CSI: American Carnage (January 30, 2021)
“My brother, the spirit of the Gambler Showman is most definitely abroad in the land.”
CENTRAL PLAINS – Deep beneath the frozen fields, far below the vast central plains complex, where screens live stream all that is happening above, augmented by the data that backs it up, the elder brother sits within the Robert Welch Memorial Operations Center. On the screens arrayed before him are data sets monitoring the decline of population brain waves and rising levels of arsenic allotropes, petroleum hydrocarbons, cadmium, and other examples of the can-do spirit of American agri-industry. The brother is deep in thought. Before him is a small urn, sheathed in the skin of former employees, containing the desiccated remains of his younger brother, the other Dark One, now long departed but still active, thanks to technology supplied by Elon Musk as a side project. My brother, the elder says, the screens show disarray above. There are gangs of marauding servi, armed with electro-plasmic walking sticks, elaborate box cutters, AR15 knock offs, gorilla spray, bear spray, plastic bags of urine and feces, armed I tell you, all in search of the Not Trump. As the the Gambler Showman’s visibility has decreased, his grip has strengthened on the minds of the servi. The urn is silent. After a moment a light flashes on the screen overlooking the Welch Center. Curious beeps, seemingly designed by middle-aged radio engineers, echo through the room. I am here, my brother, says a disembodied voice. The spirit of the Gambler Showman is most definitely abroad in the land. We have never seen anything quite like it. It has permeated the towns and villages and ranchlands of the West. Like cattle waste, its smell betrays its presence. It has infused the Southland, burning with fiendish race intensity, a flickering reflection of the Old Days, which are, in fact, the New Days. It has been wicked up in the legislative halls, where all fear any contradiction of the Showman’s wishes, just as they once feared contradicting King Mob. The elder brother ponders these comments. He says, But the Showman has not been seen. He has retreated to his vulgar compound licking his wounds and plotting revenge – but doing nothing. Yet he has extracted fealty from his liegemen. They travel to his court to receive their blessings and exonerations. They seek to distance themselves, but not too much, it is true. Father would understand how to address this. Back in the day, he embraced the tin-pot German and the mentally ill Despot of the East. But when the time was ripe, Father cashed in his chips and came here, to this welcoming place, the great prairie, this land of our destiny. And why? Because he knew that here, in this fecund territory, mutant ideas could grow, human ingenuity and control could prosper. Remember he always said that the original patriots came here because nobody could push them around, and those who were already here could be easily removed. Removal, he said, is freedom. The disembodied voice chuckles and the lights on the screen pulse on and off. Ho ho ho, the younger brother says. Yes. Yes. Yes. Father was correct of course. The elder says, We cannot allow the Gambler Showman to infect our business prospects any further. I agree he handled this pandemic opportunity magnificently. We have closed out our most profitable year. But now the other side is in control and the Showman is nowhere and everywhere. This is not a prescription for continuing record profit making. The younger brother says, Yet we must make it so, my brother. The Showman’s fantasies are written in invisible ink. They are whatever anyone wants to make of them. We will prosper, my brother; we always do. – Jan. 30, 2021
– Jan. 30, 2021