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I Hate it Here: The New Scum Plot

It’s been a good while since we’ve talked, hasn’t it? Or, rather, since I’ve sat down and committed the fruits of my well-poisoned mind to tender electrons for your sheeplike eyes to ingest. Lo and fear not, my New Scum Friends, for Spider remains in the wainscoting. A dung beetle on the new millennium, I thrive in the dark places of our society’s underbelly, consuming the output of my own industry when all other means of support fail. Mouth latched firmly to my own anus, ingesting the shit of the American Media for sustenance, I will filter it through the baleen of my hard and murderous mind for the delectation of all.

I am struck by the inability of certain political parties to produce adequate chess forks for their incumbent opponents. It may be that they are weak, as their traditional enemies like to brand them. It may be that they are too noble, as they like to believe in order to excuse their pathetic ineffectiveness. It may be that it just hasn’t fucking occurred to them. Who knows? Regardless, since my only entertainment down here in the City while watching the shitheap that is America slide down a luge track to fascist Disneyland (a redundancy if ever I heard one) is Thinking Shit Up, I proffer the following.

A common thread amongst the complainers on the Left (or what passes for the Left in this castrated landscape of the political process) is that it’s impossible to nail the actual Bastards behind the scenes because despite a plethora of evidence, the American People have been conditioned to only accept ‘Bold Statements’ from their ‘Leaders’ – and since the Party in question isn’t ‘Leading’ then nothing they say will have the desired effect. A neat self-excusing Moëbius excuse. How’s this for a thought experiment? Let’s marry two or three of the current complaints together and see if we can build a tripod that will support the poker they’d like to ram up the Smirker’s tight-pinched ass. Let’s write a story.

Laws? Prattle not to me of laws, fucker. How are you going to consider yourself a bastard if you worry about these little distractions? This is JOURNALIS…er, FICTION.

Let us take a fictional advisor who is the bête noire of many on the Left. Let us name him, oh, Adolf Wander. He steadfastly refuses to comment on, much less admit to, having anything to do with various and sundry despicable schemes to disenfranchise minority voters; to capture American politics through completely capitalist merchandising of the process to radical religious fringe parties; to smear candidates through propagation of known falsehoods and catchy slanderous slogans; to funding telephone campaigns based on random telephone call blitzes to certain less-than-liberal districts reminding them of opposing candidates’ (gasp) minority adoptee children!

Fair enough.

The Smirker seems to think that America is not safe without his ability to listen in indiscriminately on the conversations of others; to resort to ‘harsh interrogation methods that nevertheless are not torture’ and which are ‘critical to maintaining the safety of America.’

What if, in our piece of fiction, someone were to abscond with Mister Wander and subject him to said harsh interrogatory methods in an effort to develop a complete and clear picture of the methodologies used to win elections? Certainly, the methods utilized to choose the President of the United States is of critical national importance; certainly, there is cause for suspicion that that process may have been corrupted. Various parties involved with that process have already been indicted. If the only thing shielding Mr. Wander and his cronies are the fruits of success in that process, we are at a terrible disadvantage in securing our political system – much like the United States is hampered by weak laws in securing its borders from the THREAT of EVIL PEOPLE as the Smirker tells us daily!

Very well. Suppose in our fiction, a cabal of concerned professionals were to take Mr. Wander and subject him to those same techniques that our President assures us are Not Torture, in an Undisclosed Location outside the jurisdiction of American Courts, in an attempt to determine if he and his associates still at large had, or plan to, subject the American Polity to severe damage? Perhaps, even, with the threat of over three thousand deaths – such as those already suffered in a country which even the Smirker admits now had nothing to do with those horrid events he is trying to protect us from?

I’m sure there would be an outcry! He is an American Citizen! They would shout. So was Jose Padilla, could come the answer. He is innocent until proven guilty! Easily dispensed with. Habeas corpus! Same deal. He had not caused the death of three thousand Americans! Whoops; he and his President might have, in our story, caused the deaths of three thousand American combat troops on a mission which turns out to have been based on two justifications which at the time were known by certain parts of the government to be untrue.


Of course, he may not crack! He may, even more likely, simply tell our fictional interrogators whatever they want to hear, in order to nobly make good his escape and inform the law enforcement community of their evil plot and bring down righteous justice upon them.

Er, but what about those detainees we’re supposedly getting information from, then, what about the information they’re giving us?

Er, um, well.

Of course, there’s always the idea that’s been floated on the net, that of building a driver’s license out of plastic explosive and watching the TSA’s collective little head explode. ”Check all of your ID! Er, no, wait…”

It’s still fucking depressing here in what was once America. Curled up in protective little balls, eating the shit that our government doles out here in the rat tunnels, those of us able to still think despite the flood of crap flowing from those ‘in charge’ and the mindless lowing of those that accept it grimly get on with surviving. The New Scum; we’re like cockroaches. This too shall pass, and when it does, some motherfuckers are going to pay. We don’t know what it’ll look like when it does, but you’re not going to get all of us.

I'm Spider Jerusalem, and I hate it here.