the gospel according to ayatollah shady | a fragment

"The greatest threat to civilization right now is not financial ruin. Not even terrorist attack. The greatest threat to our nation comes disguised as liberal intervention." - Lamont T. Shady

I went to the bookcase and withdrew a volume so slim it resembled a minimum wage pay packet. Cracked the spine and hoovered up some Chinaski. The good stuff. Just a little. A line or two, a paragraph at most.
     Enough to prevent the arteries from furring up altogether.
     Not so much so as to get me to idle at the trough.
     That thing with Lamont T. Shady. His fucking Mickey Mouse charter.
     Such a ridiculous name for an author. Such a preposterously mean legislative draft. He could only be a Texan. The kind of name one expects to find on the jacket of some cheap Western novella. Or stitched to the overalls of a pig farmer up to his knees in shit.
     Oil. Gas. A fucking cowboy's lament.
     Small wonder he was so warmly embraced by the pimps on the bleachers. One hand on the abacus. The other on a leash. Reining in their tired young bitches. The wrinkles. Creases. Pimples on the ass.
     Seven years imprisonment for playing a radio in an open window. Should that window occupy a space on a monitor.
     A custodial sentence on a par with manslaughter in less enlightened countries. Rape. More than made men get for inciting genocide.
     I turned up the dub. Practiced pacing around my apartment in my undershorts.
     Shady, while doctoring his texts, might as well prescribe the cutting off of hands and tongues. Routine stonings.
     The Ministry demands hanging for casual eavesdroppers.
     A cruel and unusual punishment for the rest.
     Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Lamont T. Shady plots to padlock the doors on our public libraries. Stops just short of raising them to the ground.
     He postures and drawls like an Ayatollah in Gene Autry hat and spotted neckerchief. A peeping Tom in jackboots. One can't sleep soundly for the lasso sneaking out from under the bed.
     The Ministry is delighted.
     It would call in the firemen right away. If circumstance allowed it.
     If not to cook the books, then put them out of circulation. Nothing excites them more than the prospect of abolishing a free lunch. It's where Jesus went to hell in a handcart. His neglecting to charge those fuckers by the head.
     I turn up the dub some more. Just enough to make a pantomime of it.
     Every time Shady pauses to wipe the spittle of his microphone, the Ministry jumps to its feet and applauds. They can't believe they're getting away with it at last. Murder. After the lean years. The aboriginals have had things their way for far too long. It's about time someone restored a semblance of order. It's about time someone put them in their place
     Getúlio Vargas III immediately produces a calculator and calls his hedge fund manager. The Mouse oils his Uzis and checks both magazines for duds. It's a win win situation. The only element not profiteering can't afford the ticket.