Think of these tidbits entreats, open-ended brainstorming sessions between me and the voices in my head. Short and sweet, usually after work, caught in traffic on the way home to be caught in domestic “bliss,” I sense a flash of inspiration comingled with the justifiable ire of a former citizen of a democratic republic that has since gone mad with Mussolini-style fascism.
First, we need: a centralized collection of junk cars to be used in a worthy effort designed to rid the world of apathic apologies and to galvanize some “Rethuglicans” into recognizing that there is a good reason why progressives have been slow to anger, and slow to the point of appearing wimpish. The French may take to their streets and lock up the wheels of their economy to express their discontent, but they do so knowing they will still have adequate healthcare, a reasonable place to live and plenty of decent food and drink. Americans — real Americans — when they have nothing left to lose, become ferocious. We are a nation of football players and their cheerleaders.
Secondly, anyone choosing to participate in this initiative needs to be clear that the American Dream is called as such because, in the words of George Carlin, “you have to be asleep to believe it.” The truth is that the American Dream may have been glorious for some of us, but many more of us were left out in cold, impersonal hospital rooms, victims of our excessive lifestyles. And while we lived our dream, children all over the globe either went to sleep hungry or died as a direct result of our collective selfishness and self-centeredness. To be an ugly American was and is to live “the Dream” and be coldly indifferent, or ignorant, of the legions of poor human beings we smote just so that we can drive to work in the morning.
To whit, a word of solace and caution: people will die no matter what we do. Make absolutely certain that you believe the world will be a better place because of your actions. Virtually certain is the fact that many, if not most, of those whose company you keep, or tolerate, will disagree with you. At first.
See a Republican on their cell phone on the freeway? Speed in front of them and slam on your brakes. Make certain they rear-end you and that they are no longer on their precious cellphone after the collision.
Some of you may go rogue and just start victimizing people who drive alone in expensive cars, or those who just seem like they are wasting oxygen while they exist on this planet. I cannot sanction any of this activity for my charge comes only from my twin resentments of people who try to hold a cellphone to their ear while they drive in traffic in an expensive auto, and those who still dare to countenance a “W04” bumpersticker. Oxygen thieves one and all, but the twin resentment speaks to a demographic certainty: they are a disease and their insurance companies coupled with widespread rush hour traffic snarls are the cure.
The French won’t be able to outdo us on this one. The carnage of their first revolution was indeed high on style points, with children stepping over fresh rivulets of blood from the week’s beheadings.
But junker American automobiles as missiles? All the labor strikes and broken windows in Paris won’t be able to outdo even one spectacular rear-end collision.
Contact your local disaffected tow truck driver for a bead on where one might begin to collect the 21st century’s weapon of choice.