I am in a state of fury. I may be resorting to old tools of humor and satire, but that’s only to dilute the bile and spleen in my gut.
What is happening in the nation now is a crime of earthshaking moment. This administration has committed so many impeachable offenses their best defense is that no one could agree on which ones should lead the bill of indictment.
This is not politics as usual, not business as usual. This is an atrocity, a hate crime against the people who built and maintain this country.
Turning away is no answer. Silence is no statement. I post and post and post, and post some more, because those of us who know how bad it is must speak. If you can’t speak here, speak somewhere, and be loud. Even if it’s only to the twerp across the table from you in the break room.
We are losing it all. Everything we’ve ever been. Fight for us. Fight for yourselves and your children. Time to be a Furyan.
My wife is especially fond of Furyans. She thinks she married one. which is convenient, because she’s one too.
As is Raebert. Don’t mess with us. The eyes have it. His middle name begins with an R.
In case you forgot.
Furyan.
And I can’t wait for the next installment.
I never mistook the humor and satire for anything less than your most vicious and prescient attack. In The Boomer Bible, it was the past leading to the present; now it’s our present leading to our futures.
The twerp across the table in the break room (or in my case, the chemical storeroom) has a red dot in the middle of his forehead.
When you wrote those words in 2008, I read them and agreed with them, but I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t *own* them, didn’t act on them. Deep down, I didn’t believe it could or would get this bad. Hope that he’d be merely inept clouded my vision. Time to make amends.