Columns » Bob Lancaster

Guess what



If you did the right thing in the election this week, I hope you've made a will and got your affairs in order. It's not lead pipe they'll be coming for you but I'm just saying.

And it might be short of the actual adios mothereffer. You might just be rounded up and sent to one of these re-education camps, where you'll learn to think different and better, unlearn all your stubborn wrong opinions, and then they might do the Big Pussy on you anyway, or a mackerel could happen causing them to have mercy and only confiscate everything you've got and deport you to God knows where. Rumania probably.

But probably just whack you. It's easier. Then they won't have to think about you further. Won't have to worry about you coming back and doing unto them. All traces gone that you were ever here, and all your squawking. Once Winston Smithed, you can't have been ethnically cleansed or final solutioned or gulaged or rescued from error by way of the gibbet because you weren't ever here for them to git-r-done.

The way this works, people get impatient with the corruption and ineptitude of the other factions, so they let the goons take over, thinking they'll be easily got rid of soon as they clean house. But the goons don't know it's a farce. They don't know they're being used, played. They've got a certified agenda and mean to see it imposed. And you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs. What that means under goon rule is that pretty soon heads have to roll. Only a few exemplary ones at first but more and more of them.  Yours included, e pluribus unum. Mine too I reckon. Those of our ilk. More and more ilk heads rolling.

Just because you used a contraceptive one time or listened to NPR. Or knew somebody who did.  Something your grandpa did. Something in Exodus.

This happened in more countries than not in the 20th Century. In large countries and small ones, primitive and advanced ones, on four of the seven continents. It went by different names, most of them euphemistic gerunds. (In our case surely it'll be called refutiating. Our lame attempt to put a jocular face on the beast.) It operated under different slogans, mostly variants of Gen. Sheridan's "The only good (whatever you are) is a dead (whatever you are)."

Whatever you call it, whatever it calls itself, the same brutish stupidity takes over and here we go.

Remember people saying, OK, it happened there and there but it couldn't here? Well, guess what. I's left to cross and T's to dot but it's the same old stupid rearing of the same old ugly head — and stopping it, staying it, before it's wreaked the same old wreakage, you might as well stand with your hand up against an oncoming train.

Prepare to meet thy refutiation.

If you think that's hyperbole, you don't know a lot of the people I do. Ask them who they'd kill if they had druthers. They don't mind telling you. They're proud to tell you. Ask them who they'd like to see killed. Same deal, just a longer list. And you betcha, your name's on it.  Wrack your brain trying to figure out why. Nice-seeming people, too, for the most part. Put their britches on one leg at a time. Can tell a good whopper. Help you fix a flat. But then somebody mentions homos or Rastus in the Saddle or Adam and Eve as baboons and the heads go to rolling again. If only figuratively for the time being.

(That's why all this cold dead hand claptrap for 50 years, btw. Not afraid they'd be Wacoed or Ruby Ridged, screwed out of their deer just cause of the schoolbus in the firing line yonder, but wanting assurance they'd be able to draw a bead on you-know-who when payback time came. Last Tuesday.)

Might take them a while to get around to you if you keep it zipped and lie low. They can't kill everybody. Takes time to get one of these here auto-defays up and running. And somebody'll be needed  to gloat at, somebody to use in the Two-Minute Hate clips. Some Colmeses to Hannity. Somebody to wear the fuschia armbands and yaller stars.  

But most likely it'll be promptly and without ceremony that you get refutiated. Orion might still be walking, your final glimpse after the wee hour knock and ceremonial.

Just remember when they come it's not personal. Just politics. It's probably they just got around to your particular elite. Other eliter elites ahead of you. Or they might be thinking that you're thinking that you've got some kind of entitlement left — maybe that you're entitled to go on taking up space — and they're a'gin all entitlements, even for sick old people and hungry children and disabled vets, and that life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness business, and such thinking has to be discouraged. Has to be refutiated, Meaning heads had to roll. Your ilk's. Your elite's. Your turn in the barrel.

One bad thing about being refutiated is you'll not get to see how the impeachment works out.  John Roberts in racing stripes.

If you want to look at the bright side, no chance that post-refutiation you'll have to pay any death tax.    

Add a comment