Tainted Meat Market

Tainted Meat Market

By Paul Edwards
Information Clearing House
August 8, 2019

The Democratic Livestock Sales signal the start of our Presidential
election root canal with its pimps and whores money scramble,
evoking the pathos of a 4H sale of prize hogs and heifers.

4-H stock is pure blue ribbon, though which can’t be said of this sad
herd of pampered bipeds, bawling and bellowing through their own
live auction.

What if their number were an embarrassment of riches instead of
an embarrassment?

What if there were a basis in the derelict Democratic Party for
elevation of the most visionary, acute, and ethically, ecologically,
economically rigorous and penetrating minds America could offer?

A fantasy, of course.

The Parties--malformed twins joined at the wallet--are giant
filtering mechanisms to identify and exclude minds of integrity
and the morally courageous.

They are the Praetorian Guard of Capitalist Imperialism that has
abused the world with impunity for so long that it believes it’s
invincible, despite its serial humiliations.

That hubris--that vulgar, ugly arrogance--and the cruelty and folly
that define it, is a poison always fatal to empires.

The hardening of America’s aged political arteries has had the odd
result that neither political Snake Oil Wagon owns a massive
tranche of the people.

Odder yet, people get it.

Republicans, ever the liveried footmen of wealth, are just window
dummies, performing seals cued by the decrepit Kentucky swamp
turtle, shilling for the Capitalist Cancer’s owners, conning both
the prosperous, and gullible hicks, that theirs is the true gospel
of virtue.

Finally, with Main Street dissed and dismissed by Republicans, and
the hillbillies dumped on and disabused, they aren’t buying the old
catechism and instead are rallying to the Standard of No Standards,
the What Me Worry Banner of The Bozo, where the pustulent sores
of their closet racism, sexism and xenophobia can be flaunted
openly as MAGA badges.

Democrats?

A clique run by a brittle, doddering Crone and Geezer Politburo
mired in mendacity, paralyzed in a retro Cold War brainfreeze,
smelling of yesteryear, of betrayals and cowardice and moral
failure, like the cowboy in the song,“...always in search of,
and one step in back of, himself and his slow-moving dreams.”

In deep thrall to Big Money, they stand foursquare for the few who
own it all, and are horrified by rising demands of the young, sharp
and vital who might be theirs if they offered anything but visionless
stasis, baseless, perilous hatred of Russia, and endless money for
the War Machine that will destroy us.

And the answer..?

Don’t look for it, as Saint George of Carlin told us, “Ain’t gonna
be one.”

Vote, if you like; do a citizen’s paramount duty, if it you pleaseth.

But don’t hold your breath for, “hope and change.”

Don’t chant, “yes we can” again.

And never fool yourself that we did it before and we can do it
again, because we’ve never done this before.

Never.

Greenland lost 10 billion tons of ice yesterday.

We’re in uncharted waters.

Here be dragons.