The 2011 Extinction of the Liberal
It came to me earlier this afternoon while I was soaking in the tub. As is my habit during the winter, I take a hot bath to soothe away my achy legs, feet and back. Though I am not an old man, nor as young as I used to be, Army medicine has left its indelible mark on my once rugged frame. I am not a Philistine, or Caligula for that matter, so I generally try to read while taking in the waters. Of late, I have been studying up on the extinction, and possible resurrection of the Woolly Mammoth. Having become engrossed in the incredibly well preserved specimens collected in Siberia in the last decade, I also began pondering the mass extinction of the late Pleistocene that wiped-out the Mammoths, Saber-Toothed Cats and about 50 other species weighing more than 100 pounds. Mass extinction. What causes it? How does it come to pass that an entire species dies off in such a short time? What was it like for the last Mammoth? Would not death be a better fate than being forced to wander the world in search of others who have long since passed?
One thought quickly led to another. In the other room Fox News was glibly commenting on the latest diatribe by Hillary Clinton. Then it struck me, what will happen when Obama fails to live up to the sky-high expectations of his legions of unbalanced devotees? It is bound to happen. The man is not a god and cannot produce happiness and maple syrup for all. I think it may take a year or two, but the sickening feeling will descend upon the THEY THAT IS CHANGE.
It will start slowly, like some feeling one cannot shake. It won’t even be noticeable at first. They will go on about their business as before with little or no realization. It is only at night, when they are alone in the dark will they begin to notice the stench of fear. Recriminations grow, questions go unanswered. Doubt begins to creep into the mind like a faint odor one is not really sure is there. Panic will grow, little by little, like the slow buzz built by drinking cheap 3.2 (or less) beer found in gas stations everywhere in Utah. By 2011 the feeling of dread will have transformed itself into a full fledged frenzy of utter despair. With the economy still unfixed, and with one or more members of the administration gripped in the greasy depths of scandal, THEY will know the truth that Obama, and his mantra of Change, Hope and Cookies, never really existed.
What happens to a man that has lost all hope? How does one cope with the crushing burden of knowing that their entire being has been savaged by the cold, hard phallus of reality? Does he come to grips with his new situation? HARDLY! If history has taught us one thing it is that those who have lost all hope fall into a spiral of degenerate behavior, indulging every vice and leaving no perversion undone. We have seen it before. In 1945 Berlin, Bucharest in 1989 and in the latest episode of “Battlestar Galactica.” No matter the culture or time period, man behaves the same, seeking comfort in piles of quivering, anonymous flesh, drinking to a stupor and generally making the Visigoths look well behaved in comparison. What follows the orgy of self-pity is usually a terminal bout of mass suicide.
Is such a phenomenon in the offing for our liberal friends? If Obama does not live up to the hype, and is exposed as a normal Illinois politician, will the leftist masses lose faith in any form of hope and begin replicating the behavior of lemmings hell bent on plunging over the cliff? Will everyone be able to get in on the pre-mass suicide orgy action? Is life worth living without Change?
America. 2011. The night is still. Places like SoHo, Greenwich Village, Boulder and Madison are deserted. Coffee shops are empty and independent bookstores are dormant. The windows of studio lofts are dark. A man walks down the street, the last of his kind. He voted for Obama in 2008 but somehow survived the mass-suicide earlier in the year. He has looked for others of his kind everywhere from San Francisco to St. Paul to the halls of Harvard and Vassar. His is a futile quest, and he begins to understand that in the end he is utterly, and horrifically alone. Like the last Mammoth, wandering the wintry wastes of Wrangel Island 3500 years ago, vainly searching for a mate or even a friend, he too will fade into the mists of history a relic of a time long gone.