Washington Called It

I love America.

I have lived a lot of places in America.

I was born in Seattle.

My family moved to Portland when I was six.

I lived in Portland until I took a commission in the Air Force.

I lived, then, in San Antonio.

Then in San Angelo.

Then in Denver.

Then in Clovis.

Then in Saigon; the next place in America was Omaha.

I escaped Omaha for a few months To Fukuoka.

Then Omaha sucked me back.

Then back to Portland.

Then to Atlanta.

Then to Jefferson City.

Then to Boca Raton.

Then to Upper Saddle River.

Then to Spokane.

Then, even though I pined for Portland, back to Seattle.

That's where I am apparently going to finish off.

Tonight I watched a crazy old man - he was granted 20 minutes of airtime across America - yell a bunch of lies, hallucinations, hatreds and just unmitigated bullshit, without stopping to breathe, as if he were at a Thanksgiving table surrounded by hapless victims who had the misfortune to be born his family.

In all of the American places, enumerated above, I had the joy of making new friends with people that were my fellow citizens and who uniformly loved America as I did.

The most exciting thing about those days, and those places, was that most of the time we - those new friends and I - didn't agree about a lot else, other than our love for America, but we had a lot of fun, over drinks and food, discussing and arguing, and then finding some common ground, and then agreeing that we differed on stuff.

But we looked forward to the next encounter.

And we shared many.

Oddly, Saigon and Fukuoka were not a lot different.

As I watched that crazy old man tonight, I tried to reconcile my experience with America with his American experience.

But I can't.

As I thought about all those Americans over all those years, and over all those places, that I have met and eaten with and drunk with and talked with and argued with and loved - as, and part and parcel with - my love of AMERICA, I couldn't help blurting out into the room: "How did we come to this? How can this crazy old man pretend to represent us; all he does is hate us; all he does is foment hate among us; all he does is lie, cheat and steal, when he isn't sexually assaulting somebody. Is this the end"?

Yes, it is the end.

Washington predicted it: "There cannot, in my judgement, be the least danger that the President will by any practicable intrigue ever be able to continue himself one moment in office, much less perpetuate himself in it; but [in modern parlance substitute 'except' for 'but'] in the last stage of corrupted morals and political depravity; and even then there is as much danger that any other species of domination would prevail. Though, when a people have become incapable of governing themselves and fit for a master, it is of little consequence from what quarter he comes".

I'm not gonna post those words of a real President ever again.

Because, if this time, the people swallow the crazy old man's lies, hallucinations, hatreds and just unmitigated bullshit, there is no way to feel but that Washington called it.

And two hundred and fifty years in we are done.

Fade to black.

Fade back to an image of Charlie Kirk.

Fade to donnie "dancing" to The Village People.

Really? 

Really.

That's all that there is.