You don't have to be a Fool to be wise enough to know that capitalism and democracy don't go together and one of them had to go. Well, nuncle, I guess we know now which one went. You can tell which one won because of all the fatfuck herds of humankine just milling around at malls in the food courts or trying on new expansive outfits at the Big People clothes store. They feel duty-bound to spend and demonstrate their fealty to economic growth by becoming ever-larger versions of their miniscule selves.
Nothing demonstrates the emptiness of human communication and thought processing than the mindless echo chambermaids and echoclowns of Elon Musk's X (formerly known by its more appropriate name, Twitter.) What the f*ck is X supposed to mean anyway? Is Elon spose-a be channeling Malcolm? A white priv from South Africa now the darling of the Western World's technoteletubbies in suits and striding like he be speaking ebonics his whole life. Well, X marks the spot where the Acme anvil fell on him. Beep-beep. But 140 characters is the silver lining of these tweets. I wake up in sweats some nights wondering if we'll all end up like duckrabbits speaking tweets at the speed of sound. There's a woman / down my block/ who gives me a f*cking chill / warbling out Who's gonna eat the rest of this krill?
Musk is in the news lately because of his cash give-away. A million dollars a day to someone's fool still high on the fumes of Keep Hope Alive. That You could be a Hero just for a day feeling re-kindling that fire in the belly you lost beneath the fat fuckedness of your lardhood and credit-driven spending lifestyle. Yeah, you stylin. Implicit: Vote for the party that splashes such largesse -- Elon's party. Vote Trump to protect that baby bump. Oh, it isn't a baby bump? Oops, my bad. And anything"
Well, blame Greg Palast for the Giveaway craze. Remember his Pizzagate? No, not the one where kids are discovered as toppings in pizza parlors secretly owned by Hillary Clinton washing money from pay-to-play schemes for the Middle Finger element. Greg, reporting on voter disenfranchisement down down Georgia way -- deeply moved by dozens of African Americans standing in long, long lines at polling stations, whitey hoping it would discourage voters from showing up in the first place or else make them give up out of heat exhaustion and/or the need to drop a deuce in the only available portapotty several blocks way -- also with a line! (Careful planning is needed if you are Black and have the urge to vote -- or sh*t.)
Palast's political stunt, though appreciated by some of us reactionary lefties, was an abject failure. It smell good awaft, sitting there on the table, aroma of pepperoni and sausage and green peppers, and fried onions, and shrooms, and oregano. But the cops came by with they billybops and ixnayed that idea. "You are breaking the law," they megaphoned, and forced Greg to pack up his pies and move on -- implicit Or Else hanging in the air like a headline that cried I Can't Breathe. Greg got the drift.
In a film clip about the incident, Palast tells us he sees nothing wrong with feeding folks who have been waiting in line to vote -- in some cases hours. And someone from that line called out, "Hey Greg, what happens if I have to go take a dump? Are you gonna hand-out toilet paper?" You bet I will, said the protector of Everyman, especially people of color, and God Bless Him for it. "Great," said the Black Man in Line for Hours Waiting to Vote and Having To sh*t, "Can you please make it Charmin?" The cops didn't like the nervous humor that erupted and began to pestle-and-mortar their fists with palms with motions resembling fascist porno films. Another Long Suffering Black Man Standing for Hours in Line hollered, --Enjoy the go!" They had to wait to vote, but lawd, could they laugh at the toilet humor they'd been dealt.
Unfortunately, the Palast idea went South when, as he was packing up the pies and leaving, several folks left the line and chased after him. Not literally. He wasn't running or anything. It's just a figure of speech. Just because a Black man (and a curvaceous mama) features in my sentence doesn't mean he's about to go Halloween on Greg Palast's fatfuck ass. What's the matter with you? One of them said, "I'd rather have a slice of mouthwatering pizza than vote anytime." "Yeah," another man went. "You said it, brother. Pizza never let us down." Greg turns on them (no, not that way, tsk-tsk), and goes, Sorry, folks, it's only Papa John's, so don't get your hopes up too high. And that look came over a few faces, like after Obama was elected in and immediately jettisoned his core social safety net plan in order to bail out the bankers with TARP. A year or two later he was killing Americans with Hellfire missiles shot from predator drones and thinking that was funny at the motherfuckin 2010 White House Correspondents Dinner. "Damn!" said one would-be voter, "I coulda been 119th in line by now. Almos' there. I didn't know it was Papa John's. You couldn't splash for Godfather's?" "Ho-ho," goes another disenfranchised Long Sufferer, "Lesser of two evils, bruddah." And they all laughed, lawdy lawd. Even Greg laughed, and he is white. A cop oinked and pestled.
The pizza fiasco clearly was inspirational among the Show About Nothing element. The whole last season of Curb Your Enthusiasm sees Larry David in trouble, maybe having to go to jail, like da Black man, because he broke the law when he, like Palast before him, ventured to Georgia to help those Long Suffering Black People in Line Just Wanting To Vote Like Every Goddamn Other Self in Georgia Who Just Happened to Be White and of Voting Age, and started handing out plastic bottles of motherfuckin water. Cue the sirens. Here come the cops with they billybops. Ixnay time. But Mr. Nothing Matters (but in a funny way -- weeee!) got hisself arrested and spends the whole season worried he'll end up in jail with Georgian skinheads mistaking him for a peach they may just dare to eat. For he broke the law. He has the chance to cop and plea and walk, but what would he say to his hip live-in Black housemate, Leon (played by JB Smoove), so he risks beating an all-white jury in Georgia and doin time. I won't tell you how it ends, for that would be a spoiler. Same with democracy in America: Won't tell you how that ends.
A lot of people are getting mighty tired of the elites. 400 million guns in America ain't something to sneeze at. And lots of us just can't abide the symbol of excess and the feeling of being b*tch-slapped by money that Elon Musk brings to the stable. Musk brings the smell of money and it stinks. Stupid slingshot trains from LA that one mistake could see it zoom past Frisco and end up in Anchorage. One-way flights to Mars (that 250000 folks volunteered for) that's right, one-way, let it set in. Electric cars and trucks that commit suicide by drowning in burban pools. The take-over of Twitter and the brand changed to X, like he" Neuralink and the good day coming when Elonites can read your mind with a BCI he calls Telepathy. And now these million dollar days to buy votes, and no one saying that it's illegal, even though everyone knows a million dollars can buy a lot of pizza and Dom Perrier. "Pecunia non olet," Titus was said to have written on the wall of the first toilet stall in Rome back in the day. But muthafukka didn't smell Elon's musk.
Ultimately, it's the big fat space between your big fat ears that represents the final fat frontier. That's what they are coming for next now. To make you -- and me, I'm no different -- a fat head, who squawks and talks smack. He knows he's evil -- usually an indication he's ready to start a 12 step program (Hi, I'm Dave. I'm a Fat f*ck. Hi, Dave.) -- but goes on anyway, even to the edge of doom. Like Lear, who in an alternate version, turns on the Fool and punches him right in the baggy comeuppance region and jumps off the cliffs of Moher, let's say. Wearing his golden parachute made of gold. It was like a chandelier fell on him from on high, is all. Yep, that's all folks.
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