We Must Not Allow an Imposter Gap

I think we should look at this from the military point of view.

― General "Buck" Turgidson

Four centuries ago, Russia experienced a decade of anarchy citizens would soon call "The Time of Troubles."

Cossacks roamed the countryside, looting and pillaging, while millions of peasants mobbed the lawless cities, searching for food. The nation's government, minus a legitimate leader (the czar had died without a successor), collapsed. A third of the population died or were murdered.

Meanwhile, conspiracy theories about the czardom proliferated—as did pretenders to the throne. 

Russians called the many imposters "False Dmitrys" (the real Dmitry should have succeeded his father, but was assassinated as a child). 

At least four False Dmitrys gained loyalists; and one, with the help of Polish Jesuits, was actually crowned czar on his promise to save the country. 

False Dmitry I, so called, reigned for eleven whole months, before being killed in a bloody coup. Wearing a jester's cap, his body was put on display in a Moscow square before being burned. His ashes were then shot from a cannon aimed at Poland.

Flash forward four centuries to our own Time of Troubles. 

Conspiracy theories proliferate and we have False Donald, our very our own pretender to the throne.

While news organizations and pundits like Rachel Maddow and Steve Schmidt issue dire warnings, I'm unalarmed.

The way out of our mess is simple: every American named Donald Trump should declare he is the real president. 

We would have not one, but 21 pretenders to the throne.

After all, the Russians had four. Shouldn't the US have more?

We must not allow an imposter gap!

HAT TIP: Ann Ramsey inspired this post. Spasiba.

From Béarnaise Sauce to Socialism

In France this day, celebrations of the 150th anniversary of the Commune de Paris are wrapping up.

The Commune, a brief but world-historical uprising of Paris's working class, still rankles conservatives today.

That's because—from start to finish—it was a socialist uprising: a time of class warfare and revenge; of workers' rights, women's rights, and immigrants' rights; of living wages, debt forgiveness, rent control, cheap mass transit, and plentiful food.

Karl Marx loved (and inspired) it.

The two-month Commune didn't rise from nowhere.

It was triggered by the trauma of the four-month Siege of Paris, Bismarck's campaign to cripple the city, throughout which the working class had been corralled into a single arrondissement to starve to death. 

As Parisians' food dwindled, "siege cuisine" became popular.

Working-class people ate rats, cats, and dogs to survive, while the wealthy ate horses and mules and animals they took from the zoo—including camels, zebras, antelopes, and ostriches.

To make the wealthy's meat palatable, Parisian chefs experimented with fancy dishes like pâté de rat; stuffed donkey’s head with sardines; broth of elephant; and kangaroo stew. 

Sauces—first popularized by Chef Carême—came into particular use. 

Paris's chefs served meat cooked in burgundy, tomato puree, pepper sauce, truffle sauce, béarnaise sauce, and sauce chasseur (hunter’s sauce).

Without money for bistros, the working class had to settle for boiled, fried or baked rat, cat, and dog. No wonder they rebelled, once Bismarck's siege ended.

Like all of Paris's poodles, the Commune came to a terrible end. 

After a two-month reign over Paris, the Commune was crushed by soldiers rushed from Versaillais. 

They killed over 70,000 workers in the streets, executed another 30,000, and burned down a third of the city.

So much for socialism. 

But at least we have béarnaise sauce.

POSTSCRIPT: Learn how artists depicted the Paris Commune here. 

HAT TIP: Thanks to historian and gourmand Ann Ramsey for inspiring this post.

The Dying Animal

 

Make no mistake, we're dealing with a dying animal.

A new survey from American Enterprise Institute reveals that one in four GOP members believes, "if elected leaders will not protect America, the people must do it themselves, even if it requires violent actions."

Who are these insurrectionists? 

You know who they are. 

They're white guys from the country with guns and trucks. 

They never read, never travel, and never watch anything on TV but Fox and A&E.

They dress like life's an audition for Born Losers; hold no or only menial jobs; and—when exogamous—are drawn to tattooed slatterns. 

They're often high all day on Four Roses or Percocet or both. 

High or sober, they despise lesbians and uppity women (who're the same thing). They despise gays. They despise Arabs, Asians, Blacks, Jews, Latinos, and Native Americans.

Most of all, they loathe the Whites whose parents demanded they apply themselves at school, grow up to be responsible adults, secure well-paying jobs, pay taxes, and save. 

They loathe Whites who have achieved those things, but don't acknowledge the last part: they believe only Jesus saves.

This Confederacy of Dunces has no future in our meritocracy. It belongs to a breed of ne'er-do-wells that's dying.

And as every game warden knows, a dying animal is a desperate one.

So how should you deal with a dying animal?

The best way, according to the American Veterinary Medical Association, is to provide them "peaceful release."

Because gassing, poisoning, drowning, decompression, electrocution and shooting are all deemed inhumane, according to the association, animal euthanasia via an injection of sodium pentobarbital is recommended.

But we're not speaking of animals—not literally; and anyway, we need first to administer all those millions of Covid vaccines.

So I recommend that the government mail every insurrectionist a $2,500 check and a one-way ticket to Uzbekistan.

The insurrectionists will feel right at home there, where the natives don't take kindly to women, gays, most people of color, and white adults, either.

Be Careful Who You Cancel

You are a den of vipers and thieves.

— Andrew Jackson

My high-school history teacher, Mr. Gray, dwelled for more than a month on the battle over banking between Jefferson and Hamilton. His point was to prove our nation was built on greed.

So I was troubled to learn yesterday that Joe Biden will rush to replace Andrew Jackson's portrait on the $20 bill with that of Harriett Tubman.

Don't misunderstand me: Tubman is one of our country's noblest heroes. Tribute to her is long overdue. But Tubman's portrait should replace Hamilton's on the $10 bill, not Jackson's on the $20.

If Tubman cancels anyone, it should be Hamilton.

Hamilton, after all, put us on the path to concentrating wealth and power in the hands of a few. As the architect of our "rigged" banking system, Hamilton is the father of the 1%.

Jackson, on the other hand, went to the mat to take Hamilton's plutocratic system apart, calling its advocates "vipers and thieves." 

The champion of the little guy, Jackson was in fact so hostile toward the rigged system, Congress censured him in 1834 and eventually reinstated Hamilton's bank.

In my view, Jackson, friend of the forgotten, doesn't deserve to be removed from our money; Hamilton does.

If you don't think he was sleazy, consider just one of Hamilton's maneuvers.

In 1789, he helped spread the lie that the Treasury would default on the $44 million in war bonds held by veterans of the American Revolution. 

At the same time, Hamilton advised his rich cronies to follow his lead and scoop up the "worthless" paper for pennies on the dollar. 

Once he and his cronies owned all the bonds, Hamilton ordered the Treasury to pay off them in full. 

Cha-ching 1%! Cha-ching.