It’s an interesting and inevitable dynamic playing out here. From their first day in office, the Bushistas have been giving away our Treasury to the wealthiest Americans, for the sole purpose of keeping them investing in American business, as opposed to moving all their money to more profitable climes.
The only thing that will keep that money here at home is high returns plus lower business and investment taxes. And looser regulations. Less restrictive standards. Lawsuit caps. Huge freebies to the oil, pharmaceutical, banking, and defense industries. Leaky pension plans, easily looted. Low minimum wage, lots of hungry immigrants, and a shattered and underfunded social safety net. All that, and unlimited, unimaginable debt, even unto the third or fourth generation.
They’ve been at this for five years now, and here we are, friend — nearly to the endgame of this mafia bustout, this interesting dynamic. The endgame, where even all of this lush and livid thievery proves lacking, though the nation staggers in its stride, dizzy and drained, a victim of vampires.
The endgame is coming.
It could never be enough, this thuggish thievery on behalf of the well heeled, and the Bushistas knew it always. The ventures and investments of the wealthy do, in the end, depend utterly upon the unwashed multitudes more or less going along with the marketing plan, more or less consuming at the required rate. All financial harvests do depend upon fatted calves in great numbers surrendering their freedom and lives both as they go and at the last. They depend upon steadily siphoning capital from working beasts.
Ask any cowboy from Texas; he’ll tell you — the money isn’t in the spreadsheets, it’s out there in the herd. Keeping them dogies moving until such time and place as you can cut their throats is the whole idea, pardner.
But now it appears that even the wholesale merger of corporate and government goals and power, with Congresscritters and Senators perennially out of town fundraising while corporate lawyers and lobbyists write new legislation for them to sponsor without reading — even this has proven insufficient.
The herd must be placed under tighter control, or the bottom line will suffer. When things get disorderly, profits decline. That cannot continue.
Lo, the wayward public grows restive and unrestrained. They return approval polls of 29%. They change brands unbidden. They openly discuss civil disobedience. They make embarrassing inquiries. They jump ship. They are not going quietly into the penstocks. The malls and auto showrooms and real estate offices grow quieter with every new morning. War does not distract the herd for long, nor does braying about bigotry, nor does the Bogey Man of the week work like it did in the day.
It’s coming. Put some rice and beans aside, Henry. It’s coming.
Now, when there is no more to give away, even on the backs of our indebted and enslaved descendants, it comes. Now, when businesses so lavishly fed at the public trough see shrinking profit margins, and look lustfully overseas for better opportunities, it comes. Now, when foreign owners of dollar bills start turning them down, and turning them in, it comes. Now, when fat and dumb American consumers can no longer afford to just jump in the family jalopy and drive over to the mall, nor buy anything there that isn’t canned or marked down, it comes.
The endgame of the Bush clan’s interesting dynamic was always a police state, where every consumer is constantly added up, and can always be subtracted from the political and economic pool when they get uncooperative. Clearly there comes a day when the imperial ambitions of the corporate and political masters of America require a much closer supervision of the citizenry if this interesting dynamic is to continue at its accustomed rate of profit. There is a whole world out there to conquer, in this New American Century. It must be one State over all other nations, or there will be hell to pay all around.
The endgame is clear. America must go down a totalitarian path if profits are to stay on track. If this means tightening the screws on non-cooperators, if this means restricting freedoms and dictating the details of individual lives, well it is all for the good of the nation. In the end, it is the State that must prosper, not the herd. The herd is for fattening, and for cutting up as needed. In America, the herd has had its day.
Or, the herd will have its day, if it rejects the political process being foisted upon it.
It’s coming. The noose is near. The interesting dynamic reaches its endgame this summer.
America will either become a police state, or we will see a revolution in our relationship to our own government.
Either there will be no more free range Americans, or there will be.
Essential freedoms inherited from the Magna Carta and the English and French and American Revolutions will be eased out of our lives forever, or we the people will not be trod upon. We will tread on these rascals who represent us falsely. We who did not ask for any of this will accept none of it.
It’s coming. It will be one way or the other way, for it cannot be both.
Mothers, the unborn children within you are already debt slaves to these corporate cats, this aristocracy of the non-working. They have plans for the entire lifetimes of each of your beautiful children, and they do not involve the freedom to do as they please. They involve them entirely in the economic and military domination of planet Earth, here in this New American Century. Your children will be conquerors, or die in the attempt. That’s what they’re good for.
Fathers, the blood of your sons is needed in the sands of the oil countries. Whether they die in Arabia, Bolivia, Nigeria or Venezuela, neither you nor they will ever see any of the black gold their blood buys for Shell and Exxon. You and they will see only the flag of a great and free people held high over conquered lands. And you will wrap their crushed corpses in it, and you will spit on it afterwards, and you will wonder at the choice you made for them, back when the choice was still yours.
The endgame is coming this summer of Ought Six.
Rocket Summer, when missiles launch out of Israel to land upon Iran, and Iran launches in reply, and America’s Lord and Master Bush announces that he has no choice but to launch everything we have from the three carriers that will be so conveniently on station in the Persian Gulf in early June. They are on their way there as you read this.
Rocket Summer, when we launch our B-2’s hauling bunker buster nukes, and start what cannot be stopped, by anyone, anywhere.
Rocket Summer, when we start WWIII. When we do — that.
With those mushroom clouds in the Middle East our own American nation will go up in smoke, locked into the endless, unyielding, unwinnable war Cheney and Rumsfeld and Bush have arranged for us. To survive such a war, our nation will have to be very tightly controlled from on high. Government from the top down, and not otherwise. Everyone must do their part, whether they like it or not. Everyone must show up and pull together. Everyone must stay in line.
Rocket Summer. The carriers Abraham Lincoln and Enterprise and are on their way to make war on Iran. The Ronald Reagan is already on station in the Gulf. Our boomers are already underwater in the region, testing their Tomahawk firing systems for their grand day out. Out in Omaha, our B-2’s are tooling up. Our B-52’s in Britain and Diego Garcia are squared away for combat runs. The end of our trail is near. All the cowboys are shouting, driving for the slaughterhouse. The herd is being hustled for the very last time.
Rocket Summer, right this way. Right this way.
How about it? Are you going to stay in line?
