CSI: American Carnage (Monday, February 17, 2020)
THE CENTRAL PLAINS – Deep beneath the muddy fields gashed with tire tracks from drunken teenagers seeking hiding places, beneath the boarded up houses with decaying wood on the porches, beneath the pharmacies in the towns with smashed windows and goods strewn on floors and hollow eyed men and women leaning together, head pieces filled with straw, the Dark Ones lie comfortably in the Memento Mori Mausoleum of the vast central plains complex. The elder looks over at the bony remains of his brother laid out in a box. My brother, he says, your smile is wide and generous this evening, like the jack-o-lanterns the villagers would carry years ago when they sought our goods and trinkets. His brother is silent. The elder continues, The Gambler Showman has achieved much, thanks to us. Not in a way we might favor, but the end result is what matters. He is prepared to dismantle the final instruments of theft put in place by the now-dead communist whom Father worked so hard to eliminate. The stolen money they use to pay their pathetic monthly stipends, the medical care they clutch at — as though it will ease their way to death, their criminal efforts to block our profit. All will soon vanish. Oh Father was so right, my brother. He saw clearly that misplaced feelings of responsibility, the lies of fraternity, the prevarications of feeling have no place in a smoothly running economy. That is the lesson he learned from his work building the grids of Europe for the despots of Russia and Germany. Father understood that money was money and he passed that lesson along so beautifully to us. But it was I, with a slight assist from you, I who saw clearly that money equaled freedom and the right to call the shots, which is the most important right of all. It was I, my brother, who saw you could bankroll your own campaign to your heart’s content. I who showed our brethren how to secretly pour their funding into the so-called process and how to pack the courts and gain the desired results. Remember the incompetent vassal who thought gaining the majority of votes in some way led to power? Ha ha ha. It was I who set the table for the Gambler Showman’s crude attacks on the decades of theft. It was I who made possible the removal of all the illegal prohibitions preventing us from using our own land, which is all the land, as we see fit. Now the Gotham Apostate, the New York Jew, the Yohanan Come Lately, seems to think he can buy his way onto our land. He seems to think he can lay out as much money as possible, apologize for past behavior, which, I should add, needs no serious apology, and gain the trust of the bumbling servi. We shall see my brother. Perhaps he can. But we have poured enough toxins into the well, memories of the servi have been obliterated. The elder brother lets out a dry, raspy chuckle while his brother grins back at him, silently. – Monday, February 17, 2020