An Open Letter From Your Friendly Local Hippie Leftover

by Kenshin

Dear America:

All right, all right! You caught me out.

For decades, I’ve been prancing around the country, swinging my tired old placards (as long as it’s nice weather!). I’ve littered your street corners with my heartfelt protests, claiming to have America’s best interests at heart. Claiming to care about “issues.” Like the times I’ve put our President on trial for “war crimes,” compared him to Adolph Hitler, and likened the 9/11 victims to Nazi bigwig Adolf Eichmann.

I’ve been bragging that my dream candidates could “do better” than this administration, which, as I keep reminding you, has lied to the American people, rushing us into a bloody, futile war-for-oil, just to make his Halliburton buddies rich (Yes, it’s my very own clumsy sleight-of-hand attempt so you won’t look at anything our side wants to sweep under the rug, like me pretending to be an Indian or something).

And I’ve screamed blue murder about the lying liars of the Republican Attack Machine, simultaneously blatting out slogans about the unfairness of tax cuts for those selfish rich people, and a woman’s right to choose to dismember her newborn.

I’ve pretended that weapons bans will protect citizens and keep guns from the hands of criminals, and I also have to say I am doing pretty good in my scheme to remove God from the classroom, the courtroom, and (if luck is with me), even from the Church!

(All the while making the world safe for internet porn and Islamic terrorists).

Well, the jig is up. I confess:

I can’t think.

Not a bit of it! I can’t add two and two, even if I count on my fingers! Duuuude! Too many bong hits, I guess.

The truth is, all I can do is project. Accuse you, the regular American, of schemes I myself adopt. As in launching wild ad hominem attacks, screaming “Halliburton!” and hoping some of it sticks to the wall.

I am pretty incoherent, when you come right down to it. I resent anyone who’s smarter, better-looking or more accomplished than I am. Not to mention better-smelling!

People like that threaten me, in ways that my teensy little dinosaur-brain (including the extra one in my butt I use to operate my back legs) feels deeply but cannot express, except in outbursts like “Duuuude!” or “Halliburton!”

But it’s not my fault! I can’t help myself. George Bush and his Republican Attack Machine—oops, there I go again!—are hell-bent on making it impossible for hippie leftovers and slackers (like yours truly) to get along.

They actually want—no, demand!—that I produce. That I become a contributing member of society, like getting a real job, paying taxes, and not telling my kindergarten students that Bush sold our ports to foreign terrorists.

The nerve.

So thanks, GWB and company, for ‘outing’ me to the world. Now, everybody knows I’m a vermin-infested, traitorous little malcontent. And it’s all your fault.

Oh, and PS: HALLIBURTON!

Yours Truly,
Jay Ward Churchill Bennish the Third

—copyright 2006, The Sword Heart Scrolls