“Haven’t you heard? It’s a battle of words!” the poster bearer cried;
“Listen, son,” said the man with the gun, “There’s room for you inside!”
— Pink Floyd, “Us And Them” (1973)

Throughout MSNBC’s nonstop, never-ending, ceaseless, mind-numbing, soul-crushing, forever-grinding-on coverage of Trump’s little bullshit real-estate fraud trial, they pretty much paused only to scream and yell and bitch in befuddlement about how the Donmonster could possibly still be the goddamn GOP front-runner and bitch bitch bitch above the law and whine whine whine rule of law and snarl growl yell democracy is at stake, followed by a pivot to their illustrious GOP primary coverage in which their chirping mutant anchortarts just couldn’t shut the hell up about how Trump and the GOP’s rhetoric is about “us vs. them” and the Democrats are all about “us”.

…and all I could think of in that moment was how thoroughly the Democratic Party groundlessly scapegoated and demonized Russia for their own ineptitude and general suckage in the Easiest Slam-Dunk Election Ever In All Of Recorded Human History Including The Lascaux Cave Paintings, and how just how much of the Democratic Party’s attitude and general M.O. involves demonizing, scapegoating and otherizing — whether it’s people calling out their Russiagate sham, their idiotic policy decisions or their collaboration with fascists, or pretty much anyone on the left calling out their poor record with ethnic minorities, students, the working class, the poor, or pointing out their long-established reputation for warmongering, you can pretty much count on the Democrats to stand on their record, no matter what.

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“REGRET From Military”, it says here.
That’s right — REGRET for “unintended harm”.

Oh, for Christ’s sake, why do these goddamn thugs even bother? Who do they think they’re kidding? Do they think that after nearly 3 months of genocidal brutality, fascistic bullying, threats and media lies, Genocide Joe’s little buddy actually expects us to believe that they REGRET this goddamn horror show?

The threat of the Bad Old Rethuglicans taking over stopped scaring me nearly 30 years ago, and right now it scares me even less, if such a thing is possible. Four more years of Trump? Big goddamn deal; we’ve ALREADY been through 4 more years of Trump, so I could give the slightest molecule of a rat’s ass who “wins” your goddamn “election” next year. For all I care, the Democrats can get their asses shredded so goddamn bad that they have to be identified via dental records. At this point, I don’t care so much about defeating Trump as I do about defeating America.

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To think that all the arduous years I spent assiduously avoiding dropping a “fallen and can’t get up” gag could be undone by this single column at The Cradle last week. If Amerika’s imperial batshittery in Ukraine hasn’t totally wrecked our rep with the rest of the Earth, than our enabling Israeli butchery in Palestine pretty much ripped our mask the rest of the way off.

We’ve fallen, and we can’t get up.

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So, late last week, I’m hearing all this bullshit bubbling in the news about Genocide Joe calling for a “pause” in the Israel-Palestine “conflict” so that the hostages can get out safely — god bless their exceptional asses — and maybe also so that any Palestinians remaining who are actually able to move can also get out, and probably end up being bombed on the highway to the refugee camps, or bombed at the camp once they get there, or both; thanks so much, Joe.

And as I was starting to work on this piece the night before the big mobilization for Palestinian solidarity here in DC this past Saturday, I was seeing a lot of chatter on the Web about how Israel should be expelled from the United Nations for this horror — an excellent idea, though they’d never get it through because Israel’s big, fat, rich asshole Uncle has veto power at the Security Council. Still, what an awesome thought — drum the bastards outta the UN.

But, aaaanyway, yeah; El Presidente wants a “pause”.

“Pause”, my goddamn ass. Time to hit “Stop” and “Eject”. Israel is the scuffy, overplayed, worn-out, hissy old British post-punk mixtape tangled up in the Earth’s 1989 cassette/CD combo boombox, and no pencil made can save it.

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