“… Already long ago, from when we sold our vote to no man, the People have abdicated our duties; for the People who once upon a time handed out military command, high civil office, legions — everything, now restrains itself and anxiously hopes for just two things: bread and circuses…”
NOT MY CIRCUS, ETC
Well the big day is finally here – yet another “Super” Tuesday, when the Gods of Politics give us a shit-show extraordinaire to sway our support to the candidate of their choice, so long as it isn’t the one who has a majority of votes.
We are instructed to pay close attention to the gladiators and eventually pick a winner, when all the while the real slug-fest is happening in the Tribune of the Plebs among the Senators, and in the Imperial Palace among the Donors, the Romneys, Bushes and other elites. The MSM executives, acting as the Praetorian Guard, line the walls of the Passaggio di Commodo, or the secret passage that connects the Colosseum to the Imperial Palace where some say Caligula’s crazy ass got whacked .
This time around, we get a YUUUGE treat! Super Duper Tuesday is on The Ides of March, and we all know what that means – the NeverTrump folks are working overtime to assassinate the rogue frontrunner before he gets another delegate. Cruzus Terriblus is lying his ass off, and Little Marcus says he will never stop campaigning, hoping that nipping at Trumpus Maximus’s heels is going to get him somewhere…
Now its the morning of the big contest, and Trumpus Maximus continues to prevail. The Senators, the Imperial Family of Donors and Other Assholes are wringing their hands, while the Praetorian Guard – the Kristols, the Maddows, and various other Stephanopoulae – are planning on ambushing The Trumpus if and when he wins the game. But the insignificant little people that this circus has been designed to distract aren’t taking the bait. One thing has become clear: If the people have their way, the only corpse on the Colosseum floor will be that of the most powerful family of all – The Neocons.
This event may signal the end of the Bush Republicans, and that could mean the beginning of what history will later refer to as “The Great Unraveling”. In a last ditch effort to survive, the Neocons have joined forces with their life-long enemy, The Progressives. Together, they hope to eliminate the threat to their empire and preserve the (so far) endless looting of tax monies they have been enjoying all those years.
The Progressives have their own problems. Soon to be octogenarian and professional sponge, Bernardus of Sanders, has emerged from obscurity and taken over the supporters of The Progressives, who in the past successfully installed their own empty toga, Barackus the Flimsy, whose reign has been a disaster.
The Neocons have another dilemma – it seems that many within their ranks are secretly planning to join the rag-tag army of citizens and bring support to The Trumpus. Their names aren’t out there, but whispers of their defection continue to get louder each day. Rumor has it that Mitt Romney is in a constant state of flux, changing his magic undies four or five times a day as he soils them with each poll. John Boehner is crying in his bourbon and Glenn Beck has locked himself in his bathroom, threatening to end his own life in the tub with a Bick Lady Shaver.
BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH!
My advice to all of you who have a circus scheduled in your home state today is that if you are indeed committed to ending the reign of the Neocons or the upturning of the Progressives, your vote today is only the beginning. If you succeed, you have to be sure that the candidate of your choice can not only win today, but also eventually make it down the passageway to the Imperial Palace and actually accomplish something when they get there. The odds will be stacked against you because the Elite are not exactly going to quietly disappear into the night.
Our recent history shows that once the Great Battle of November is won, the victory you hoped would free you from enslavement might actually become impotent without your continued support. Picking a winner is only the beginning – the real work begins when those who would make him impotent spring into action.
We already know what its like to have the ruling class pick our leader. The only way to avoid the fate of the Progressives under the reign of Barackus the Flimsy is to flex your muscles at the polls, year after year, midterm after midterm, and day after day against the MSM. True change is never effected easily – if we truly want to get corruption out of Washington, we have to first admit that its not going to happen in four or eight years.
Knowing that, put your finest toga on and get your ass to the Colosseum today. It will be your thumb that determines the fate of the contenders, so vote wisely. The decision is simple: Which of them has the wherewithal, the inner strength and the most effective arsenal of advisors, stamina and sheer will to sustain a long battle that will only be won when the last leech is purged from the swamp.
Good luck and may the gods be with you!