Back in the day, not too long ago and not too far away, king Nebutrumpnezzar had a dream, after which he approached one of his Yid advisors for some explanation. King Nebu had had a dream which really bothered him. So he went to his trustiest aide, Fixiel to ask for an explanation.
Describing the dream, King Nebu explained that he had seen himself in a maganificent arrangement with a flourishing empire of towers and casinos and blahblah and riprap and there was in the midst of the dream a large tree—a super-big tree. It was so big that its branches reached to the upper reaches of the financial world; it was even visible in other parts of the world, with towering branches in russian capitals surrounded by beauty queens, and the beasts prospered in its shade and the birdbrains of the sky dwelt in its branches. It was all maganificent, like a walk on 5th ave and shooting some low-life birdbrain and nobody mentioning the demise.
But hey, what the heck;? Suddenly a watcher pops up, calling out instructions to the the powers that be, commanding them to cut the tree down!
Whoa! What the hell is going on here? thought Neb. Little munchkins out in the hinterlands chopping the maga tree down with millions of little hatchets that they dropped into ballot boxes everywhere from atlantic to pacific, with friggin' mail-in ballots, no less, but mostly in the blue-shade spots where donkeys liked to relax in the shade, which didn’t make any sense.
Still yet, now here’s Fixiel, droning on. . . with his explanation of the miserable dream. . . outlining the instructions that had been promulgated from on High.
“ But leave the trumpstump with its roots in the maga ground, but with a band of litigation and journalism around it in the new grass of the hinterlands, and let him be drenched with the dew of democracy, and let him find humility among the good’ole’boys. Let his mind be changed from that of a mogul and let a defendant’s experience be given to him, and let seven periods of time pass over him and we’ll see how well he how handles his being chopped down to size as he watches the rise of whoever shows up in Milwaukee to talk sense into the birds who gather to decide whether to plant a new tree or to hack around to try to cut the old one down to size.
So we see that the Most High in whom we trust is ruler over the realm of Amerilon and He sets over it, as the Good Book say, "the lowliest of men." Don't ask me why.
But then We the People have to deal with the slings and arrows of outrageous magamania. So deal with it, all you magamaniacs and democrats. I never thought I'd see the day, but hey . . . sh*t happens. Deal with it.
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