by Charles Carreon
October 9, 2016

Good afternoon, evening, morning or whatever time it is for you, this is LofiNikita, signing on for the first time in a long time, because we have news, real news, for the first time in a long time. John Podesta’s emails were hacked, according to the Obama Securitat, by an official Russian government hacker, as if you could believe anything the Obama Securitat said.

What was revealed by Podesta’s Emails was, for those who give a damn, absolutely terrifying. Like looking down Grannie’s throat and seeing that she had swallowed the big bad wolf, but this was not a good thing, because she’d turned out to be a Killer Klown from outer space, and she’d devoured the woodsman, too. Clearly a chilling moment for Little Red Riding Hood, who ran screaming from the old woman’s house, all the way to town, where she was no more likely to be believed than the boy who cried wolf.

You see, the Podesta Emails reveal that large numbers of people have known all along that Hillary could only win against a very weak candidate. Given ordinary political dynamics, the GOP would have fielded a reasonable, middle of the road candidate, likeable and free of scandal, like John Kasich. But thanks to Citizens United, there are no ordinary political dynamics. Citizens United gave every billionaire with a spare $10 Million enough money to field a nutcase candidate whose kooky kreed appealed to a miniscule proportion of the Republican constituency.

The Citizens United money hit the cable channels like Global Warming hit the weather, driving presumed partisans into soundbite-driven conflicts, triggering hurricanes of anger in the electorate, splintering the old alliance like Moby Dick smashing Captain Ahab’s ship, leaving the GOP rudderless, in a lifeboat, with Donald Trump as the skipper. And unlike Gregory Peck in the famous movie, Lifeboat, Trump was not born to the leadership role. A passable bandit leader the man could have been, but only in the day of mass communication, backed by a thoroughly-corrupt financial system, and enabled by government patsies like Pam Bondi and the other numberless shills Trump’s braggadocious character has procured him, only in this age, could he pass for a national leader.

Oh, that was so easy to say, and before the Podesta Emails, I would have thought it was the whole story. A craven press, a lapdog government, the flaccid minds of the electorate, a complete picture. But false. Bad as it is, that’s not the problem. The problem is that Hillary’s Campaign orchestrated all of this, aided and abetted Trump’s rise to power. Now, let’s look at this nicely. We could be flattered. Hillary is so confident that we will not vote for a pussygrabbing, authoritarian, white-power advocate who cheats on his taxes and lies about everything that she is willing to back a movement to make Trump a legitimate candidate.

Trump himself, of course, couldn’t believe it. He had to call Bill Clinton for reassurance, rapist to rapist, that this was for real. We can imagine the conversation:

Trump: Bill, thanks for taking the call.

Clinton: Haha, who wouldn’t take your call? Haha. You’re fired! I love that!

Trump: You do? I didn’t know you watched.

Clinton: Oh, get serious. What are you calling about? Oh, I know.

Trump: Yeah, you probably do.

Clinton: What can I say, Donald, you got the chops. I know politics are new to you, but there’s a tide in the affairs of men that …

Trump: Yeah, yeah, but how do you feel about it? Man to man?

Clinton: Take the bull by the horns, Donald. Remember Kissinger, “Power is the greatest aphrodisiac.” There’s pleasures yet to be discovered.

Trump: Don’t distract me with the spoils, Bill. As you know, war is war. If I’m in the race, I’m running to win, and I throw stones. You might get hit.

Clinton: If you can save the GOP from itself, you deserve to win. As for throwing stones, we both live in glass houses.

Trump: Truth to that. Okay, see you at the inauguration.

Clinton: That’s a promise.

You can well imagine that Trump, the wannabe great dictator, is not thinking at this time, “These dudes are going to dick me.” Shit, he’s snorted coke with Bill, he’s boffed the same chicks. This is cool. He feels like Saddam, just had a chat with April Glaspie, and he’s ready to move on Kuwait. He doesn’t know he’s just been selected as one of the only potential candidates who can lose to Hillary.

This maneuver, the induction of Trump as her chosen adversary, is probably not unique in the annals of US political history. George Herbert Walker Bush became the 41st President in the United States, despite a reedy voice, low testosterone, and a personality best described as absent, by running against Michael J. Dukakis, a man who managed to look ridiculous riding in a tank, and allegedly went down to defeat because he’d paroled a black man. I actually could not remember who Bush 41 had managed to defeat. Dukakis was that much of a nonentity.

Consider also Barack Obama’s surprising, media-powered ascent from junior, Chicago-machine, present-voting flack to undistinguished U.S. Senator, to the Oval Office. He had to get past Hillary, but given the well-oiled machine that the Democratic National Convention has become, this was likely in the cards, an arrangement to which Hillary consented, with the understanding that she’d get her turn. Inferring that what the Podesta Emails reveal is not a new strategy, but rather an old one, being run through with merciless efficiency, we can see that the Republicans probably got some help from the media making that McCain/Palin ticket look like a glass of soda pop when anybody with a nose could smell the poison in the mix. In the end, it was like McCain was trying to get away from himself, and Palin, since then, has done nothing but give Alaska and perky brunettes a bad name. Of course, she still pulls a long string of fools in her train. She’s what the Democrats call a “Pied Piper Candidate.”


You remember the Pied Piper? When the people of Hamelin failed to pay him for seducing the rats out of the town with his magic flute, he piped a different tune, and led the children of the town right out the city gates, and they were never seen again. That’s a grim fairy tale.

The Podesta Emails reveal that the DNC’s media power is such that they were able to deligitimize the best Republican candidates, judged on their ability to defeat Hillary. But how did they do that? They didn’t do it by having Keith Olbermann scold them. They didn’t do it by having Rachel Maddow analyze them. No, they gave them enough rope, and how did they do that? Well, that happened over at Fox News, where every shitbag with his own bag of shit can find a window to throw it out of. Fox News actually became the Pied Piper, selling, strangely enough, to that most bloodless of people, those least given to careless rage, the young white men of the nation, a diet of rage, frustration, and resentment. And they have left the village, following that Pied Piper whose furious tune intoxicates them with promises of glory, of a beautiful wall, tremendous strength, restoration of personal power, and renewed national influence. Common sense resurgent.

Here’s the rub. Or a couple of them. The Clinton-dominated DNC invoked a demon to drive us into Clinton’s big tent filled with fearful people. In James Blish’s “Black Easter,” an industrialist who thinks he can harness the Devil to his work arranges to open the Gates of Hell for one nasty Halloween celebration, and is most disappointed to discover that he cannot close them, and Hell has come to reign on earth. The only man standing between us and global perdition is a little priest, a Catholic exorcist, and his only power is to invoke the Biblical prophecy that the Lord of Heaven will triumph when the last Trump blows. The Devil’s response is chilling: “Each of the opposing sides in any war always predicts victory. They cannot both be right.”

The gates of hell are open, and the Devil’s armies are on the march. Our purported Savior, Dame Hillary, is revealed as a very witch, a conjurer of dread forms. The Devil here, the Witch there. There is no Lesser Evil.


Time to Pay the Piper