Fascists are in Vogue

Fascists are in vogue;
He gets fascists; last
night he was one. All day
shoved around, getting
out-of-the-way, watching
and Beemers (That’s no
nickname for a fascist.)
and Mercedes and Audi
sound too sophisticated
but everyone knows the
apples don’t fall far
from the tree. They all
scream, “Get out of my
way!” He does. People with
noses in the air glibly,
nonchalantly butt into
line in grocery stores
while talking incessantly
on their high-tech, hand
held, flat screens while
visions of waterboarding
dance in his head and he
can’t take it anymore,
so like any certifiably
insane fascist, he calls
the cable company and
screams his bloody head
off into the phone at
some hapless person
and then criticizes his
wife for ruining the
dinner they had prepared
together and snarls at
the helpless dog who
slinks off to the bed-
room. Yes, he knows how
to be a fascist, especial-
ly after a few glasses of

1 thought on “Fascists are in Vogue

  1. “We have met the enemy, and they are us.” With apologies to POGO and staring into the face of the Republican Party and its sudden captivity brought on by great practice since Reagan took over.

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