Dear Dirty America

Pete Souza

Yesterday, I awoke and watched a few snippets of the president’s inaugural speech. The president had a slightly combative tone. His speech was decidedly progressive. That’s what the experts are saying — the people who scratch out a living churning and regurgitating what the president has said, and how he’s said it.

My mood is less than amiable these mornings since I’ve begun my new at-home workout routine. I’m no stranger to working out, but on my checklist I’ve got a nasty bugger called the ‘pistol squat’. The pistol squat is an outwardly simple-looking move that actually requires serious concentration and dedication to form and style, if it is to be be pulled off just right. And when one accurately executes this move, the body takes on the shape of a pistol.

With both of my thigh muscles burning, I realized I was not interested in the president’s tone, nor am I intrigued by his vow to fight for gay rights, or take action against climate change. Those issues might be well-meaning and necessary, but my annoyance over the millions of American sheep who fawn over his smiles and well-dressed family is far greater, and that irritation levels any positive outlook I would have had toward this man.

Pete Souza

The way the masses of self-identified “left-leaning” Americans turn into forgetful zombies overtaken by the urge, at the sight of their beloved president, to scream, “Four more years!” with a nauseating consistency, as if these folks got together in their local neighborhoods and practiced chanting in their basements and backyards. People are so bored and frightened by their lives they long for someone to worship, and the TV is more than happy to accommodate these folks.

Hail the chief! Part of me wants to step aboard the Obama-train. Part of me wishes to forget the abusive, disastrous last four years of White House power (and a continuation of the policies and procedures of the eight years before that). Part of me wants to pretend Mitt Romney was the only evil one, and he lost, and his big-money backers lost, and now we’re on a brighter path. But that’s childish and ignorant. Both candidates are friends of Big Money Capitalism, and while O might be barely better on social issues than M (or at least O talks about social issues more favorably than M), the American people really weren’t given a choice in the election.

What is the syndrome that allows the nation’s liberals to sweep under the rug some of the most egregious abuses of power by a supposedly leftish president? What is the malfunction in society that drives well-meaning people to step in line and treat a president, who by action is not even as liberal as Richard M Nixon, as a celebrity and godsend and savior of our very troubled nation?

While Obama’s voice clanged off the brick wall of apartment and made me break into a sweat, I couldn’t help but remember a strange video I’d seen a couple of days ago:

Obama. The Antichrist. The long-fabled beast mentioned in the Bible, who’s come to derail humanity under the auspices of saving the world. The problem is, and I’ll even call it the proof that Obama is not the manifestation of evil come to oppose the Second Coming of Christ, is that his hair is turning gray. He’s clearly stressed out, beleaguered, and not comforted by being invested and infested by the most nefarious powers-that-be.

Frankly, I’d expect more out of the Antichrist. I plan on being marveled by him or her. I want my socks blown off by Satan’s highest earthly incarnation. I want to look forward to the fireworks between the Antichrist and Christ.

Luca Signorelli – Deeds of the Antichrist

Plus, Obama’s an awful Antichrist. He’s not exactly solving our problems in a smooth manner. No matter how badly the brainwashed folks in West Hollywood and other Obama-worshiping areas on earth celebrate his existence and ignore his detriment to society and peace on earth, this president just isn’t the long awaited deceiver of people.

Yes, he’s very deceptive, and the mainstream media helps tout his accomplishments and agendas, but he’s a lousy manifestation of evil. Despite his murderous drone war and arrogant disregard of Congress on matters of war powers, he’s not infallible. He’s not superhuman. His hair is turning gray. He’s only a man, and he’s certainly not made of strong enough material to give the real Christ enough hell to cause the celestial sparks described in the great battle.

If anything, the Antichrist is incubating inside the off-white shell of an egg hidden deep within the Vatican. The pope, Benedict, sits on it for an hour every day. He likes the very subtle vibrations coming from the egg. It stimulates his prostate and makes him feel powerful. You can see it on his face as his cheeks and lips get rigid for one split second while the egg rumbles beneath him.

But back to the main man. Back to the United States. Inauguration Day. The holiest of holies, sort of. The swearing in of men who believe enough of their own bullshit to wake up every morning with enough confidence to take a go at the political machine again, without any shame or second guessing. Because personal shame is what keeps people like me in bed long past the standard waking hour. Second guessing is what keeps people longing for the dream world, and creates more than an uncomfortable amount of dissonance in the real one.

Every time I see Barack Obama’s face, I think: unmanned predator drones; destroyed families in Pakistan, Yemen, Iraq, Afghanistan, Somalia; Bradley Manning; abuse of the Espionage Act; liberals championing the Patriot Act when they once denounced it under the Bush regime; the renewal of the NDAA bill newly loaded with language to allow indefinite detention of American citizens; the catastrophic intervention in Libya that left tens of thousands of people dead; no real Wall Street reform; and so on.

I’m usually a little cranky and hostile toward the president, or anyone who wishes to playact power over people. These days, however, I think I can fairly blame my uneasiness on those pistol squats. Beside working out your legs, the pistol squat can also do one of two things: jump start your central nervous system and get your blood pulsing through your veins with purpose and vigor; or it can make your thighs burn and, because of the strain and difficulty of the move, really piss you off.

As always, it’s up to you. The game. Your life. You can pretend you’re cheering on the Antichrist, or you can wake up early every morning to start your work out routine and break out an impressive amount of pistol squats while most Americans are still eating breakfast.

That’s dedication. Routine. Regiment. These are the moves that can change your life, no matter who is president or what faction of power wishes to dictate how you should live your life.

SEE ALSO

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For George Bush on his deathbed

Gingrich’s godlessness: an obvious irony

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