Rollin' Like Sisyphus

When Men Were Men, And The Germans Didn’t Trust The French With Philosophy

Posted in Our Simple Affirmative Action President by Huckleberry on October 10, 2013


in a perfect world, this would be true. The shutdown reveals that the parks have more government than they can handle.

And the Prophet looked up from his gazing pool, refocusing his mind’s eye to the here-and-now, pushing away the visions of a frightening and dismal future. His assistant asked, with hesitation, to describe the latest revelation, so that she may transcribe it for review, and eventual publication, by the Council Elders.
“Master Prophet,” she said, weakly, “What did you see?”
“I can’t,” the Prophet said, face slacked with shock.
“Please,” the assistant asked, impatiently.
“Clowns,” he replied with a broken, distant voice.
“What?” the assistant asked.
“Clowns. They’re all clowns. Hundreds of them. Thousands,” he said.
“What do you mean, Master Prophet?” she replied, puzzled.
“The future is ruled by clowns!” the Prophet said, shoving over the bowl and standard supporting the prognosticator’s gazing pool. “Let us never look upon it again. The only mercy – and not a small one – is that we’ll long be ash before the worst of it.”
“But Master Prophet,” the assistant said in disbelief, “Surely there must be some redeeming quality about the future? It all can’t be that horrible.”
“Well, yes,” the Prophet replied, “There is one thing.”
“They have an incredibly efficient way of wishing each other happy birthday. Something called the Book of Faces.”
“Is that all?”

So that’s where we are right now.
The Clown Show.
I’ve always hated clowns.
When I was eight, I was at a friend’s birthday party, and they had a clown face-painting on all the kids. Horrified by both the presence of the clown, the mandatory face-paint (a concept that is just nauseating to me, even then) and the fact that the clown was so Goddamn adamant that he was going to paint my face, it went poorly. I remember vividly that I politely declined the clown’s invitation to paint my face three times, then when he began stooping over to do so anyway, I punched the clown in the right kneecap as hard as I could, dove headfirst between the gap in his legs, rolled over onto my back, kicked the backside of the same knee with both of my feet, got up and booked it for the door, just like my dad taught me to do if anyone tried to fuck with me or my siblings. I remember hearing the clown crumple to the floor, a few of the other kids scream, one of the parents trying to chase me (but running out of breath nearly instantly) and that I made it all the way to the county park a mile away, where my parents eventually found me.
There is no difference between that clown and the clowns ruling over us today, aside from annual income. Both have a great idea that they seem too eager to inflict upon the unwilling and innocent. They both won’t take “no” for an answer. They both won’t go down without a fight. They both can’t really be defeated, merely escaped.
So the Shutdown Show trundles on, with Our Simple Affirmative Action President ordering the National Parks Service to burn a lot of time, money and resources to make life as painful as possible as visibly as possible to illustrate that the government can’t afford to have you out there doing things.
As one funny meme I saw asked, “How the Fuck do you close a forest?”
How the Fuck, indeed.
Clowns, all the way to the end.


3 Responses

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  1. charlesgreen said, on October 11, 2013 at 00:04

    What part of “closing the government” was the biggest surprise to you when it actually closed?

  2. kfc said, on October 16, 2013 at 20:45

    I don’t understand why you aren’t writing comedy, political or whatever else.

    I knew someone who, at about age 6, so frustrated the birthday clown who was trying to make her laugh, that when no one was looking, he slapped her across the face. Obviously, she has been afraid of them ever since.

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