Song and Dance (The Final Act)

The song and dance.  The tune that plays.  We’ve heard the same tired one for decades.  It has never been so big and bright on big screen teevees every night.  I’m glad I’m at home, without work.  All day I watch these shit-show jerks.  They might as well wear red bulbous noses.  We all know this clown show the clowns like to show us.   Most of you are at work all day and don’t get to see this theatrical play.  Sorry, but I have time on my hands, to watch the puppets sing and dance.

What the hell am I talking about?  Mister Trudeau pointing fingers about?  “Look over there, the Amazon’s flaming!  I broke the law but I still keep blaming. Others for hurting the econ-o-me.  I’m saving jobs. Can’t you see?  Including my own, just like my man – down south.  He knows what it’s all about!”

Did you hear the one about the election?  This one gives me a big erection.  Let’s start with the candidates.  We don’t choose them, don’t make that mistake.  Of thinking that we have a choice, of thinking that we have a voice.  In order to run you need millions, you see?  To go any further, you have to agree.  Agree to what corp-or-ations decree.

Now you’re in, it’s time to vote.  After the hateful, debateful, jokes.  After we incite a couple of riots.  The news looks better if people are dying.

Who wants ice cream?  Who wants pie?  A show of hands will help us decide.  That’s not how an election looks.  First, we steal your data on Facebook.  Then there are the Russian bots.  The schemes, the conspiracies, the dealings, the plots.  Cambridge Analytica hit the spot on your Facebook feed before they got caught.

And if all that isn’t enough, we have the Electoral College stuff.  That’s right, your vote doesn’t go to the top.  First, it makes a little pit stop.  An elector is the one who finally decides which of the kangaroo leaders reside.  In the White House, named for the collar colour of crime.  I can’t think of a next line to rhyme.  The electors don’t have to do any math.  They can decide the President’s path.

That brings us to the second act.  Once they hold power, we take a bath.  On taxes and health care and all of that jazz.  The nots will not have what the one percent have.  The have nots will never know what it’s like to have pedophile sex on a Jeff Epstein flight.

This song and dance are really fun, but at the climax, nothing is done.  We know there are UFOs flying around.  We know that the cops shoot minorities down.  We certainly know that there was collusion.  Watch teevee and drink beer and enjoy the illusion.

Now it’s time for the final act.  Do we do nothing or do we react?  Do we accept that this is it, live our natural lives and to hell with it?  Or do we step it up a notch and kick these assholes in the crotch?

I think we can do it and this is how.  The time to step up and do it is now.

Stop buying the shit that we see on the shelves and stop buying the bullshit that comes out of their mouths.



4 thoughts on “Song and Dance (The Final Act)

  1. An elector is the one who finally decides which of the kangaroo leaders reside.

    HA! I guess I’m getting caught up in the conspiracy stuff that’s going around because when I read that the thought jumped into my mind that what we THINK are the votes counted aren’t really. IOW, it’s all made up. People may make their marks, but there’s this hidden group that manipulates everything so the totals come out for the person THEY want.

    Oh. My. I better get off the computer and go lay down. Or get a stiff drink.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The votes are counted. The elector is elected. The elector can vote for any registered candidate. That’s how I understand it, but if I am wrong I have no problem with that.
      I spent a lot of time reading about something I thought was simple, and realized it is more complicated than I thought.


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