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That's when I wrote the editorial included here:
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I HELD OUT AS LONG AS I COULD, FOLKS.
For two months now, in the wake of a national tragedy that cried out for national unity, yer old pal Jerky has bitten his tongue and, for the most part, held his fire. The shreds of deference and institutional esteem which, at the time and considering the circumstances, still clung stubbornly to his body politic, dampened and held in check his desire to give full throat to cynical suspicions at the grim synchronicity of the terrorist attack and all the effluvia that churned in its roiling wake.
But on this, the one-year anniversary of his popular and (most likely) electoral loss to Al Gore - and with a specific eye towards his recent corporate-donor-payoff disguised as a "stimulus package," the prodigious delivery of the Constitution-trampling U.S.A. P.A.T.R.I.O.T. monster, and his selfish attempts to obstruct the revelation of history by countermanding the Presidential Records Act with a stench-emitting Executive Order - yer old pal Jerky is convinced that, for those of us who have yet to be a) bought off, b) bullied into silence, or c) hypnotized by all the pretty flags, the time to resume our public pillorying of the illegitimate, puffed-up national embarrassment who calls himself our President is NOW.
Yer old pal Jerky realizes this decision will not be popular with many Daily Dirt readers. If CNN/AOL/Gallup polls are to be trusted - and judging from the tenor of the e-mails we get, that might just be the case - probably only around ten to fifteen percent of you are in agreement with his harsh opinion of the Dubya Preznitcy. The other 85 to 90 percent are either happily stone ignorant of the facts, wanton contrarians playing at Devil's advocate, or complicit co-conspirators, smirkingly tacit supporters of this corporatist cabal's long list of crimes against democracy.
Those of you who are simpatico will no doubt recognize the types to which yer old pal Jerky is referring. Sneeringly dismissive of dissent, gleefully immune to reason, one-time self-described radicals - anti-government to the core! - now lining up like genetically engineered livestock, willingly presenting their pink, puckered ass-holes to the giant, throbbing cocks of the Living Embodiments of Abused Authority. "Ah yes," think the Old/New Powers That Be as they piston their erect members in and out of the slackening, blood-lubed orifices of the smiling, anesthetized zombies, their faces shoved in the dirt, one arm sticking in the air to give a big Thumbs Up! - "they are most accommodating, these former Johnny Rebs, these Dittoheads. It is a JOY to fuck them in the ass." A more detailed taxonomy of the species and genera involved will be the subject of a later Dirt, for those of you still reading, and still interested.
But there's no sense in despairing over the consensual reaming of the half-conscious and drooling idiot masses. You can't rape the willing, after all, and meanwhile, it's the rest of us - the regretfully wide-awake - who are left to deal with the neofascistic nightmares the dreamers dream up in their somnambulant, rectal-probe fantasies… nightmares rendered into barely-believable concreteness by those who, with the kind of crystalline telepathy rapists share with their exhausted and struggle-weary victims, watch said fantasies as they rise from sweaty heads like the pages of some perverse Nazi comic book projected onto the smoke shed by smoldering Gypsy flesh and Jew bones. It is we who have to watch in forehead-smacking disbelief, for instance, as Attorney General John Ashcroft - with America facing one of her most taxing challenges - chooses to ignore it and, intead, waves his mighty law hand with righteous Christian fervor at our nation's "pagans," at those who would supply the sick with medicinal marijuana, and at doctors who assist their suffering, terminal patients in expediting their own, personal, inevitable demise.
But Ashcroft, vile as he is, is only just one symptom of an ever-growing feedback loop of idiocy, a loop that has been threatening to wipe our carpet-crawling race off the face of the Earth since it was flicked into existence at exactly fifteen minutes and seventeen seconds past nine o'clock on the morning of August 6, 1944 when, for better or worse, we rewrote the rulebooks in one fell swoop. It is the source of all tyranny - this unnamed, ineffable death urge - of all that's gone wrong with every massing together of peoples, from the mightiest empire to the most humble tribal society, in the spiral of time. It is the justification for every selfish craving, the rationalization for every blinkered opinion stated in the confident certainty that opprobrium will not be aimed at groups of a sufficiently impressive number.
If you know, I ask you to take pity on me. Be you friend of foe, please tell me... what is it?
Sincerely, yer old pal Jerky
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