Goose-Stepping Down Main Street

I’m too old to start goose stepping. Duck walks I can handle—my declining years having given me no choice. But it should make it easier to duck behind the sofa, lobbing a brick or two, when the Hats come calling.

So it goes, as the man once said.

Though, I don’t expect the Hats to be so polite as to ring the doorbell.

“Who is it?” I growled. The growl has been my go-to voice of late. I’m usually pleasant, and have been known to answer the door with a cold glass of lemonade at the ready; in case the caller had an arduous journey and was in need of a cool refreshment, but the times sure are a-changin’, and a dogs gotta do what a dogs gotta do.

“It’s your mother,” said the voice.

The Hats are clever, indeed—sending in one of their senior Gestapos to win me over. At the feisty age of ninety, my mother has laid down her bingo blotter and hitched herself to lite beer, Fox New, and a golf cart; the patriotic go-to of a proud MAGA retiree.

I stifled an Egads! and let the golf cart in.

I had no choice. It whizzed by me quicker than I could say Jackie Robinson was the first African American to break the color barrier in major league baseball, but I said it anyway.

“Libtard!” she shouted, as she parked her vehicle in the kitchen and cracked open a can of beer from my refrigerator.

“Mom,” I said, “It’s nine o’clock in the morning. Might I get you a tea?”

“Teas’s too civil,” she said. “It doesn’t get me riled up enough. There’s a revolution on, son! And you’re missing out!”

She then spit out the beer.

“What in hell kinda donkey piss is this?”

“It’s an IPA.”

“Libtard!” she repeated. “I’ll send over some PBR’s. Man you up a bit. And what in hell do you have on your feet?”

“Crocs, Mom. They’re crocs.”

“Crocs? Herr Goebbels! What in name of God’s great American earth is a croc?”

Herr Goebbels, formerly known as Alexa, is an AI voice-activated device that will not disconnect—no matter how hard I try.

Crocs are a result of a malfunction in the liberal brain. Which is why they came up with a malnourished shoe. The sandal and flip flop, as well, are liberal-minded creations. Also, did you know that when a snowflake falls, a patriot is born? Truth. It’s what we’re all about.

“Danke, Herr Goebbels.”

Bitte schön, Frau Gibbons. And please tell your son—as we are not speaking—that his order of Kurt Vonnegut’s collected works has been denied. He’ll need to provide us with an appropriate thinking author. I recommend Mein Kamph by you-know-who. A delightful look into the mind of one who would have scoffed at the idea of goose-stepping in crocs.

“This is ridiculous, Mom. I got Goebbels in the kitchen; Bezos in the living room; Zuckerberg in the bedroom, and Musk in the toilet. The Oligarchy has taken over my peace of mind. And when they’re not talking to me they’re talking to each other in a language I can’t understand.”

“Ah, yes, the Gibberish. They speak it so as not to alarm anyone. But you’ll soon get the message loud and clear. They’re only looking after your best interest, son. By the way, you’ll need some manly footwear if you’re to march in the parade with me on Saturday.”

Amazon has a fine line of combat boot attire. Ranging in price from 22.95 to 285.00. This product is non-refundable. You buy the boot, you buy the cause. Might I also recommend a fashionable ski-mask for those moments you want to remain unidentifiable. Quite useful on ski-raids down a mountain slope, or when ransacking a multi-cultural village.

“Shut it, Goebbels!” I shouted.

“Goebbels?” said my wife. “Who’s Goebbels? And why are you sweating? Your pillow's soaking wet.”

“Good God. What an awful nightmare.”

“Poor dear” she said. “I’ll go make some coffee. You go shower. You look a mess.”

***

“Alexa. Play some soothing shower music.”

“Alexa?” said Musk. “Alexa’s long dead. And I’d go apologize to Goebbels if I were you and stock up on those combat boots he recommended. You’re gonna need ‘em—it's sooner than you think.”

Photo courtesy of Wiki Commons:

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/94/Keep_him_goose-stepp...