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Well, it’s been a slow week here in
Lake Weerooldewurld. All that
happened was our Vice President said
this weekend that another sovereign
country would NOT get a bomb such as
ones we’ve waved about for 62 years. We
wonder how he could be so sure, given
that our army is stretched to the breaking
point, Iran has an ally next door (north of
it) whose army isn’t currently stretched,
and who has bigger bunker busters than
we do and easier targets (a stretched
army conveniently nearby).
The important thing is, if Dick
Cheney says Iran won’t get nukes, then
Iran won’t get nukes, because Dick
Cheney is the new Caesar. He’s bigger
than Caesar. Just like every successor
to Caesar had to be a Caesar, every successor to Dick Cheney will have to be a
Dick. Whether it’s Hillary Dick, Barack
Dick, Mitt Dick, or Rudy Dick, the one
sure thing is it’ll be a Dick. Just like the
ancient Romans knew they’d always be
Caesared in the end, we can be sure that
we’ll always be Dicked.
But I won’t dwell on parallels between our current empire and that of the
ancient Romans. That’s ancient history.
Instead, I’ll dwell on the Fifties.
Recently I was reminiscing and remembered a cute thing that happened
right here in 1955, when I was 6. I was
at Third and Pine on the corner that
now has the city’s most interesting
McDonald’s (in the sense that bloody
highway wrecks are interesting) waiting
to cross to the Bon. A man in a blue and
green flannel shirt stepped off the curb
into the street while the light was still
red. Immediately a voice boomed out,“You! In the blue and green flannel shirt!
Yes, you! Please get back on the curb so
I don’t have to send my two friends over
there!” Or words to that effect.
It was a plainclothes Seattle Police
Officer (also wearing a flannel shirt by
the way!) watching pedestrians in that
intersection from a perch above the Bon
Marché’s awning. He had a bullhorn and
two “friends”— beat cops on the ground.
You may be thinking, “Wow, and I
thought cops today made too much of
jaywalking! They were REALLY medieval
back in the Fifties! I’m glad I’m not old
enough to remember that! Poor Dr. Wes!
He’s so old!”
If that’s what you’re thinking, we are
not on the same “wavelength.” Here’s
the important thing to note about the
incident I just related: The man in the
flannel shirt did NOT get a ticket.
Whereas, today, there wouldn’t be a
cop with a bullhorn warning him to get
back on the curb. A motorcycle cop in
full storm-trooper gear would sweep
down on him, then push him back on the
sidewalk, then pin him to the wall, then
write him a ticket.
I’m putting all this together. Appar
ently, as a nation, we are entering into
a long period of decline. If we are lucky
enough to survive so long, we will be
ruled by Dicks for as long as Rome was
ruled by Caesars. Like the Caesars, our
Dicks will maintain themselves in power
by delivering spoils of endless wars to the
powerful rich who will in turn be increasingly allowed to bypass our republican
institutions, consolidating their own
power as well.
It’s not for nothing that the symbol of
Mussolini’s party was a fasces; a bundle of sticks IS stronger than one. It’s a
great metaphor for the collaboration
between corporate interests and the
administration: the government is the
ax, the corporations the sticks bound
together. When the corporations own
the government, our turn to fascism will
be complete.
But it doesn't have to be all bad.
The cop over the awning in 1955 shows
you can have fun-loving repression!
The guy DIDN’T get a ticket, only a
cheerful warning.
Let’s make sure our next Dick can say
Iran won’t get nukes with a real smile on
his face, instead of that nasty smirk! | 
