Saturday, March 11, 2023 was the third anniversary of the World Health Organization’s declaration of a global covid virus pandemic. Since then, according to the Department of Health and Humans Services Centers for Disease Control, the covid virus has infected 103,672,529 individual human beings in the United States. According to the latest information available from the US Census Bureau, the population of the United States at the moment (i.e., as of January 1, 2023, anyway) is approximately 334,000,000. So as of today, as I write this, about one in three Americans has had covid. Of those, according to the Kaiser Family Foundation, one in thirteen were maimed by the disease instead of dying from it, which amounts to about 7,800,000 individual Americans suffering from what is known as “long covid.”
Comparison to the 1918 influenza pandemic are apt at this point, since both plagues were more or less considered to be over with about three years after their initial outbreak. That pandemic officially killed about 675,000 Americans. At that time, the population of the United States was about one third of its present value, so for covid to officially equal the number of deaths attributed to the 1918 influenza pandemic on a percentage basis, it would have to kill about 2,000,000 US residents. So far, however, again according to the CDC, covid has only managed to kill 1,119,762 of them. Officially, that is. It would, of course, be extremely embarrassing for the United States government to admit it couldn’t do any better against some nasty microbe one hundred and two years after its first big wipe out. After all, in 1918, nobody knew much at all about viruses, DNA, or even epidemiology, for that matter. What our excuses here in the United States, in the Year of Our Lord 2020, equipped with a century of scientific advancement, computers, robots, and even artificial intelligence, for Christ’s sake, would be for screwing up as badly as we did, I cannot imagine.
As Stalin once so trenchantly observed, when one person dies, that’s a tragedy; and when a million people die, that’s a statistic. And apropos of Stalin, a tip of the legendary Hatlo Hat for the 2023 Covid Death toll (worldwide, by the way, topping 7,000,000, minimum, as of today) must definitely go to both the US Republican Party and the Communist Party of China, and to their respective Fearless Leaders, Donald John Trump and Xi Jinping. If there is a God, and He has created a Hell, let them and their followers spend eternity there, if for nothing else than for how they behaved during the covid pandemic of 2020. Happy anniversary, you bloodstained abominations of humanity, each and every one.
And speaking of abominations – Jim Jordan. Not bloodstained, I would quickly aver; not yet, anyway, but otherwise, well, let the facts speak for themselves. Not that facts bother someone like him, naturally. Mr. Jordan and his MAGA cronies have never let facts get in the way of a good, self-serving politically motivated lie. Of which plenty have been on display now that Kevin McCarthy has had a couple of months in which to fulfill the promises exacted by the likes of them in exchange for their votes to make him Speaker of the House of Representatives. Because one of those promises was for McCarthy to appoint Jordan to the chairmanship of the House Judiciary Committee. And being a mindlessly political zealot, and also being basically insane, as soon as he got his blackmail demand fulfilled, Mr. Jordan rushed to convene that committee to investigate weaponization of the US government – that being the imaginary, fantasized use of Executive Branch power to supposedly persecute the gaggle of racists, religious fanatics, bigots, ignoramuses, morons, idiots, imbeciles and outright lunatics who, unfortunately, now represent the sentiments, values and aspirations of about one in three Americans. And in recognition of my considerable number of international readers, please accept my abject apologies to every civilized person on the planet – in defense of my nation, I beg you to consider that still leaves 220,000,000 of us who are trying to do something to control those misguided, benighted and, well, basically stupid fellow residents of the US. Please remember that statistically, twenty-two percent of every human population consists of individuals who have IQs below 90. And here in the United States, it’s even worse than that, because our IQ distribution is bimodal. Which is why a third of the population is behaving like there’s something seriously wrong going on between their ears, acting like deranged retards who will not just believe, but act on the most ridiculous cockamamie notions that a demented mind can invent.
Now, as I was saying… Jim Jordan. He’s apparently channeling the ghosts of Joseph McCarthy (no relation to the current Speaker, other than being of Irish descent, of course, and therefore, given their insular matrimonial tradition, could easily be a third- or fourth cousin), Richard Nixon and J. Parnell Thomas (the infamous chairman of the House Un-American Activities Committee during the Red Scare). And doing a bang-up job of it, too – any one of that unholy trio would no doubt be proud of him. His staffers certainly are – as I can attest, since Cerise and I were accosted by one of them – a fellow named Nathan Bedford Forrest Torquemada Babbitt – at the Round Robin Bar while quaffing some cocktails earlier this evening after I finished another working Saturday, just prior to our visiting the Warner Theater, located down the block, to attend a concert by Black Violin.
“Tom Collins!” Babbitt shouted as he clapped me on the back and took a seat beside me at the rail, “what are you and this… lovely lady… up to this evening?”
At this point, I should explain that I don’t know this person in experience, so much as I know him by reputation. Which is to say, several of my clients have complained about him and his boss to me in the course of our consultations. Perhaps not so much as complained, actually, as… well, vilified, is the best way to describe it, and well-deserved vilification, I warrant, if my respectable length of time inside the Beltway means anything. So it was with a certain circumspect demeanor that I replied. “Preparing to enjoy some of Washington’s glittering night life. How about yourself?”
“Oh, little old me?” Babbitt gasped histrionically, drawing himself up in what appeared to be an unconscious imitation of Lindsey Graham. “Just celebrating the return of truth and justice to the Nation’s Capital, that’s all.”
“If you are referring to the recent transfer of power in the House from a solid Democratic majority to the weakest Republican Speaker since the last days of Nicholas Longworth during the collapse of the Hoover Administration,” Cerise interjected, “wouldn’t you say that celebrating for eight weeks is a little bit much?”
“Quite a mouth she’s got on her, don’t she?” Babbitt shot back with a quick glance at me as he gestured to the bartender. “Over here, Pedro! And muy pronto! Tengo mucha sed de más tequila! Hey look,” he continued, addressing me, “I figure the pretty lady there, bein’ on your arm this evening and this bein’ the Willard Hotel and all, she’s gotta be some kinda Democrat, at least, if not a Socialist or something worse, you know? But no hard feelings, right?”
“Absolutely not,” I dryly responded. “I make plenty of money no matter who is in power. But I think you must admit, she does have a point.”
“I think she missed the point,” he chuckled. “I’m celebrating the incredible progress and amazing revelations we’re making in my buddy Jim’s committee investigation!”
“Like what?” Cerise challenged as she set her Grey Goose cosmopolitan down and glared at him. “So far, your boss has called three washed-up FBI agents who believe in the same crazy conspiracy theories that he does, and all they have done is tell him what he wanted to hear. And he has the feckless temerity to call them ‘whistleblowers’ when not one of them qualifies for that designation under federal law. Their testimony was undiluted, paranoid fascist propaganda, and they’re nothing but shills for Trump and his MAGA cronies.”
“Those brave FBI agents…” Babbitt began.
“Former FBI agents,” Cerise interrupted, “one of whom was suspended.”
“I’ll have you know,” he slurred, lifting his latest double shot of Cuervo, “Those brave former FBI agents are men of unimpeachable integrity.”
“Oh really?” Cerise sniped. “Let’s see here – of the two who weren’t suspended outright from the FBI for questionable conduct took five thousand dollars from Kash Patel, a major player in the Ukraine scandal that lead to Trump’s first impeachment…”
“For which he was acquitted by the Senate…” Babbitt interrupted back.
“With apologies to Gertrude Stein,” Cerise icily argued, “an impeachment is an impeachment is an impeachment. And accepting manila envelopes bulging with thousands of dollars from characters like Kash Patel is hardly unimpeachable integrity.”
“Agent Stephen Friend…” Babbitt began.
“Former agent Stephen Friend,” Cerise corrected.
“Former… agent… Stephen Friend,” Babbitt resumed, “did not accept any manila envelopes bulging with thousands of dollars from Kash Patel!”
“Oh, I see,” Cerise japed, “I suppose Mr. Patel wrote him a check, then? And that, in contrast to accepting a manila envelope bulging with cash, makes everything just fine and ethical?”
“There’s nothing unethical about taking people’s money!” Babbitt protested.
“Spoken like a true MAGA Republican,” Cerise said with smile, accompanied by a demure laugh.
“Looks like she’s got you there,” I opined, “taking five grand from a notorious Trump crony, then going up on Capitol Hill to give another notorious Trump crony testimony that pays lip service to Trump’s lies about stolen elections and Trump’s absurd conspiracy theories about the so-called ‘deep state’ hardly has the appearance of an unbiased witness of acceptable veracity, much less one of unimpeachable integrity.”
“Says you,” Babbitt objected as he pounded down another shot of tequila and turned once more toward the bartender. “Pedro! Otra cervesa! Besides,” he continued, addressing me and Cerise, “the fact that he took money doesn’t mean what he said isn’t true.”
“And what evidence,” Cerise acidly inquired, “did that witness offer?”
“The man,” Babbitt haughtily intoned with an air of righteous indignation, “is a former FBI agent! What else do you need?”
“That other one – Garret O’Boyle – he took money from Patel, too, didn’t he?” Cerise needled. “And as I recall, unlike Stephen Friend, he wouldn’t say how much.”
“He doesn’t have to say how much!” Babbitt protested. “It could have been cab fare!”
“And it could have been suitcase stuffed with hundred dollar bills,” Cerise suggested as she watched Babbitt’s face turn red with frustration.
“Miss,” he huffed, “you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about! All three of those… former… FBI agents testified before the House Judiciary Committee because they’re genuine patriots sincerely concerned about how the Democrats have been using the federal government to persecute conservatives, infiltrate conservative organizations and keep conservative voices from being heard!”
“Jim Jordan, Donald Trump and the MAGA movement,” Cerise declared as she finished her cosmopolitan, “have nothing to do with conservative ideology. They have nothing to do with any ideology, philosophy or political theory whatsoever. They are about power and repression, period. And what Jim Jordan is doing is just like what Vladimir Putin does whenever he exerts his lust for power and repression – he accuses his victims of what he has done or what he is about to do, and expects a world of weak-minded and foolish people to believe him. But he is wrong; the majority of people are neither, and that is why his strategy will ultimately fail. And that,” she said as she signaled the bartender for the check, “is why Jim Jordan will also fail.”
“Well, now,” Babbitt roared, “we’ll see about that, won’t we?”
“What I’d like to see,” I said as I handed back the check to the bartender along with a hundred dollar bill, “is the House Judiciary Committee produce some actual evidence to go with the two hundred pages of bizarre and grotesque allegations Jim Jordan’s cherry-picked crackpot witnesses spouted all over the Congressional Record.”
“Evidence?” Babbitt snorted contemptuously as Cerise and I turned to leave, “what the [expletive] do we need evidence for? Hey! Pedro! Mas tequila, pronto!”