Z-anon-sensei Speaks #83
“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas.” James Tate
Z-anon-sensei says you can feel the strength of ^darkpower when you see a Sheriff sworn to protect the people of his jurisdiction instead doing his legal best to endanger their health. This is the work of evil ^mythmemes, the triumph of evil ^poetwizards who have twisted his mind, perhaps even stolen his soul. This type of warfare— turning the powers of law enforcement against the people— is not new at all. But this is a new wrinkle in that oldest of stories. Because the Sheriff actually believes he is in the right.
It wasn’t exactly unexpected, since he’d been working towards it for some time now. But when Blake Steele hung up the phone, he couldn’t resist a fist pump and an Austin Powers style, “Yeah, ba-aby!” It had all worked, and the session with Burr had been the final step. It was Burr who put in the word for him, and Burr himself who called to tell him the news. “It’s Ary” he’d said, causing Steele to yank his car across two lanes of traffic and onto the shoulder of the road. Steele was on nickname basis with the AG now, apparently. Burr was an ally, maybe a friend. And Steele was in, in, in! Pretendident Thump himself was going to look over his suggestions for material, Burr told him. Steele, P.R. was officially hired by the WhoreHouse, though of course with enough layers of legal camouflage to keep the press, IRS, and even the DAs, at bay. Steele was already building a vocabulary list in his mind. A few trigger words. “Gaunt” “Ghostly”, “Ghoulish” (no, bag that one, too close to Rufus, who Steele knew only by reputation.) And keep it simple for Thump. He doesn’t read well, Burr had reminded him. But yes, paint the Dems as weak, fading, dim, thin, wasting away to nothing. Maybe he could work Barris’ skin color in as a joke, “not quite a ghost, that one.” Something off color, so to speak, just for the home team.
Oh, this was going to be good! He would be the bully behind the bully pulpit. The power behind the throne. The puppeteer. The man behind the curtain. Steele was a writer now for one of the most important people in the world. This is what he had been working for for so long. All the circles and spells. All the kissing ass. All the sacrifices. But it was worth it, all of it, because the workings had worked. Just follow the road, like the old witch had said. Lions and tigers and bears, oh, my!
Steele gunned his Tesla back onto the Parkway. The acceleration was fierce, but the silence of the engine didn’t quite fit his mood. He wanted a motor that would roar, right now, a Harley like those people at the Sturgis festival ride. He was in, in, in! Working for the Pretendident himself! Oh, my, oh, my oh! Weren’t the wife and kids going to be just tickled pink about that when he got home? Hot cocoa for everybody before bedtime. And later, he could spend some time in the basement doing some real celebrating.