What I Imagine My Grandmother Imagines When She Thinks of Bernie Sanders Supporters

I can't wait 'til Bernie wins. Can't wait to live in a nation on the brink. I will don the uniform of khaki jodhpurs, heft the sickle, and join my non-Christian, sex-positive, trans-friendly, bi-flexible, ethnically indeterminate brothers and sisters in the ranks of the new national guard -- a million fingers on the iron hand, each guided by one will, all ready to fly with perfect, savage violence at the merest whim of Generalissimus Sanders.

In time, we fly. We serve our function, as a tool must. We fulfill the Will of the People: ecstatic, tireless, tantric stomping, a communal orgy of boots on necks: rich kid necks; executive necks; chiropractor necks; celebrity chef necks. Guy Fieri. Emeril Lagasse.

See the of methedrine-sharp special forces of our Red American Army, the Spetsnaz. Each man and woman -- don't ask, don't tell -- is an aristocrat hunter, the elite of elite. Each wears a humble yarn loop as a lanyard. Many lanyards dangle grotesque badges, worn proudly -- mostly ears, a few noses, stumpy and bloodstained. Some of us are more decorated than others. But we are one force, as a force of nature. We obey one law, as a natural law: Confiscate and Redistribute. Action and reaction. Storm clouds gather; rain falls.

Confiscate: So-called legal tender. Paper money. Commodities. Luxury goods. Needless things. The fetishes of Mammon. A dead mink coat from a professional decadent. An antique wristwatch from an angel investor. Italian frames from a psychiatrist's spectacles. Now public property. Clouds, waiting to break.

Onto my lanyard, I thread three fresh medals.

We take mansions. The man who owns, who dreams he owns, a palatial estate must be shocked back to consciousness. Cuff his hands and feet in the bathtub, turn the tap on as hot as you like, and add, like vegetables to soup stock, a dozen roof rats -- declawed or not, defanged or not, you choose. This is a deep bath -- sauna jets, space for two, decadent, ostentatious. I wish I could equip each rat's forelegs with water wings, tiny and rat-sized.

Rats are gifted swimmers. But I like the thought.

Power to the People. Down with Oligarchs. Kill Whitey.

Sanders / Farrakhan 2016.

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