Like the US in the 80s or Germany in the 30s?

Coping with the second term under the madman.

Somedays I feel more optimistic than others.  An older friend of mine who knows about such things reminds me that he and many others felt the same way in the 1980s when Ronald Reagon got elected.  "Those were bad times, for sure," he says "but we survived 'em.  We'll get through the next four years of Bush the same way,"  I feel a momentary glimmer of hope.  Maybe that's true.  Maybe I don't have enough perspective on such things yet.  Maybe the country really will survive another four years of Bush.

Then I read the headlines. 

Congress votes to open up the National Wildlife Refuge to oil drilling.  Bush appoints a sworn enemy to the United Nations to be our ambassador to it, redefining the whole concept of diplomacy, a man who argued for the use of torture in interrogation procedures to be Attorney General and an ambassador to Iraq who in his previous posts supported the bloody human rights abuses of Central America in the earlty 1980s. Social safety nets are being chopped down right and left.  Not only can most people now not afford insurance, if they run up debts they can't pay because of medical expenses neither will the bankruptcy laws be there to help them out.  (As if yu needed another reason not to get sick!)  The man lays the foundation for threatening war against a new country every other time he opens his mouth. 

Thinking of being held hostage by a mad man inspired me to write this scenario:

           My next door neighbor George

When he burst through the door, it was the gun I saw first.  He was waving it wildly and careening about, like his daddy’d bought him a part in a B movie and he was still drunk from the celebration party the night before.  Everyone took cover.  I heard the bathroom door slam, chairs being knocked over and someone had turned the kitchen table onto its side.  I dove behind the couch while the intruder crashed into the side table and knocked the lamp over.  I watched his heavy feet tripping over themselves and noticed he had mismatched socks.  I recognized his shoes.  It was George.

“You see!” he shouted, as he caught sight of my feet sticking out  “ All the terrorists fear me! #$%^!@! mother---ers, damn them all to hell”.  He muttered and stopped to slam back the rest of a drink that sloshed in his other hand.  Then, laughing, he pretended to take aim at my feet which I pulled back in as far as I could.

“You freakin’ idiot!  It’s just us you moron!  I am not a terrorist!”

“Then why are you hiding?”

“Because you’re insane and you’ve got a gun!  Now put it down before you hurt somebody!”

He didn't seem to hear but instead gave a little John Wayne swagger.  "If you've got 'em by the balls their hearts and minds will follow*".

"Are you out of your freakin' mind??"  I screamed at him.  I'm really getting annoyed now.

"What's it matter?" he slurred.  "I got the biggest gun in the room!  Hell, I've got the only gun!" and he nearly toppled over laughing at his own joke.

“Are you kidding??” a voice from across the room shouted.  “You are not the only one with a gun here!  Who’s to tell how many guns are pointed at you right now!”

This only seemed to make George more nervous. 

And suddenly just like that, I saw it all play out right there in front of me.  George shoots the guy behind the refigerator, then the guy behind the table opens fire, George aims at him and the people in the bathroom burst out shooting... it was like some tragic car accident you see in your head seconds before it happens.  Or that absurd scene in Resevoir Dogs where everyone shoots, falls and dies at the same time.  Nothing got done.  Just a lot of mess to clean up.

Someone, I thought, is gonna push the button and it ain't gonna be pretty but I didn't see any deux ex machina to come down and save us from ourselves.  I shifted my weight to be more comfortable under the couch.  Looks like no one's going anywhere for the time being.  All I can do is hope I'm still alive when the dust settles or fantasize about getting out of the house before the shit hits the fan.  Either way, I thought, this is why I don't like living next door to George.

Dum. Deedle dum, dum.  Dum.  Deedle dum, dum.  There was a turtle by the name of Bert.  And Bert the turtle was very alert.  When danger threatened him he never got hurt.  He knew just what to do!  Duck and cover!  ... Duck and cover! ... Remember friends, if the raving moron with the gun pulls the trigger, just duck and cover!

----
*actual John Wayne quote

Comments

[The Bastard]

Very amusing but scary because its soooooo true! Keep on Keepin on!