The Con's Detonation - Granite Grok

The Con’s Detonation

The idol burst and sprayed angled shards and fragments over the podium and media landscape, burrowing sharply into the souls and hearts of his acolytes. Puncturing dreams and deflating hopes quicker than a set of Michelins backing over a spike strip on a quick get away.

You can see it everywhere. On the lefty shows. In the state run media. Even in the sycophantic blogs. Images and sounds of incredulity and disbelief escalating into biting mockery. Their savior has sewn the seeds for a possible meltdown of progressive ambitions for decades. Or at least that’s what some claim. And I tend to agree that may be a possibility.

But there’s the wild card that cuts like a suicide king.

And donning the crown is the GOP. Of course. If the GOP stumbles on stage like a drunkard on an ocean liner caroling karaoke and praising legitimate rapes or dedicating a searing “You’re the Tops” rendition to Jerry Sandusky or otherwise stealing the headlines with ill conceived idiocy, they’ll once again remind the public that many in the GOP are simply as smart as a rusty, barnacled fencepost decaying in a sea of stupid juice. Don’t put it passed them.

But in case the GOP holds cool, convincing the apolitical that they should trust more in the kingdom of Big Government when its castle is set ablaze by its own caretakers, is going to be a harder sell then selling condoms to the clergy.

Think about it for minute. What apathetic youngster, who is concerned more with his gadgets, piercings, and tattoos then anything political, will pay attention long enough and take seriously a pro Big Gov person trying to convince them that Big Gov is the way to go just after noticing the Big Gov half-a-billion dollar botch job on a simple a website? (And yes, I do this stuff for a living. It’s not complicated, it’s authentication and pushing data around. Basic.)

Even if the apathetic sits insouciant, they won’t escape noticing the skeletal tips of progressivism pinching for their already too thin wallets and be surprised, since they were told otherwise. That’s one of the ironies here. The left is waking up a torrent of people to the concrete delights of progressivism (i.e., snatching cash and snatching choices). These people who were sedated, more or less would vote for them out of the sheer coolness of it. Well, kiss that goodbye. You’re only cool until you make others pick up your tab. Then you’re a deadbeat, hanger on that needs to be ditched.

The apolitical already believe that vacuous irrelevant hot air blows from the political classes, pundits, minions and mouth pieces regardless of the side. They’re not going to fall for rhetoric that’s contrary to what they’ve personally experienced. They won’t be open for the sale. The left just proved to them, and I believe will prove to them for years to come, that depending on government is not just folly, but watching others do it is humorous in the eye-pokes and hammer-to-forehead slapstick Three Stooges way. No one wants to be on the receiving end.

The conflagration from the ObamaCare progressive detonation will not die quickly. The flames will linger, lick and devour the statist drapes, plush couches and sequenced lounge chairs all furnished by the plebs cowering in the cold and huddled on the outside. All will be engulfed. It’s going to be a sight, it already is. The bright orange flames dancing off glassy eyes, flushed with tears that were pulled both from sorrow and joy, mirth even.

Somewhere there are the I-Told-You-So’s languidly sanguine, watching the cruft of the fire drift into the dark night while sipping schadenfreude cocktails and wearing grins wider than the Cheshire cat’s. Yes, I admit. I’m loving it. The smoldering rubbish and hollow thin cardboard boxes of leftist ideas curling and crackling in the public’s mind from the heat of reality fills me with a bit of satisfaction. And hearing the other side pleading with the right to help, is amusing, though it takes some powerful onions. If they were a little more civil over the past 5 years, heck over the past month, maybe. But we’re the bomb throwers wearing suicide vests holding guns to your foreheads, remember? Or, did you forget that. Nay, this blaze yours. You piled high the tinder, kindling and timber of dried out, failed ideas, then soaked it in illusory utopian oil. You keep it.

The prevaricator, he’s yours. He’s the idol that believed his own bullsh*t and lit the wick by his own con. A wick infused with hubris and conceit. He’s the fallible feigning infallible in the empirical mirror. Rejecting that we are all human wrought with flaws. And the fallout is his. And yours. He lead you right into a straw field forested with straw men drenched in gasoline, a field just waiting for the infallible’s words to spark the flint.

And he did.

Sure, this post might seem cocky and a little premature. But hey, it’s my turn for hope and change. Time to get some marshmallows.

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