It is safe to say that even the great United States could fall prey to a snake oil salesman.
―Don Okolo
Well, the caption above isn’t exactly true. The United States is standing on the precarious edge of tipping over into a chasm of jagged rock tips. It is swaying dangerously, but hadn’t yet fallen over…at least, not yet. The next small wind could nudge it over. Believe me, it could come. And if it did, it would be faster than a speeding bullet would hit its mark ten meters away.
And as I see it, one could haul a stone at this glass behemoth to generate the same effect as would a nine millimeter nugget passing through the nozzle of a blue steel to knock the bookshelf of fine china to the cemented portico. The shattering ditty one would hear would be all bluesy; the smatterings and her death dance of jingles would upturn the usual panacea of the soothing twenty-eight carat harmony into straining dissonances of elegiac music.
Would people get used to it? Would they be able to dance to the conniving struts, to the new strain of the inglorious, deviously written melodious chatter? It will take a dreamy, unsweetened long time to fall in step in the next macabre dance with the new minion from Hell.
Therefore, it is safe to say that even the great United States could fall prey to a snake oil salesman. After all, Rome fell, as did other great civilizations in the ancient days. Listen; maybe you think I am shooting off at a fast flying bird, a wren, the size of a thumb, alone in the vast skies…with a slingshot. The chances of me hitting the bird is nil. But you would agree with me that I was successful clipping the bird’s feather…not the wing…just a clip off its tail feather.
That was how close I came to bringing the colorful, gorgeous, and graceful wren down…the United States…with that one shot. I took that aim Tuesday, November 3rd just as the wren flew past that embarkment of stones I use as my bird-watching perch. Not with a slingshot: I shot at it with the Winchester I bought in a gun show in Waxahachie. The one thing that gave me the moxie to shoot at it was because I believed, at the time, that I could get away with it…even as it is against the law to shoot at flying birds. And I came too damn close to ending the bird’s free flying gift nature endowed him.
You are probably upset with me…at my temerity, referring to the great United States as a wren…a small, nondescript, (plain) pinky-sized bird. Say it ain’t so, Don. Well, it ain’t so folks! But she is a tough-as-nail, adept wren, rocking wildly in the kingdom of jenny wrens. Now that you have forced my hand, I should remind you of that popular maxim about The Almighty Father…GOD. This would likely cause you to look for salty invectives to denounce me and my impudence (audacity). But I know that The Father knows my mind…and hence, I am not afraid to say it: God, The Father, is All Powerful, and then, He is Powerless. Yeah, I said it…knowing that God has my back. Soon and very soon, I will explain the enigma stated above.
The United States is, undoubtedly, a powerful nation, supreme in most aspects, except in culture.
The United States is, undoubtedly, a powerful nation, supreme in most aspects, except in culture. Culture is supreme native…meaning that it is unique to all nations and therefore cannot be used to determine how great or powerful a nation is. So, the US is powerful. But then, she is powerless and was nearly brought down with just one shot…a badly aimed shot at that, that someone had fired sitting inside the people’s living room.
Did Lucifer not take a shot at God? How was Lucifer able to convince these angels to follow him in his lackluster bid to usurp God’s omnipotence? How was Donald J. Trump able to sway this many people with their wits about them? Maybe, Lucifer took seventy million bad angels with him to Hades. Seventy-something million plus angels on planet USA fell with that one stroke to the shenanigans of a crime boss wannabe.
The exact same thing that happened to a division of the once great army of God, applies here, fellows.
That is a staggering number folks. It is scary. The exact same thing that happened to a division of the once great army of God, applies here, fellows. Look inside the bedrock, and you will see cracks…even gaping fissures yawning and spewing ten-day old bad breath kind of vapor. Did these souls not smell the pungent haze of decaying flesh? Could they have written off the mote of spicy, head-spinning, nauseous fumes as something delightful? If the chasm grew another inch wider, it would take us all down into that obscure, dry landscape of abject loss…an event horizon district where the predator king only chews and spits democracy. Nothing will survive in this shredder plain. Not even her liberals, nor her conservatives, and neither would her freethinkers, her capitalist escape a wringing once they touch bottom.
THANK GOD…NOT JUST FOR LITTLE FAVORS, BUT FOR GREAT ONES, TOO. This was a great rescuing from the depths of eternal feeling of queasiness. The treatise on this would be written in the annals of great escape kind of stories. And this escape was the US hanging by her, well, his proverbial balls. It was a close call. My guess is as good as yours; there is someone, somewhere, nestled deeply in the stony crannies of the Rockies, to the Look-out Mountains of Tennessee, waiting on the sidelines to take another whack at dismembering this two hundred and forty-six-year old experiment.
They have taken stock and have seen that the pathway to Stalingrad and North Korea would require finesse, a dash of likability as fronts, and not the bombastic attributes of a ragamuffin (child). This next smooth talker would be the one we should fear. He will sit out 2024 and emerge in 2028 as a firebrand teetotaler (doesn’t drink), with an Obama-styled orator chops. Only he is white. If he looks lean, clean and dapper, his hair oiled, dyed, and laid to the sides, and if in his repertoire he is pushing the single most potent dictum that ‘white men are a dying breed’ we are done…including all those who would vote for him. It is this mark of the beast that Donald Trump lacked.
Donald Trump talked up a storm, barked toothlessly, and he shoved first because someone was there to break up his fight with the giant that is us. And he bragged with the implied money he had and the supposed Wharton school of finance he attended. He bragged he was first in his class and was smarter than the generals of wars. I could go on. This next guy, and the singularities in the universe are telling me so, couldn’t wear the same borrowed mantles from Donald Trump to make his pitch in. The thin veiled shrouds coming from DT’s back are worn-out, staled and steeped in stench and couldn’t be the grand-standing vitriol to assuage a great many from the Caucasian side of this political divide. This nightmare could come before we make the next bend.
♦ Don Okolo, Professor and filmmaker, is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of many books.
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