Doubt Remover


The story of our combative, snake-oiled times:  There are antidotes, and there are antidotes.

Well, we also have vaccines to help us skirt -- or brace for -- the worst of what the world can chuck at us.  There are all sorts of ways to avoid focus on one thing and pull attention onto another, as flashy magicians, petty pick-pockets, and pokerfaced charlatans all know.

But there are always ingenious methods to pull us back from permanently swallowing The Really Big Lies, too:  truth serum, hypnotic therapy, anti-psychotic medications, cult deprogramming methodologies, and so on.  Sometimes, even logic comes bubbling up to the surface in the drowning and airless front lines of public thought and reason, but not often.

Usually, we ask fire to fight fire, and ramp up to meet the lathering blather of the moment.  But, really, we are free to choose our own weapons in any exchange of ideas, or in any attempt to highlight the utter nonsense of arguments presented to us as reasoned and reasonable notions.



It is 2016, as we reckon things, and it is of some surprise that we find ourselves fortunate to live in this era, able to coldly observe a downright rarity:  the opening death throes of an extremist  entity.

The entity will instead succumb by virtue of an overload of its own vitriol, choking on its own bile, and not be slayed by the hand of an opposing or colliding energy.

There may yet be multiple victors, but, beyond all doubt, there will be one unmistakable loser.  (It will be interesting to see how long the vanquished will remain a corpse, before attempts are made to resuscitate, reanimate, and rededicate it.)

No, in this odd and unusual situation, the boxer -- if you'll allow the analogy -- will stand in the ring, alone, and the boxer will, incredibly, knock himself out, without an opponent in sight, and slump bloodied to the canvas, comatose.


In this corner, weighing in at 30 percent or so of the American voting public, boasting a deadly right uppercut...

... a murderous right cross:

... a lethal left jab:

... a vicious left hook:

... and a dazzling right cross:

... but, Republicanus Massivus appears to have accidentally let its drawers slide down around its ankles, while pummeling itself rapidly in the face, and has crumpled to the canvas -- uncovered, guard down, completely exposed, unconscious.



Meanwhile, back in the shrinking world of Actual Real Life, we're joining our story already in progress:

So, it is 2016 as we reckon things...

What possible member of the U.S. government would dare tell a sitting U.S. President, under the cover of this member's supposed role, that this very same President should abandon and forego a specific Constitutional duty which is clearly mandated and instructed?

Finally, and once and for all, the gauzy curtains are all pulled down, and we are free to look behind them, and see the team operating the controls -- all the controls, so many, and such a huge stadium, this room! -- and see for ourselves all the mechanisms at work...  see all the exposed goals now out in the open.... read all the candid emotions on each conniver's face.


Those who understand know exactly why it is that this moment has come as such a shock to the faithful, to the true believers.  Those who understand will do what they can, and try to catch those who start to fall,  and will try to be kind to them, knowing that such breakthrough moments of truth can stagger even the strongest mind, let alone those who are using their for the very first time in decades.


Sidebar: Somehow, I maintain room in my mind to be astonished that we have not yet heard from Kim Davis via the witheringly logical, incisively judicial minds of Fox News, and the dull thump of TV media stars in general, as to the nature of the Constitutional duties of Presidents to nominate candidates for vacant Supreme Court posts.

But, then again, I am also astonished that Kim Davis hasn't also set arbitrary No Service Moments and/or No Soup for You Days at her county job, in government, as a public servant, based on spontaneous, random factors she fails to announce in advance -- notions which may flit across her mind, such as:

It must be great fun to be a whimsical county clerk in Kentucky!

Every day can be a wonderful test of imagination, humor, patience, and exploring boundaries and then pushing right on past them, no matter what!

Gee, wouldn't it be great to run ALL businesses like this!

And even better to choose Supreme Court Justices this way, too!

And Presidents!


Back at the solo boxing match, the only questions at this point which matter are few.

Or worse -- has the crowd already found a brand new place for its focus, or has it been ensnared again by one of the old hatreds, by one of the old lies, by one of the old bait-and-switch herrings, red as a mid-August sunrise, after a boiling, burnt-blood red of a searing summer sunset?


The questions I ask, they sizzle and itch inside my skull.

Gotta stop that, I tell myself, again.


Some in the boxing-match crowd carry a book, be it in mind or pocket.  Some fans live by superstitions, some live by rote, others live thinking the book is holy and offers protection, (even though it requires no action, just occasional skimming-over).  Some even know this one phrase from inside its pages:  By their Works shall ye know them.

For myself, I am perfectly content to go with any obvious and logical truth -- this one, for example, or another one, very similar to this this one, which is:  There is no Doubt Remover like the actions of fools.

Unfortunately, just as the party in question is brilliant at supplying its own knockout blows, exposing its own defensive holes, and showing off its own monstrous plans, it remains equally superb in shielding the news of its own demise from those who say they were part of the crowd that day, or anywhere in the periphery of camp.

Remains to be seen how many in the crowd will come away thinking they saw one helluva good fight that day.  Or will later on become convinced by others that they did so.

Doubt Remover comes with no guarantees, you see -- especially not for those who will not see.  (Or those already blinded by this snappy, well-marketed schnapps from the snake-bite still, way up on the Hill.)

Hurray, hurray -- Get your Forked-Tongue!  Only two dollars a bottle, or ten dollars for two bottles!  Cures any thinking from the scalp right on down to the insides -- just pour it on, wet down your skull, and let the protective potion seep down inside...



* Attributed to everyone under the sun, including Lincoln, Twain, Confucius, Shakespeare, and even Proverbs:  Better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than speak and remove all doubt.

* Attributed to everyone under the sun, including my Mom:  You have two ears and one mouth;  try to use them in the same ratio.


Keeping in mind that ALL combative snake-oil peddlers are able to create their own snake-bites, as well as their own elixirs, here is an exceptionally fine example of a sternly humorous critique via Mark Twain -- one which should be leveled at the GOP and every one of its nefarious members by every sane American: