After a dog licks his wounds, the nastiness of the recent encounter is implanted somewhere in its doggy brain, reminding him not to do that again. My early-life swats on my rear end implanted similar information. Yet, curiously, while the elephant is noted for its fascinating long-term memory, members of the Republican Party seem immune to memory-implanting. Perhaps they ‘forgot’ the adage about doing the same thing over yet expecting different results.
Yesterday I used the phrase, grumpy, white old men in reference to the newest mammal on the Endangered Species list. Let me say more about this slice of the demographic. During my weekly neighborhood canvassing throughout the campaign, I found many of these troglodytes on the opposite side of the doorway. Humorless, bitter and nasty human beings who dismissed me as if I were a cockroach attempting to enter their house. It was as if I were a barbarian at the threshold who they had to bar from the gates of the city. They were quite the curious lot- scary at first, pitiful in the end. I became used to them after a few rebuffs early in the campaign. Nonetheless, they were like clones, stamped out in some counterfeit duplicating factory in China- talking toys activated by pulling a string on their back. Each uttered the same words, the same cliches. Like Toy Story’s Sheriff Woody, pull the string and hear the same message over and over again.
My mind’s eye recalls that incredible scene on FoxNews late on Election Night when that equally wooden character named Karl Rove attempted to twist reality, claiming that Ohio could not have possibly gone for Obama; the woman anchor left the Fox anchor desk to travel down the hallway to the data analysis room to confirm that their data was accurate. Pitiful.
Rove, like the other grumpy old white men he manipulates, had been operating for months in the ‘standard’ alternate universe in which these dittoheads live. The king of dittoheads, Limbaugh, no doubt soiled his pants when Fox called Ohio for Obama. How many of his ‘millions’ of followers had a similar soiling is yet unknown, but surely there was a great stink in the land of make believe.
“We want our country back!”
That’s the common delusion implanted deep in the memories of these archaic mammoths. By the way, referring to the need to recapture heritage, the Algonquian have the same desire, but that’s an entirely separate post. I’m tempted to continue on in this this theme to include the descendants of the Maya and Aztec who live/lived in Arizona, New Mexico, California and Texas. Rather I’ll merely remind us of their common designation: illegals.
Yes, memories- memories of what used to be, Like the corners of my mind, misty water-colored memories of the way we were.
Remember when ‘they’ knew their place in society? Remember even further back when they worked for free on our plantations or migrated with the ripening harvests? Remember when there were all-white neighborhoods and everyone looked the same? Mothers in the kitchen or in the laundry room? Remember when ruffians got a kick out of pinning down faggots and cutting off their hair? Great fun! Great times. Remember those signs in shop windows: Irish need not apply? Or Jews either! Then there were the colored cleaning ladies on the bus heading out to the edges of town. And the KKK cross-burnings. Good times.
Such fond memories.
What happened to all of this?
I want my country back, damned it!