Where Every Day is April Fool’s Day
April 1, 2007
I think it was Hunter S. Thompson who said that when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. But as the conservative meltdown continues, the pros (who were already pretty weird to begin with) are only getting stranger.
But just as chaos theory shows us that even chaos seems to follow a pattern, so does the mental collapse of conservatism find its pundits falling neatly into well-labeled bins. I guess that’s only to be expected of a movement whose minions have up to now showed all the intellectual independence of lemmings on a trip to the beach.
One bin we’ll label “Osama Bin Wannabes Bin,” reserved for those stern moralists who — like Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson and Cal Thomas — have come to the conclusion that America had it coming on 9-11. After all, these clowns have been bloviating for years without America coming around to their way of thinking, so it’s time for God to start applying a little more pressure.
Say hello to Michael Savage, who thinks God shares his obsession with sex-change operations and lesbian fertility clinics. Careful with those matches around CNN gasbag Glenn Beck, who thinks radical Muslims are right to be offended by America’s lack of morality. And let’s not forget Osama Bin D’Souza, who thinks it’s time for Christianists to start sharing their Kool-Aid with Islamists as they unite against the common threat of liberalism.
The other bin, marked “Club Kids Bin,” is only now starting to rattle from the impact of falling bodies. The biggest thump of recent days was made by Michelle Malkin, who chose the auspicious run-up to April Fool’s Day to announce I Am John Doe, a totally kewl club for those clear-eyed kids who want to continue fighting The War On Terra themselves. Will all those who want to join please remove their propeller beanies, stand and repeat after me:
Dear Muslim Terrorist Plotter/Planner/Funder/Enabler/Apologist,
You do not know me. But I am on the lookout for you. You are my enemy. And I am yours.
I am John Doe.
I am traveling on your plane. I am riding on your train. I am at your bus stop. I am on your street. I am in your subway car. I am on your lift.
I am your neighbor. I am your customer. I am your classmate. I am your boss.
I am John Doe.
I will never forget the example of the passengers of United Airlines Flight 93 who refused to sit back on 9/11 and let themselves be murdered in the name of Islam without a fight.
I will never forget the passengers and crew members who tackled al Qaeda shoe-bomber Richard Reid on American Airlines Flight 63 before he had a chance to blow up the plane over the Atlantic Ocean.
I will never forget the alertness of actor James Woods, who notified a stewardess that several Arab men sitting in his first-class cabin on an August 2001 flight were behaving strangely. The men turned out to be 9/11 hijackers on a test run.
I will act when homeland security officials ask me to “report suspicious activity.”
I will embrace my local police department’s admonition: “If you see something, say something.”
I am John Doe.
I will protest your Jew-hating, America-bashing “scholars.”
I will petition against your hate-mongering mosque leaders.
I will raise my voice against your subjugation of women and religious minorities.
I will challenge your attempts to indoctrinate my children in our schools.
I will combat your violent propaganda on the Internet.
I am John Doe.
I will support law enforcement initiatives to spy on your operatives, cut off your funding, and disrupt your murderous conspiracies.
I will oppose all attempts to undermine our borders and immigration laws.
I will resist the imposition of sharia principles and sharia law in my taxi cab, my restaurant, my community pool, the halls of Congress, our national monuments, the radio and television airwaves, and all public spaces . . .
Yes, it is terrible to turn on WhineOhWhinePointJive in the morning and hear a muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. And forcing women at the Y swimming pool to wear burqas has really screwed up the synchronized swimming team’s training sessions. And I’ll never forget the way the marble boobs on that statue of justice had to be covered up to comply with sharia law . . . Wait a minute, you say that was John Ashcroft’s doing? Does that mean John Ashcroft is a Muslim terrorist? Quick, call Michelle Malkin!
Conservatives have always been a clubby bunch (not to mention a club-wielding bunch), so it’s no surprise to see this club-forming impulse in other corners of wingerdom. Right here in New Jersey, Carton and Rossi at WhineOhWhine PointJive have started their own We Hate Dark-Skinned People Club where anybody can phone in to share their suspicions about those landscapers down the street, or those suspiciously swarthy guys playing soccer in the park. And let us not forget the precursor of them: the Elmer Fudd Brigade, aka the Minutemen, who even now are doing their best to uphold and defend Merkinism.
Life would be much simpler for these chumps is they simply rubbed the sleep dirt out of their brains and recognized the facts: the Bushies are more concerned with power and payoffs for their cronies than national security; the Iraq war began as a fraud, continues as a fiasco and is overdue for a finish; the values of American civilization cannot be defended by a party that truckles to Bible-thumping Christianists. But the siege mentality that led them to pledge fealty to Bushism continues to hold sway, and there are whole careers at stake built on reflexive scorn for left-wing views. And so the denial of reality continues, albeit with these rather interesting symptoms.
How much longer can these divergent strains of conservatism, which share little besides blind loyalty to George W. Bush and blind hatred of liberals, continue to coexist? I’d love to be there with a camera on the day when Michael Savage and Dinesh D’Souza, marching arm-in-arm down the street to buy burnooses and burqas for their friends and family, pass the sandlot where Michelle and her friends are holding war games during the weekly meeting of the “I Am John Doe” Terrorists Are Icky Club.
Ah, the world of modern conservatism. Where every day is April Fool’s Day, only nobody gets the joke.