New Mexico Mercury

As a diligent student of the great Donald Rumsfeld, I think because this human trash keeps getting in the way of APD bullets the best thing to do is to do the same thing we always do whenever whatever we do does not work, which is to say, we do the same thing all over again, but we spend more and more to accomplish the same result, which is a comforting big fat zero, but there is ever more money in the game, more and more profit potential.

“Cover the same old bases to cover your ass.  Gun ‘em down if they’re powerless and homeless, or they get in your way. ” That’s what Daddy Don used to say.

Thank you Daddy Don, you have just defined sanity. You have just defined justice. You have just defined equal rights under the law. We need you here in Burqueville. We’ll give you a tax break if you move here right away Daddy, pretty please. Clarity and precision of thinking are of the essence, I know. You have taught your student well. I shall elucidate.

If city council as the divine expression of our public will decides to look collectively at their phones and their tablets while citizens rage at them due to this little police shooting business, flashback to thirteen years ago when the council had no devices and they had to face citizen rage sans the aid of these splendid distractions!  See just how downright prophetic Master Rumsfeld can be!

Daddy, I want to do the same thing over and over again. I want to fail. I want to make more and more money in the process. I want to use the instruments of government and of power to off more and more folks who get in my way, who say the wrong thing, who have no identity cards, no visible means of support. I want to stare at my screen and go numb while infuriated people scream at me. I can duck. I can cover.

Okay, sometimes stuff happens, Daddy, and another John Doe unimportant someone gets officially shot down, or officially beaten up, or officially subjected to mental enemas, strange injections and repeated cavity searches without their consent, and the unknown knowns that are so distressing control everything, and not the known knowns, those comforting and warm knowns where we can suckle in peace, Daddy. Instead, they control nothing, these normal norms. I feel scared that insanity might break out at any time, but then I am comforted by the drone of your voice in my head. Daddy Donnie Rumsfeld, I love you mucho. Your wisdom abides.

“The rage will eventually subside,” you say. “Don’t worry, God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world.  What happened in the past is what happens now, and that’s what will happen in the future, and in the meantime, let’s make a little dough.” Even though you’re only worth fifteen million bucks, Daddy, and you can’t even buy this country like the Koch boys can, I’m still your loyal forever student.

With what great relief at the familiarity of it all, we can go back thankfully at long last to more normal, more official, more sanctioned, more eternally justified, more comforting social killing because we are sane, we are rational here in Burque, and the only thing to do is to wait for number 24, wait for number 25. Hunker down. Watch and wait. This whole tempest in a teapot will simmer down soon enough before the next election when everything will be hunkydorey once again.