Thursday, December 28, 2006

Fear & Loathing In West Chester, Ohio By: Doug Boucher

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(Editors Note: Doug wrote this a while back, but we feel it is worth repeating, as its subject matter is still in our everyday news.)

Our boy-king has arrived . I can feel his vile presence still in the air, his shit-stained aura reverberating through my being. I live less than three miles from a spot where George W. Bush stained the earth with his presence today.

I was there, but I did not witness his entire nonsensical speech, for I was expelled. Banished. Banned. Routed out like cheap vermin. I, your intrepid reporter, was thrown bodily out of the premises just as the affair began, denied a seat to this foul celebration of our fool president by a gang of soulless thugs.

Hard to believe? Of course not. The jackals have long since descended, suppressing the voice of those who would dare speak a word against our leaders. I'm lucky not to now be in Guantanamo Bay using a pile of my own filth as a pillow, the skins of long-passed cellmates as my covering.

At 5 AM this morning, I awoke. Donning the only respectable clothing I own, I brushed my hair for the first time in days and ascended from my cave. I placed flowers on the doorsteps of my wife's and daughter's rooms, who have graciously learned to ignore the strange beastly noises emanating from the basement that writhe and mix with CNN reports. The child has been told that "Fuck" is a large monster whose name should not be spoken except by Daddy when he's trying to kill it downstairs, so as to condition her from the inevitable result of her father having working vocal cords in this foul year of Our Lord 2004.

I snuck out and drove the short distance to the Voice Of America park, but already the goons and rent-a-thugs were circling the perimeter, no doubt waiting for the first sign of Islamic/Communist/Hippie activity. I parked off the side of the road and watched, observing the orchestrated paranoia that surrounds the appearance of Our Leader wherever he may roam.

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After a few minutes, I spotted one particularly surly looking official walking towards me. I reached for my camera, my video recorder, and my faked credentials and stepped from my parked vehicle.

"Are you from the press?" drawled the hired monkey.

"Yes sir. Just a good American like yourself," I replied, handing him a laminated card proclaiming me to be Mr. Bill Buckley of a local FOX affiliate. I adjusted my cheap ball cap. Thank God I cut my hair a few months ago.

After inspecting my equipment and patting me down for any hidden and newly-legal assault rifles I might be packing next to my johnson, he said, "Well, Mr. Buckley, it doesn't start for some time, but you're free to move around so long as you don't cross the yellow tape."

"Thank you, son. You're doing God's work." With that I trudged forward.

In a few hours, the rally would begin, and Herr Bush would arrive several hours later, having given the local Republican hordes plenty of time to ingest hastily assembled barbecue and the preposterous platitudes of speakers gushing with schoolgirl mirth over the chance to be on the same stage as their decisive, resolute, and utterly stupid commander-in-thief.

After staking out the premises, I walked down to a Waffle House. I'm not proud, but I was hungry. The greasy truckers and mole-ridden waitresses seemed to me uneasy with this black-clad pseudo-journalist in their midst, chowing on chop steak with one hand and reading Deliver Us From Evil with the other, the masterwork sprung from the pen of that great philosopher Sean Hannity.

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The locals should have feared not the reader in their midst. Even the fourth grade education required to reach the top of the current Billboard Hot Country charts would suffice to decipher Hannity's boneheaded prose. It's no wonder John Kerry is flailing around trying to win over those overrated "undecided" voters. If people stupid enough not to have made up their minds at this point somehow come within reach of a book written by one of Hannity's ilk, Kerry will be working overtime trying to explain basic math to more people than just Bush in the upcoming debates.

But there's where these two campaigns show such a difference of thrust, and where Kerry suffers. While Kerry courts the "undecided" and tries to keep Ralph Nader from being stomped on like a narc at a biker rally by 99% of the 30% of people who actually vote in this country, Bush is coming to places like West Chester, Ohio. A place overrun by Republicans who are the very same "damn blue-collar tweakers" who run the town in that lovely Primus song. Except that they aren't blue-collar here, they are yuppies and executives, the kind who made the growth of the soy-milk industry possible. (And don't they know it's rich white LIBERALS who invented the mass-marketing of that shit? Christ on a salad dish.) It's Conservative Land here, and you walk knee-deep in Republican Values every time you step from your door. And people wonder why I avoid the Southwestern Ohio sun, here in my basement. If it wasn't for the Prophet Larry Flynt opening one of his fine establishments in Monroe, just a few miles north, it would be enough to make a man cry.

But no, it's not so bad. At least we have commerce beyond a couple used car lots and some Taco Bells, such as back home in central Indiana, where I'm surprised Bush isn't at today instead. He's trying to solidify his base, and where better than to go than to a place where even Sean Hannity's writing skills could confuse the fuck out of the average corn fed ignoramus? Well, the answer is simple of course. Not only are the Republicans here more educated (if still lacking mightily in sense), they obviously have more MONEY than anyone in the increasingly unemployed town of my youth. The Bushfuckers rely on television news to keep the corn-eaters in line. Here in West Chester they can appeal to their base in person, making the yuppies feel good as they're reminded that if they don't vote for Bush, their taxes will rise, their children will be blown to bits by "the enemy", and of course, "The terrorists will win." By coming directly to the center of his wretched following, Bush will hope to prevail by mobilizing those already dumb enough to vote for him into a well-oiled expanding machine that will jump at command, filled with fear of another 9/11, and with contempt for those who merely ask that we pick the RIGHT people to blow the shit out of instead of Daddy's old nemesis. In short, he's become a preacher for his own vile religion.

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Meanwhile, Kerry's approach is questionable at best. While admirably managing the difficult job of making his party appear to be "united" (which Democrats are now, but let's be honest, we mostly just want to get rid of Bush and would have nominated Al Sharpton if he was the best to be had, and sometimes I wonder if he wasn't) the appeal to the undecided and the whining about Nader has distracted from the real business of getting shit together. It's not that Kerry hasn't worked on this, he just hasn't been as concentrated, hasn't had the super-organized focus of the Bushfuckers. The Republican machinery may be morally bankrupt, but they aren't morons. They just choose morons to lead them. Democrats would do well to learn how to mobilize their base so well. Some of them get it, and thank Lord Jesus for the 527s, who are doing the job better than the man who undoubtedly will need them to be elected. He sure ain't going to do it himself, you know.

Of course, it's a much harder task. Mobilizing "conservatives" is a bit like getting lunatic religious people to congregate at church. In fact, it kinda IS that. Conservatives are of a much more narrow-mindset, coming as they do from priorities of God, Guns, and the Gipper. "Liberals" can't quite manage to agree on anything, but that has as much to do with having taken the time to think for oneself as it does anything else. It's a *strength* in its way. Perhaps Kerry shouldn't be faulted too much for not doing it the Bush way. The Bush way works when you only have to appeal to simplistic pseudo-values. It's a harder job to do when it involves people willing to look past the latest Bill O'Reilly dropping to form an individual opinion. So maybe that's part of the reason for this thrust towards the people who haven't made up their mind yet.

But fuck the undecided, and fuck the Nader voters. If Ralph wants to run, LET HIM. It shows no true concern for the American voting process to deny entry to even the most useless candidates. I too wish he'd go away and not take Kerry's votes into his trailer to sniff on like an unwanted college geek with a stolen pair of panties, but it's America, and we built this country on letting even the outcasts have a voice. And if we could be thick enough to ignore Eisenhower's warning about the military-industrial complex that surely has risen to levels Ike could never have dreamed of, then we most certainly can ignore a pathetic attention-grabbing little gnat like Ralph Nader. If 1% of the population is that ignorant, let 'em have their fun. Fuck them and the natural fibres they rode in on.

And who are these "undecided voters" anyway? What manner of degenerate swine are these people? Only a constant diet of roadkill and Bud Lite could explain the depraved mind of a person undecided in this election. It certainly is the only explanation for the existence of most of the Bush supporters. Do these people not have electricity? Holy Jesus H. Fuck in a shitbasket. In a land full of information, some people still can't figure out the basic difference between two candidates like this. People can't figure out where they stand, even from watching the shitty excuse for news that comes to us on television each night. You don't even have to watch Dan Rather. Shit, turn on Bill O'Reilly or Sean Hannity. That's the best TV in the world to make you run screaming for the polls to push a button for Kerry two seconds before the machine brings up an "error" message and all the Democratic votes get sucked into a hole somewhere in Jeb's backyard. People go on this "lesser of two evils" nonsense, but that's a lie. Bush IS evil. Kerry isn't evil, he's just a dork. I don't really like the idea of a dork being president, but it's not a hard choice. Is it that big of a moral dilemma? "Hmm, it's either the dopey goober or the spawn of Satan. Shit, I just don't know. Gumby or Nyarlathotep? Dumb & Dumber or Hell Raiser 42: Pinhead Eats Iraq? Do I want my taxes raised, or do I want my children to be eaten alive by Dick Cheney? Damn, this is tough. Can I come back later?"

I put my book down (well, it wasn't my book, I saw Hannity's smugly face floating in a creek while out trying to enjoy nature one day, and brought his vile tome back home to dry off and laugh at) and paid for my meal. The Waffle House denizens went back to their own meals, fully unaware of the "Charlie Daniels Sucked My Flag-Burning Cock" bumper sticker I'd attached to the window-facing rear side of the jukebox while pretending to be searching for a Tammy Wynette epic to soothe my countrified soul.

I walked back towards the park, and the crowds had begun to come in. I snapped a few shots of rent-a-cops to Photoshop into gay porn at a later date, and hauled out my video camera. It was time to interview some Bush-lovers. I first chose one of the suits who looked like he'd just came out a meeting with his CEO and hadn't quite wiped the jizz from his face yet.

"Hello, sir? My name's Buck Billy, and I'm a reporter. I just want to ask you a few questions."

"Sure, fire away."

"Why are you supporting George W. Bush?"

"Well, he's a great leader. He's protecting America. And John Kerry wants to raise my taxes."

"By what definition do you use the phrase 'great leader' in reference to President Bush?"

"Well, he's decisive. He went after Saddam Hussein and got him. And he's not a flip-flopper like Kerry."

"One final question - do you like the taste of roadkill?"


"Thank you for your time."

I walked around a bit, surveying the landscape as more hordes of SUV-driving elephants came slogging in. The crowd seemed to be a fair mix of yuppies, executives, well-off Toby Keith fans, soldiers who finally got to come home, and intense looking young men with short-cropped hair, the kind of driven twenty-somethings who study their asses off at university and still haven't figured out that they're gay.

Speaking of gay, one of the gentlemen standing next to an SUV on particularly large tires looked a hell of a lot like Pastor Fred Phelps, my favourite Man Of God. Let's go talk to him.

"Excuse me sir, I'm from FOX News, and I want to ask you a few questions."

"Alrighty then."

"Why do you support George W. Bush?"

"Well, he's a great leader. He's protecting America. And John Kerry wants to raise my taxes."

Wait a minute, this sounded familiar...

"What is your position on gay marriage?"

"Homosexuality is a sin in God's eyes, and the liberals who run the media are trying to redefine marriage. Homosexual marriage is an affront to the values this country was founded upon."

For an idiot, he sure spoke well.

"If I've just hit a deer and want to butcher it for my trailer park's monthly cookout, where's the best place to go around here?"

"Bob's Meat Market."

He even gave me directions.

According to the polls, Kerry is losing support among women voters. So I figured I better talk to a lady. Some would have you believe that Clinton got elected because women thought he was sexy, (you'll notice that only Republican men have this insane view) but no rational female I know has ever admitted to this baffling ailment. So I imagine in this election, the odds of any woman of a social standing higher than Daisy Duke making their choice based on either of these horror-movie-reject troll-faced goons being remotely "sexy" is about the same as the odds of finding transcripts of Abbie Hoffman speeches in Donald Rumsefeld's sock drawer. Hell, *I'd* rather be under the desk chugging Willie's wretched sausage.

"Excuse me, miss. I'm a reporter. Can I ask you a few questions?"


The woman looked to be in her early 20s. Beautiful. Gorgeous, even. Unfortunately, she was wearing a Bush/Cheney T-shirt, which could fuck up any good liberal's erection. Well, maybe not Clinton's, but...

"Why do you support George W. Bush?"

"Well, he's a great leader. He's protecting America. And John Kerry wants to raise my taxes."

Fucking Christ. I'm apparently not the only person who was reading Sean Hannity this morning. I better make a doctor's appointment before I get afflicted with whatever hellish virus these fuckers are carrying.

"Do you think George W. Bush has more to offer the women of America than John Kerry?"

"Of course. He's a good man. I'm proud to have him as my leader. I've got to admit, I envy Laura Bush."

My testicles ran screaming up into the nearest protective cavity. My penis weakly cried "Uncle" and collapsed.

"You know where I can get some good cuts of deer steak?"

"Bob's Meat Market." She even gave me directions.

The crowd began filing in, a tortuous process to watch, so I instead stalked off for a while, needing to be alone, needing to rejuvenate myself from the horror I had witnessed. I made my way to the nearby library, stuffing Hannity's book into the drop-box with a note reading "I jus wanted to doghnate dis goood buk fur uther goood Amercans to reed. Luv, Geeorg." I found a copy of the Bible, and sat back to relax with the Book Of Revelation for a while. Just to calm my nerves before heading back out into the philosophical carnage. Ahh, the beast with ten horns. Such a friendly little puppy. Must keep my new furry friend away from that wretched monster Cheney. That vicious fuck would tear Lucifer's many heads off with his bare teeth, drink his blood, then prance off into the sunset singing merrily and counting Halliburton money in his bottomless sin-lined pockets.

Having been unwittingly lulled to sleep with pleasant fairy tales, I awoke hours later. Fuck! The Head Honcho of Washington's slaughterhouse was to speak in mere minutes, and here I was hunched over in a library chair with a copy of God's Good Book in my lap, drool soaking its wisdom-filled pages. When nobody was looking, I took out a yellow highlighter and randomly marked a few verses, then wrote "Pat Robertson was here" on the front cover. That'll fuck with the bastards’ heads.

I gathered my gear and quickly made my exit, only to see a massive scene of horrific insanity before my eyes. The rally was in full force, 55,000 braying idiots assembling to worship at the feet of their twisted Master, and there were stupid-looking cars and SUVs fucking EVERYWHERE. Helicopters floated over the area, and I thought to myself that yes, this was even worse than normal traffic down Tylersville Road at 4 PM on a weekday. Jesus jumped-up Christ in a Hummer.

I ran into Kroger and bought myself a six of Rolling Rock (to commemorate my Saviour's return as prophesied in the fabulously clear and well-written book I'd just drooled upon) and stuffed it into my camera bag. Since everyone within a mile was looking the other direction, I managed to slam down four of them before the cops had a chance to see. There, now I felt almost like a true journalist, instead of the fake one I was carrying ID of. I would have killed for a pint of ether.

There was no chance of getting onto the grounds this late, the tickets were taken and no one would even be able to leave until King Dinosaur had made his own exit, but I made my way across the stuffed parking lot towards the park on the other side of the street. Finally I could hear someone speaking. Some fool introducing Shrub. Fuck it, I'm gonna throw caution to the wind.

I ran towards the entrance and flashed my fake reporter's ID. The cop, showing the great skill and training that is required of his job, let me in (with a brief visit to the metal detector, which of course didn't find the beer in my unsearched camera bag) without a second glance and turned his attention back towards the skies, apparently more interested in guarding the president from the airborne Al-Queda that has recently infiltrated Ohio. I felt dirty, having taken such advantage of idiocy, but I pressed on. Looking back, my guilt was erased when I noticed that the metal detector was unplugged from its power supply. What airport was this asshole from?

There he was! The President! Though I tried to resist, I couldn't help but share the feeling that overtook the cheering crowd, the thrill of being so close to The Most Powerful Man On Earth. Oh my, what I wouldn't have given for a fifth of Jack Daniels and some automatic weapons at that moment. But alas, 'twas not to be.

He started to speak. And then it hit me. The absurdity, the ludicrousness. A crowd of 55,000 people who already planned on voting for this fool, being used as his ego trip while he recited the same mindless shit he'd been pandering for months. I can't remember a thing he said, because within nanoseconds, I was laughing uncontrollably.

Every sentence he spoke brought more gut-laughs from within me, until I was on the ground with dozens of stern-faced Americans, dressed in red white and blue like a giant multi-headed patriotic fuckbeast, glaring down at me. My identity was exposed. No longer was I the faux-FOX reporter. Now I was but a pinko liberal punkass taking a break from his dismal existence, daring to poke cruel fun at A Great Leader.

"Shut up!" I heard some soccer mom hiss.

"Be quiet, boy!" bellowed some hellish doppleganger of Travis Tritt.

All around me, the white people stared in scorn. Appalled at my lack of respect, as Dick Cheney would say. Blinded by devotion to their chosen shithead, they could not believe that a scum bag like I existed in their world. And still I laughed. Now at them as well as their idiot king.

I saw the jackals coming. I leapt to my feet and pointed high at the stage and screamed:





They grabbed me and hauled me off to the exit. I kept screaming:



They were silent, they were strong. They were swift, just like a boat in Vietnam. The hired thugs obviously had me pegged as a "dangerous element" and were prepared to drag me to the concentration camps, where Ashcroft would come shit on my head and read me Bible stories twice a week. Maybe he'd sing that fucking song about eagles to me, blissfully unaware of how few places eagles had to nest due to his boss's environmental policies. I was doomed.

"Let me go, you vicious dogs! I demand a lawyer! I demand a fair trial! I'm a God-fearing American citizen! You people voted for Humphrey! And you killed Jesus!"

But just outside the gate, a man in an expensive suit stopped the bastards who had ripped off my baseball cap and exposed twice as much hair as any respectable male in the county had. Damn, I hadn't cut off enough.

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"Gentlemen, let me handle this." The voice stopped them, a voice of authority. Great and unquestioned authority. Like Marlon Brando's in The Godfather, sealing another man's fate with a mere few words.

Who was this man, my saviour, he who had rescued me from a fate of constant cornholing deep within a Guantanamo cell?

He walked me back to my van. "Son, you're doing good work out here. Thank you."

"What do you mean?" I was baffled, shocked and awed.

"Son, some of us close to the President know as you do, that the man is an imbecile. It is our job to protect him anyway, and this we must do. But sometimes somebody has to stand up to the idiot and his voters and make a statement. In your small way, you've contributed to that effort today. I know you're not a terrorist. You're no threat to anyone other than those who'd keep the mouth of truth shut. Go on now, and fight again another day."

He left me at my van, walking off into the sunset. One of the top bodyguards of the boy-king had given me his secret blessing. I was filled with awesome joy, revelling in the spirit of that moment, knowing that I had escaped the jaws of the serpent not by my own doing, but because here, in this great country, even some who must serve the foul results of our electoral process, who anxiously await the end of that four year term for another, greater man to protect, some of them see the light. My cynicism relaxed for a while, and I watched the beautiful south-western Ohio sky as if for the first time. Then I came back home and straight to my cave. To share with you, dear reader, the events of the day.

This is September 27th, 2004, as I remember it. The events described herein are real and true and are not even remotely the product of a fevered imagination, owned by someone who barely left the house all day and only waved at a couple helicopters over my yard while I tried to water in the fertilizer this afternoon. Not by any means did I only know of the events of the day through the local news networks. No, you can trust me. I wouldn't lie to you.


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