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29 August, 2018

Monkey It UP


“The last thing we need to do is monkey this up, by trying to embrace a socialist agenda, with huge tax increases and bankrupting the state” 
     -Florida GOP’s Gubernatorial Candidate.


If “monkey this up” were a phrase like “monkey business” or “throw a monkey wrench in it,” he would have some cover, but no. These days, the GOP is more into whipping it out. False equivalency is so last reich, today’s racists gotta show it off. Dog whistle? Why not just beat the dog til it does what you want?

The white dogs, I mean, the dumbasses who fall into the racist trap but still end up poor, downtrodden, seeking solace in their god and their guns. Or their opioids and meth. But the candidate obliterates the class war angle with his frontal assault on the socialist agenda.

Or maybe not so much, since he seems to think that increased revenue will drain government coffers. And he knows good and well the socialists don’t want to tax the working poor, they aim to reinstate and maybe ratchet up taxes on the wealthy, who have been getting handouts since Reagan, doing a little ratcheting of their own along the way.

The bold words are the ones he punched as he spoke, the ones he really wanted voters to key in on. Then he’d throw in an odd number of lesser syllables ere hitting another,…building a cadence that sounds right, even when it’s wrong. Fans of the subliminable may find it interesting that the syllables he really emphasized were “last…monk…huge…bank.” I mean, we already know republicans loves huge banks, but does this signal an upcoming assault on catholics, maybe buddhists? Keep an ear out.

Meanwhile in the now, whistle in his lips and rolled up newspaper in his hand, the man aims to get his dogs out and voting. For good measure, he’ll join the president in siccing the dogs on the paper and any other mainstream media. The failure of which, white people, should concern you. Already, a third or more of the population are convinced that the only real news is the regime’s propaganda. And if you mangey-ass dogs ever do figure out you’ve been had, it’ll be too late. No real news, no real justice, you can find out for yourself whether that place in the desert is a tent city or a concentration camp where the big dogs patrol.
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