This Whole Election is a Goddamn Farce
by Dr. Bones
“When a journalist turns into a politics junkie he will sooner or later start raving and babbling in print about things that only a person who has Been There can possibly understand.”—Hunter S. Thompson
Between the Republican debates and the outright chicanery within the Democratic party, this election stands to be the fakest shit-parade ever thus seen. I am firmly convinced that this election cycle will be the moment when we finally shed all pretense of democracy only to reveal the cold and badly written comedy that is modern politics. The jig is up for those with the eyes to see, a number that swells with every passing election. Confidence in the government is at an all time low, yet you’ve got to keep the public engaged, got to make them believe they can actually accomplish something. Anything to hide the fact that the opinions of the bottom 90% of America has essentially no impact at all.
“The preferences of the average American appear to have only a minuscule, near-zero, statistically non-significant impact upon public policy.”
Such an unhappy reveal might fill softer folks with dread, the heart and stomach unable to cope with the batty prospect that not only do their votes not matter but that one of these crudely painted clowns will actually be selected by unseen hands to run the circus for at least 4 years. I, however, proudly hail from the State of Florida, so unless somebody gets eaten by an alligator while breaking into somebody’s house or starts using cow tongues to put black magic on one of the candidates I’ll remain quietly unimpressed. Insanity is the norm down here. If anything, to see it reflected in the wider world makes me feel more at home.
I ask myself why the hell I’m covering these shenanigans. Every 4 years it’s the same song and dance, just new faces to trust and hate. After the election, it turns out nothing changes and the Imperium still stands.
That being said, who the fuck remembers dancing to such a rough tune?
The Republicans seem to be taking pointers from the WWE, happy to hurl insults amid frequent interruptions and boos from the audience. Do these exchanges sound like a presidential debate or a pissing match between “bros” at the local 7-11? The fighting has become so dirty that central tenets of Republican faith have been called into question:
“They lied. They said there were weapons of mass destruction — there were none…How did he keep us safe?… I lost hundreds of friends. The World Trade Center came down during the reign of George Bush. He kept us safe? That is not safe.”
I nearly dropped my glass at that one, my wife worried I’d had a heart attack. Did I hear a Republican say that? Had the verbal jousting become so intense that a policy of scorched earth had to be instated? I sat there stammering, amazed that Trump was so out for blood he’d dare commit such an act of heresy against the Cult of 9/11. But it wasn’t just Trump rabidly mauling his opponents. Everybody’s teeth were out:
“This is a man who is trying to insult his way to the nomination!”
“Marco Rubio has gone on Univision and said in Spanish, ‘No, no, no, I wouldn’t rescind amnesty.'”
“I don’t know how he knows what I said on Univision. He doesn’t speak Spanish.”
“For a number of weeks now, Ted Cruz has just been telling lies. He lied about Ben Carson in Iowa. He lies about Planned Parenthood. He lies about marriage. He’s lying about all sorts of things. And now he makes things up.”
“For most of his life, he has described himself as very pro-choice and as a supporter of partial-birth abortion. Right now, today, as a candidate, he supports federal taxpayer funding for Planned Parenthood.”
“You probably are worse than Jeb Bush. You are the single biggest liar…. This is the same thing he did to Ben Carson. This guy will say anything, nasty guy. Now I know why he doesn’t have one endorsement from any of his colleagues.”
This Conjurer wouldn’t be surprised if someone picks up a chair at the next debate. Decades of tough-guy, hardliner conservatism has finally forced politicians to model themselves after the PSYOP-led trailer parks that vote for them.
But what’s that I hear? Snickering from the Democrats? Hold your horses Sandernistas. I’ve laughed in your face before and I’ll do it again: while the Republicans may be chewing at each other like stray dogs with mange the Democrats are slowly doing everything in their power to insure the candidate they’ve already selected wins the nomination.
Not only did they change the fucking rules to insure as much money as possible can be thrown at Hillary, the very democratic institution of “super-delegates” insures that real change is kept as impossible as ever:
“Unpledged delegates exist really to make sure that party leaders and elected officials don’t have to be in a position where they are running against grassroots activists. We are as a Democratic Party really highlight and emphasize inclusiveness and diversity at our convention, and so we want to give every opportunity to grassroots activists and diverse, committed Democrats to be able to participate, attend, and be a delegate at the convention. And so we separate out those unpledged delegates to make sure that there isn’t competition between them.”
That’s right, folks! 1 super delegate has the same amount of power as roughly 10,000 people and the official party line is it’s all to prevent “grass roots activists” from challenging the official candidates. How very noble of them! We wouldn’t want any independent thinkers messing up this whole election business would we? Understand that while you hoot and holler for the semi-socialist the entire party apparatus is moving to ensure he has a snowball’s chance in hell of actually getting making it to the end.
Where are the congressmen and senators getting on TV and screaming about how unfair this is, how ridiculous and slanted all these changes are? It’s eerily silent in the halls of Washington. Funny how the “progressives” of the DNC are grimly quiet. Where’s all the idealism?
This whole thing is madness, pure unadulterated madness, a kaleidoscopic riot of shady deals and damn-near barroom brawls.
It had begun affecting my work.
“My mind is losing focus,” I told my wife as I uneasily scratched a client’s name into a candle. “Something weird is afoot. In 2 days I’ve had 4 people ask for separation work: ending marriages, splitting up marriages. What’s the deal?”
“I….I don’t know babe. People are weird.” My wife was less than enthused.
“No, I’m weird. But this….perhaps some kind of…psychic storm? Maybe people are subconsciously acknowledging the country’s self destruction? By the way have you seen my Abre Camino oil?”
“It’s upstairs on your work bench. Boo, if you want to know what’s behind it all why don’t you ask your cards?”
“No,” I hesitated, “I don’t think I want to know. It’s bad enough to watch all this happen. It’s like seeing a baby spill boiling water on itself. I don’t want to KNOW what the burns are going to end up looking like.”
“Suit yourself. But I thought you weren’t going to worry about the primaries?”
I chewed my toothpick nervously. It was true, I said I’d rather wait until the final two puppets had been selected. But, as if infected, I couldn’t seem to tear myself away now. It was like watching a barrel-bomb fall from a helicopter in northern Syria: a ghastly, bloated spectacle pregnant with disaster sure to be responsible for widespread destruction, yet one you couldn’t look away from; you didn’t just want to see the explosion, you had to view the bodies. I felt as if I was watching a reality show, a scripted affair designed to rustle American jimmies enough to actually get them to participate. I was beginning to feel that’s all it really was.
My wife deserved an answer, after all it was only going to eat up more of our time. Between writing for Gods & Radicals, working on my book, and doing Conjure work for clients, I’d now be covering a spectacle I considered vile and repulsive. I’d willingly (and without payment might I add) basically agreed to report on the Scatological Olympics or the 5th Annual Geriatric BDSM & Puppy Play Games. What the hell was wrong with me?
“I…I don’t know. This thing is like an addiction now. I’m finally watching the tent fall on the ‘Greatest Show on Earth’ and I can’t tear myself away. Never before has Uncle Sam needed to sing and dance as hard as he is now just to keep people believing in him. I don’t know how many songs he’s got left to sing, but it sure as hell can’t be alot, and what he’s singing is getting uglier and uglier. At some point the people are going to realize that this whole business is fixed, foolish, a folly and a farce.
…And when they have nothing left to believe in they’ll finally be ready to tear it all down.”
Dr. Bones is a 9 year practitioner of the Southern occult tradition known as Conjure, Rootwork, and Hoodoo. A skilled card-reader and Spiritworker, Dr. Bones has undertaken all aspects of the work, both benevolent and malefic. Politically he holds the Anarchist line that “Individuality can only flourish where equality of access to the conditions of existence is the social reality. This equality of access is Communism.” He resides in the insane State of Florida with his loving wife, a herd of cats, and a house full of spirits.
He can be reached through facebook.