foiled in spite of Homeland Security and we were protected from evildoers the likes of Cat Stephens who, lest we forget, penned that anthem for international terror, Peace Train. One shudders to think of the devastation a guy like that could visit on an already crippled nation.

Oh yeah, then there was a storm on the gulf coast and no one could get a drink of water because this was no longer the country that had conducted the Berlin airlift, indeed, had set foot on the goddamn moon.

And then you wake up.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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