- It may or may not behoove us to wonder: What would Will
Rogers have to say now?
-
- If matters hadn't become so dire in this country, if
the Bush junta weren't absolutely goading Americans into finally fighting
back in order to declare martial law, if the majority of the Supreme Court
justices weren't in the Bush Crime Family pocket, if Zionists weren't running
our foul government, if the World Trade Center disaster hadn't been an
inside job, if the price of gold hadn't been artificially held back since
1980, if Ken Lay and his ilk weren't running free while cookie baker Martha
Stewart faces trial, if all those events and much much more weren't knocking
this nation clean off its pedestal, it might be fun to resurrect the quintessential
American humorist, laugh at his reaction to . . . to what, electronic voting
machines?
-
- "Americans can finally stop worrying about something
they never bothered to do much of anyway," Will Rogers might say,
twirling his lariat on stage. "And that's vote. There's no way you're
gonna' ensure an honest election when any fool can see electronic machines
are easy to rig."
-
- The audience shifts uneasily, but is quiet. Someone
coughs.
-
- "You know, I tried to board a plane the other day
and someone from security took away my lariat. When I asked why, some
feller slapped handcuffs on me and I was hauled off to jail. I'll never
complain about airplane food again after experiencing Christmas dinner
in the hoosegow."
-
- Polite but nervous twittering ensues from the audience.
-
- "But shoot, I didn't care. Had the wife come down
and bail me out and came away richer for the experience. Or poorer. Depends
on how you look at it."
-
- Mediocre applause.
-
- "Tell you the truth, though, as I look around, I
can see that Americans . . . " Will Rogers has stopped twirling his
lasso, stands stock still, a lump in his throat. No one has ever seen
him so sad, so serious. "Americans . . . are in deep trouble. Wouldn't
have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. This isn't
your country anymore. I don't know whose it is, but it sure ain't yours.
-
- "How the hell did you let this happen? You don't
even have a free press! Big corporations own your newspapers. Don't you
know that without a free press you can't be free?"
-
- There is a pregnant pause, one which becomes a freeze
frame. Then cold Arctic wind blows, snow swirls into the auditorium, rapidly
becoming a white out. During a lull in the storm, Will Rogers is no longer
on stage. In his stead, is a granite tombstone with the inscription:
-
- THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
- R.I.P.
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