The Great Nazigasm Of 2017

It was a beautiful, stirring vision. America, by 2017, was going to be a rainbow-hued, sushi-eating transutopia, all under the beneficent gaze of the country's first ever woman President, Hillary herself. Like Sweden but better and bigger. Then disaster struck, the nation elected a man who put ketchup on his steak and lived in a golden tower.

Staring in thwarted infantile agony at their field of shattered dreams, libs everywhere fell into an irrational, hysterical frenzy. Someone or something, anything but themselves, had to be at fault and there it was, Russia! Putin hacked the election, putting a Kremlin spy into the White House but Russia frenzy could only last so long under the burden of no proof whatsoever. 

That sad little unicorn wasn't going to fly despite the best efforts of Blitzer, Maddow, Waters & Co; something else was needed. And lo and behold, boom! Nazism. It was Hitler's fault!

Hitler made Donald Trump a Nazi. And we know this because Trump doesn't think statues of Confederate generals should be smashed but does think that Nazi racists and Anarcho-Marxist revolutionaries are both wrong. That's pretty National Socialist, eh? And we've always known that General Lee was a time-travelling member of the Waffen SS. Columbus, Washington, Jefferson? The Constitution? All Nazi.

The police? Nazis. Gender binary bathrooms? Nazi. Freedom of speech? Nazi. Having a border? Very Nazi. Small government and lower taxes? Disgustingly Nazi. Saying no to Islamic terror? Yes, hideously Nazi.

Perhaps you don't think that makes much sense, that it's the kind of thing someone suffering from dropped-on-head-as-infant syndrome might believe. Well then, racist, you're a Nazi  and maybe you need to change your name to Martin Bormann and stop being such a Gauleiter.

In fact, everyone who isn't a Democrat and a member of Antifa is a Nazi. And that's just the way it is in the great Nazigasm of 2017.

Let's see how long this fit of infantile rage lasts.

LSP

Hillary in the Woods. A Horror Story

“I just have a sense — ” said Ellen, putting on her gloves.

“You think so?” said Carol, adjusting her scarf.

Yes, it was hardly unlikely that Hillary would be wandering the woods, trails and leaf-blown hills of New England. Pacing the autmnal chill of Chappaqua, pondering the enormity of her defeat. Like a ghost from another time, repeating endlessly, "It was Mook, it was Podesta, it was Comey, it was Weiner! I have money, so much money, why? It was Mook, it was Podesta, it was Comey, it was Weiner!" 

Hillary, as if a lost soul, hiking the windswept trails of thwarted ambition into the cold New England fall that leads inevitably to winter and ice. That's when we saw her. Ellen had been walking her chocolate lab, Huma, in crisis over the results of the disastrous election and saying to no one but the nearby frozen stream and herself, "I see her, I see her" when she appeared. In the flesh, coming around a bend.

"Here's Hillary with her poodle and the agents," said Ellen, and then we were together, and she said, "What happened?" And Hillary replied, "I don’t know. I have no idea." Ellen couldn't help herself, "I really admire you. You look great. You’re wonderful" and stood there with arms wide open and she's not even a hugger but gave her this big hug. Ellen loved the failed Candidate's beautiful sweater. Hillary asked the dog’s name.

'

She's "Huma," and then it happened. Hillary clawed at us like an enraged beast, snarling and tearing with ragged nails. It was like Salem, only worse, it was real. All too real.

In a frenzy of frustrated rage, Hillary attacked, in a shrieking frenzy, her sweater flaked with foam and dirt. We fought back as best we could, there on the lonely New England trail, until suddenly, as in a dream, the monster was gone.

"I just have a sense —" said Ellen, putting on her gloves, flexing the bloodstained but soft as silk Hermes leather. "You think so?" said Carol, adjusting her scarf. "Was it a dream, a terrible dream?" said the Chippaqua maven to the leafless trees and the wind, pausing to tug minutely on understated Chanel, "Ask Huma."

Huma, ever faithful, stood panting as leaves fell from the harsh grey sky, gore dripping from once white teeth. Teeth that had seen so many victories and lately, mind-numbing defeat. 

"Good dog," patted Ellen, "Maybe it won't come back."

"We hope so," muttered Carol, as she climbed her way up the forest path.

END

LSP