The Madness Of The American Way

As I scratch out this latest post on a crumpled piece of white computer paper at my local psych-rehab, it is less than one week until election day and this emotionally unstable blogger is desperately fighting the urge to swallow his/her own tongue. Yes dearest motherfuckers, after what feels like a century in this foul election season, your favorite genderfuck anarxist is finally fucking losing it or at least whatever's left of 'it' to lose. I'm seriously considering upping my Valium dosage, shit, I'll try fucking Thorazine at this point. Anything to calm the demons in my head. Only they're not in my fucking head. Their on my phone and my machine and the radio and YouTube and every motherfucking goddamn TV channel and sweet zombie Christ!

 I feel like Ray Liotta in the last scenes of Goodfellas. Coked up, freaked out, searching for helicopters from my speeding Cadillac as Harry Nilsson caterwauls "We can make each other happy!" in the background. Be cool. Maintain. I can just hear my inner Raul Duke trying to coach me through this hell like a trip sitter preaching the gospel of calm to an audience of jimsonweed addled Mansonites, "Never mind these sick visions of American apocalypse. In spite of the rapidly growing mountain of evidence to the contrary, Helter Skelter is not in fact coming down." Oh but it is Dr. Duke. It most definitely is. And the most fucked up thing about it is that I don't even give a shit anymore. Go ahead and nuke the globe you goddamned oligarchs. Anything to end this fucking circus ride. Cause I just can't fucking do this shit anymore.

I can't watch Donald Trump yelp his way through another white pride rally, denying that he ever fucked that sexy endangered aardvark at the Bronx Zoo. Not because he wouldn't but because his day-glow orange dick is clearly too YUUUUGE! to fit inside that poor, raped to death critter. Plus she was a fatty. Never mind the tiny claw marks on his baby-doll hands. Just focus on the hate speech.

And I can't listen to Killary wretch about James Comey being Putin's latest puppet for committing the high treason of caving to his own agent's refusal to drink another gallon of lukewarm Clinton piss and bury yet another of their skeletons in the fucking basement next to Jimmy Hoffa and J. Edna's evening gowns. As for the latest child prostitute covered in Bill's jizz, well clearly she's also a part of the vast Russian right-wing conspiracy to deny Queen Kill-em-all's coronation. Aren't we all at this point.

And I can't stomach seeing another ostensibly liberal celebrity that I once admired pretend to be inspired by the prospect of voting for America's preeminent neocon chicken-hawk just because she's technically a Democrat and just because she happens to possess a vagina, even if it is loaded with scatter-bombs. If World War 3 is the price trendy people have to pay to break the glass ceiling than so be it. World peace is so 2008 anyway.

And I can't watch the "liberal media" make all of Roger Ailes bullshit lies true by openly campaigning for their beloved Clinton's and against Trump. Not because he's a race-baiting career con-artist or a knuckle-dragging malignant narcissist but because he's committed the unspeakable atrocity of using the podium they gladly gave him (Ratings! Ratings! Ratings!) to suggest MAYBE calling off the new Cold War to make nice with Russia. A crime apparently worse than rape in today's mass media zeitgeist.

And I will literally fucking die if I have to read one more deluded softcore Trump puff piece from my former favorite paleolibertarian muckraker, Justin Raimondo, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else still listening that the Donald is the second coming of the Old Right just because he accidentally sounds vaguely antiwar in every fifteenth sentence he barks out. Apparently even our renegades have gone batshit fucking mad.

I just can't fucking do this anymore. Voter fatigue is one thing but when you mix it with the host of other festering mental ailments I'm already infected with you get something that resembles psychological mustard gas, scarring the lungs of my imagination. What makes it even worse is that regardless of which megalomaniacal psychopath happens to win next Tuesday, they will undoubtedly be the worst president this already wretched nation has ever seen. No matter what there will be more war, more death, more innocent blood drowning the howitzer cracked streets of planet earth's poorest cities. My heart feels like it could vomit hydrochloric acid right now. My brain feels even worse. And of coarse election day has to fall just days after the end of daylight-savings plunges my universe into months of seasonal affective darkness. If this sick fucking charade qualifies as democracy than I have officially had enough of it. It's times like these that made me desperate enough to look towards despots like Castro and Lenin for hope during my youth. And maybe that's the point. The same way that public schools murder free thinking by making "learning" an insufferable chore. The American election season spoils whole generation's appetites for true democracy by turning it into a mental illness. That's the sick, twisted madness of the American way. Is it really any wonder that the majority of Americans don't even fucking bother showing up at the ballot box?

But not this basket case. For me voting amounts to an almost sadomasochistic act of protest. A sort of electoral propaganda of the deed, if you will. The more people that vote for legitimate, renegade, third party candidates, the clearer it becomes to those poor souls who don't vote that the tyranny of the two-party cartel is nothing more than a demented illusion. We can opt out. We can tear it down. So next Tuesday, I aim on dragging my fat fatigued carcass out of bed. Driving down to my designated voting place, in a fag-bashing baptist church, naturally, and voting for Jill Stein and Amaju Baraka and any other third party candidate I can find on the ballot. Then and only then will I return to the relative safety of my basement to pop Benzos, light candles and hyperventilate.

Stay sane if you can, dearest motherfuckers, it's already too late for this twisted bitch but it's not too late to vote for real change. If I can do it, anyone can.


Peace, Love and Empathy- CH