Manifest Density

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You can't pass off a plutocracy as a democracy.
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You can't trumpet the virtues of freedom and democracy abroad and vilify protesters at home.
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You can't call yourself just while embracing injustice.

And you can't brag about having a free society when you don't.
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You just can't.
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After losing his job, 34 year old Mervin Mayfair moved back to his hometown and lived in a room above his parents' garage.

While away, he had heard through friends that the city and his old neighborhood had deteriorated over the years. Things were tough all over and Mervin remembered watching the city and neighborhood go through changes as he grew up.

One afternoon, he went to Anderson's Corner Store to buy a newspaper. Mervin wanted to look at the Want ads and get back to earning some money.

When he entered Anderson's Corner Store, he wondered if he'd walked into the wrong place. Gone were the coolers once filled with energy drinks. Gone were the racks of chips and snacks and chocolate bars and magazines and hamburger and hotdog buns. Gone were the cigarettes and lottery tickets and the canister of beef jerky on the counter.

Instead, there were a couple of sofas, love seats and armchairs, each occupied by women in their early twenties, all wearing halter tops and short-shorts.

A man with a pencil mustachio approached Mervin. The man grinned. "You came at a good time of day, friend," the man said. "You've got your pick of the litter."

"Litter?" Mervin said. "This is Anderson's Corner Store, right?"

"It certainly is," the man said.

"I'm here to buy a newspaper."

The man laughed. "We don't sell any newspapers, friend." He gestured to a red-haired woman lounging on a chaise nearby. "But Holly here will give you a blowjob for ten bucks."

Mervin left without a newspaper or a blowjob. His friends weren't kidding when they said the neighborhood was going to shit.

He walked down Main Street to Dawson's Gas Bar. There were no longer any pumps out front, but Mervin wondered if they still had newspapers and chewing gum and energy drinks inside.

When he entered, Mervin found the gas bar store had been cleared. The far side wall was filled with TV monitors tuned to horse racing, baseball, hydro plane racing, auto racing, boxing, mixed martial arts. There was a group of people sitting before the monitors cheering the sporting events.

Off to the side was a wicket surrounded by wire mesh. Inside the wicket sat an old woman.

"Is this Dawson's Gas Bar?" Mervin asked.

"Sure is," the old woman croaked in a smoker's voice.

"You don't sell gas anymore?"

"Nah, no gas."

"You don't sell chewing gum anymore?"

"No, none of that."

"You don't sell newspapers anymore?"

"No -- say, if you're looking for all that kind of stuff, why don't you try Anderson's Corner Store up the road?"

"I did, but it's not a corner store anymore, it's a whorehouse."

"You wanna place a bet?" the old woman asked.

Mervin shook his head and left.

As he walked along Main Street, he came upon Edmond's Furniture Store. Mervin did a double-take when he looked through the front windows: there was no furniture in the store, though it appeared to sell newspapers.

Mervin went in and found the day's newspaper. He looked around and saw rows of potato chips and snacks, chewing gum, energy drinks and beef jerky.

Mervin went to the counter to pay for the newspaper. Old Mr. Edmond was working the cash register. Mervin remembered him from years before when he, Mervin, played on a little league baseball team sponsored by Mr. Edmond.

"Mr. Edmond, how're you doing?" Mervin said.

Mr. Edmond didn't seem to recognize him. "Doing all right, thanks. Do I know you?"

"I used to play for the Edmond Furniture little league team," Mervin said.

"Oh, right, you've got a good memory."

"You don't sell furniture anymore?"

"Nah, nobody can afford it."

"How did you get into selling newspapers and chips and energy drinks?"

"Well, when Anderson's Corner Store turned into a whorehouse and Dawson's Gas Bar got into sports betting, it seemed like a natural opening in the marketplace."

"But if Anderson's Corner Store is a whorehouse, why isn't it called a whorehouse or something other than Anderson's Corner Store? Because it's not Anderson's Corner Store anymore."

"Interesting question."

"And if Dawson's doesn't sell gas anymore, and all you can do is bet on sports there, why is it still called 'Dawson's Gas Bar'?"

"Well, 'Gas Bar' sounds better than 'sports betting', doesn't it?"

"But it's not accurate."

"You said you played on the Edmond Furniture little league team?"

"Yeah, when I was about eleven."

"It's my lunch hour," Mr. Edmond said. "What do you say we go over to the Victory Luxury Lounge?"

"Sure, I could use some lunch."

Mervin and Mr. Edmond went down the sidewalk to the Victory Luxury Lounge. Mervin recalled that it as one of the fanciest restaurants in town, where many famous entertainers had performed over the years.

When they entered, Mervin was astonished to see the place was a complete dump: mismatched chairs at tables, the velour booths were bald and ripped, the leather booths all cracked and split. The placed smelled of urinal pucks and BO. It was a large place, which seemed even larger since the old expansive bar had been removed.

Behind a partition dividing the old seating area, there was a group of men cheering and betting on a cock fight.

"I thought you said we were going to get some lunch," Mervin said.

"No, I said that it's my lunch hour," Mr. Edmond said. "I always bet on the cock fights on my lunch hour."

After leaving the Victory Luxury Lounge, Mervin met the town's mayor out walking his dog. There was little grass for the dog to walk on and relieve himself. As the dog pooped on the pavement, Mervin said hello to the mayor.

"Say, your honor," Mervin said. "No disrespect intended, but why wouldn't you take your dog to the dog park?"

"That's used as a junk yard now," the mayor said. "It's not safe to walk the dogs amid all the jagged bits of metal from all the smashed and destroyed cars."

"Why is it still called 'The Dog Park', then, and not 'The Junk Yard'?"

"Because 'Dog Park" sounds so much better."

"I've noticed the same thing with businesses along Main Street," Mervin said. "Anderson's Corner Store is now a whorehouse. Dawson's Gas Bar is a betting hall. And the Victory Luxury Lounge is used for cock fighting. It's confusing when you don't call a thing what it is. Why doesn't anyone call these things what they are?"
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"Because our town would look like it's turned into a pile of shit," the mayor said. His dog had finished pooping on the sidewalk, so the mayor gave Mervin a nod and continued along his way.

Elect the conservative rat king

So, Michelle Bachman, Herman Cain, Newt Gingrich, Ron Paul, Tim Pawlenty, Mitt Romney and Rick Santorum are vying for the Republican nomination for the next presidential election.

I say the candidates' tails should be tied together and that the whole rat king run as one privatizing, tax-cutting, Shariah-law-hating entity.

Why not?

Each has their own unique vision for destroying America. Nominate only one of these malignant geniuses and you risk losing six other not-so-beautiful minds that bring their own personal, hellish vision for the country.

Also, each is rather pathetic on their own (aside from the ballsy Ron Paul), but the cancerous whole would at least have a the morbid appeal of a carnival freak on the campaign trail.

The only consolation about the U.S. being systematically disassembled by the rich and powerful is that this woeful gaggle of twits is the best their money can buy.

At least, in one respect, the Koch Brothers, et al, have been ripped off.

Election Day Blog: The All-the-time Campaign

Following the 2008 U.S. presidential election, both political parties blanketed the country with candidates for the 2012, 2016 and 2020 presidential races. There were hundreds of millions of dollars to be raised, opponents to be denounced, thousands of hours of empty television to fill and mortal fears and national security threats to be created and propagated.

Alaska governor, Sarah Palin, immediately took to the campaign trail in December 2008, touring the northern states in a reindeer-drawn sleigh. Promoting a platform of smaller government, high cheekbones and equal access to guns and cosmetics for all, Sarah Palin traveled the country as "Railin' Palin." Although she didn't ultimately win the presidency four years later, she did land a lucrative contract as spokesmodel for a nation-wide chain of women's plus-size clothing stores.

On December 31st, 2008, in the Smithsonian Institute, standing before the infamous Unabomber shack -- mistakenly believing it was the log cabin in which Abraham Lincoln was born -- Hillary Clinton, dressed as Baby New Year, announced her candidacy for president in 2012. "Although I have the highest regard and utmost respect for President Obama," Clinton said, "the sad fact is he has not done for this country what he promised to do. We cannot live with four more years of broken promises."

When Senator Clinton was reminded that President-elect Obama was still twenty days away from being inaugurated into office, she labeled the reporter sexist and banned him from all Clinton campaign vehicles.

"So much for eloquence!" shouted Don Summershyne in his stump speech. "So much for the audacity of hope!" Summershyne was at the start of the 2010 Senate race -- which he launched in February 2009 -- when he claimed a goldfinch landed on the window sill of his home in rural Iowa and spoke to him the word of Gawd. "This Whamma-Bamma-Thank-You-Mamma Obama fella has not delivered on any of the grandiose promises of the past two years!"

When it was pointed out that President Obama had not yet been in office one hundred days, Summershyne barred that reporter from the Senate campaign bus, which was, at that time, being converted into a presidential campaign bus. Another reporter, riding on the candidate's temporary bridge-between-Senate-and-presidential-races-bus, asked about Summershyne's experience: "You hadn't yet been elected to the Senate, but now you've shifted gears and are running for President. With no political experience, how do you feel you can make this leap?" To which the reporter was branded an elitist and whose TV station was barred from all future Summershyne events.

The 2024 bid for the White House heated up in 2013, when Democratic nominee, Kelowna Eukele, named Israel Burcitis as his running mate. The campaign grew even more exciting in 2015, when Burcitis declared himself an independent and campaigned against Eukele. Such political backstabbing and maneuvering hadn't been seen since 2011 when Reverend Heino Rike, the eleven year old Missouri evangelical running for the 2032 presidential election, replaced his mother with his dog as his running mate.

In 2014, Clint Fayette, independent candidate for the 2020, 2024 and 2028 presidential races, formally changed his first name to "President." Soon afterward, every person entering politics -- whether it was for dogcatcher, alderman, justice of the peace, sheriff or drain commissioner -- changed their first names to "President."

Among the numerous notable political stories of 2014, was the spectacle of the 2024 Democratic nominee debating the 2028 Republican nominee at an event organized for the 2016 nominees. Although a rigorous and spirited dialogue ensued, three days had passed before anyone realized the wrong candidates had debated. President Shawn Nepal, 2016 Democratic nominee had been off conducting a townhall meeting in a high school gymnasium in Fontainbleu, Montana, and President Conrad Guilfoyle, the 2016 Republican nominee spent that evening presiding over a gymnasium meeting in the townhall of Brittlebrook, North Carolina. Both candidates declared their events "a roaring success."

The 2016 presidential election was overshadowed by breaking news that Lout and LeRoy Palin-Johnston -- siamese twins born to Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston -- had thrown their hats (or, rather, single large hat, as they were joined at the cranium) into the ring for the presidential race of 2036. The seven year old candidates could not, however, decide who would head the ticket. The headmaster of their Alaskan montessori gun club suggested a duel might be the only honorable way to solve the dispute.

"Madam, is it not a fact -- a lamentable, bald-faced fact -- that if elected you intend to allow an open border to exist between Colorado and Kansas?" bellowed Judge President Monty Dwyer, Republican vice presidential candidate for the 2028 election. He directed his question at his opponent, President Kitty-Porn Fnu, Independent presidential candidate for the 2028 presidency.

"Colorada and Kansas are both part of the United States," President Kitty-Porn said. "Of course they should have open borders."

"Not after President Conrad Guilfoyle takes office in three years and expels Colorado from the republic!"

"But that's years away!" President Kitty-Porn protested. "And hasn't even happened yet."

To which Judge President Monty Dwyer turned slowly to the debate audience and said, "So much for you being 'The Candidate of the Future'."

By 2017, most major networks had their own spin-off presidential campaign channels. Fox News' Campaign Infinity channel featured shock jock, George W. Bush, who painted his ideas about candidates' strategies on clear Plexiglas using a brush and his own brand of BBQ sauce. The cornerstone of the Campaign Infinity channel was Shem Mountainson, former Idaho alderman, and the man whom many believed should have been chosen as John McCain's running mate in the archaic presidential campaign of 2008. The show was called Shem's Shithouse in which Mountainson separated "the wheat from the shit" for his viewers, telling them for whom to vote and whom to hate. CNN's campaign offshoot became a popular twenty-four-hour a day cycle of campaign infomercials. MSNBC reimagined itself as Playday with the Politicians, offering shows with candidates competing in American Gladiator-styled contests of strength and agility.

By the 2020s, much of the U.S. economy was predicated on elections. Citizens either worked for one campaign or another, or in the exponentially expanding industry of campaign marketing. Professional athletes and film stars tried moving into the political arena. They were shunned, for the most part, as rich, privileged people whose egos had outgrown their original venues. Voters preferred rich, privileged people who came from the guts of the campaign industry. Activists poured money into campaigns and campaigns funded activists. Citizens made their tax-deductible donations to the campaigns and worked on the pay-rolls that were funded by those donations. The print industry couldn't keep up with the demands for lawn signs. Ordinary citizens earned top dollar renting out their salt-of-the-earth domiciles to politicians seeking to film commercials around the Great American Kitchen Table.

Elections became like Christmas, the Oscars and the Super Bowl rolled in to one -- hours after the great event, operatives from both parties began planning the next one. By 2024, the U.S. presidential elections had its own stock exchange: the U.S.E.S.E.. Within five years, it was out-performing the Dow Jones Industrial Index.

By the 2032 U.S. presidential election took the same turn as the Olympics -- it was deigned to occur every two years rather than every four years.

People from the quaint old days of the early Twenty First Century may have been confused by the ever-tightening spiral of presidential campaigns. American citizens of 2036 embraced the political maelstrom: peoples' lawns were filled with signs trumpeting the names of dozens of candidates; Jerry Springer-like debates occurred in which the candidates often came to blows on the carpeted stage, tearing each other's clothing off as the audience roared; the foreign wars launched by each president made for great TV -- so much less demanding than quiz and dancing dog shows. The country and the economy and campaigns spun on and on. If a journalist from the quaint early Twenty First Century actually investigated this overheated dynamo of all-the-time-campaigns, they would have discovered that many of the candidates in whose names hundreds of millions of dollars were raised, for campaigns intended to stretch a dozen years into the future, didn't, actually, exist.

An industrious journalist from another time would have found that the country was like an unlubricated engine that had long ago fused into a single block of jagged, unintelligible metal and plastic. The illusion of its continued function was kept alive by the single level of government that never had any checks or balances. That level of government was Henry Kissinger. By the 2050 presidential election, the hundred and twenty-seven year-old Kissinger was proprietor of all the bank accounts of all the presidential candidates -- none of whom existed. After dozens of organ transplant operations and extensive steroid therapy, Henry Kissinger lived quite well in his palatial condominium within Cheyenne Mountain.

As Winston Churchill once said, "Democracy is the worst form of government except for all those others that have been tried", but there was no denying it made damned good business sense.