Sunday, January 24, 2010

Holding Pattern -OR- P~A~T~I~E~N~C~E

Patience? Are all y'all done losing your minds? Jumpin' GEEhoshaphat king of judah, can't anyone stay even slightly focused?

There's Thirty-PLUS years of silly string strewn in, through and upon everything this nation has done. Every silly strand of it is connected to some kind of noisemaker. It's expected that the wingnuts will meltdown with every touch. Their hair-trigger premature ejaculation of THE SKY IS FALLING is to be expected. That much has been written in the script long enough to be recognized as part of the routine.

It's a very tangled web's been weaved. Snarled and FUBAR. And our meatball surgeons have been less than confident, shaky, trepidatious, stumbling, bumbling, inept, spineless quivering quislings for sure. BUT, and it's a prodigious but, and cannot be understated. The President of these semi-United States has quit digging. Yes. the sinkhole is still getting bigger, deeper, wider but that was DESIGNED into the plans. Part of the inertia perpetuation mechanisms rigged into the workings.

There is more than enough block-bustin', panic-peddling and fear-mongering being deployed by the unparalleled champions of F.E.A.R. (Feckless Egomaniacal Arrogant Repiglicans) without clueless boobs and nervous Nellies adding to the cacophany of shrieks and keening. That is their game and they're perfectly content to play with themselves. Their permanent record is indelibly marked -DOES NOT PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS-. It would seem wise and required to heed that warning label.

They're gonna scream and holler. Not much to do about that but to dismiss it as the tantrum of petulance and Pavlovian conditioned psychosis. Besides which they tend to feed off the maelstrom. It's like steroids for them.

I feel like Astro watching George circumnavigate the Spacely Dog Walking Treadmill. My opposable thumbs allowing me to blog a plea for a little Brooklyn indifference to the day-to-day insanity. Yeah, whatever. Da world's round. We'll get there.

Starting Thursday. Rope-a-dope is done. The pre-game hype and hoopla are in the can.
It's the first day all over again, but this time they're all lying for their lives.
Stop giving their lies legs. They have Faux Noise to do that without your help.

This many walking, squawking martyrs is something straight out of half-assed rip-off of a Harlan Ellison script. But you'll keep putting on that bright orange Ensign Expendable uniform to go investigate the anomaly? You want to be a recurring character in this performance, you'd best stop lapping up the Tribble jism. Let the wingnuts corkscrew in and leave their little crater. Look past the smokescreen to see the tripwires. You don't have to jump out and dance on the web. It's gonna shake enough as it is without your contributing to the aftershocks. Stay Calm and Carry On.

No comments: