by Bodwyn Wook
(with apologies to Dean Swift — BW)
Here displayed are the pictures of some of our latest Terre De Bleu City southern Minnesota area and North Coast of Iowa young people to appear in the newspaper.
[The pictures cited have been removed on compassionate advice (see comment, infra). Persons who positively wish to admire the physiognomies of the individuals pilloried here may consult the archives of the Mankato Free Press of October, 2008, at: www.mankatofreepress.com — ed]
According to reports in the Terre De Bleu City Compactor & Squawbunion County Valve they are implicated in the inept and cruelly prolonged killing of a small pony, the pet of a young woman seemingly ill advised generally about life by her parents and more or less abandoned to generalized hooking up and “dating,” and furthermore misfortunate enough to have been drawn into a kind of gummy romantic web, by the shovelfaced villain on the right with the vague dreamy look.
It is altogether a vile circumstance and, of course, one neither here nor there in view of the common class of Tee Vee and internet agitated people who mostly infest our sickly postfrontier region. It is no more consequential in itself than the companion fact, that of course the Squawbunion County Prosecution Service will likely not prosecute the affair with any real brio. This politically is because this agchem exhausted southern Minnesota soil [There are no nightcrawlers to be found any longer in the cementlike fields, once black and now gray — ed] is the hormonally driven heart of animal factory farm country. So, no public prosecutor or judge in these parts sensitive to objective electoral success or, anyway, spousely “bitching” will venture — none have the common guts which we expect of even so much as a janitor cleaning up any of our other loathsome messes! — to find any vigorous precedents, not in this thorny realm of any hypothetical “animal cruelty.” “Animal rights” are a bomb waiting to go off. Prestigious careers in nonproductive public employment cannot possibly be gained by promoting these. It is a simple matter of economics and a well paid judiciary. The demand for oily and unwholesome, soybean meal fed, pork goes on and on, in these parts like a kind of unislamic hemorrhage. Indeed, the new county motto just voted in by a crapulous board reads:
“Squawbunion County, Where There Are More Pigs Than People…And Some Of The People Are Hogs Themselves!”
[The previous county official slogan — “God Damn YOU!” — was retired by acclamation — ed]
And so it is that these foolish and vacant, truculent looking, young males (not men) portrayed here also are the hapless victims, themselves, of preserved foods and omnichemicalized malnutrition and the universal Upper Midwest industrialized diet.
Thus, the moonfaced personality on the left with the obvious anger problem and the long upper lip bears also all of the stigmata of fetal alcohol syndrome thrown in on top of the junkfood bargain, and the hangdog rogue already mentioned, with the vacant dreaming look and the twisted, pruney suckthumb face is at least a victim of prenatal malnutrition if not outright maternal drunkeness, most of all as evinced by the vicious rosebud lips.
These spitty protruberant polyps are objectively the hallmark of the suckling mouthbreather, and this one no doubt is brooding abstractly alone in his own dreamland even while in front of the guilty police camera, on what he should dearly love to do to this or that young female, alone. Whether it be to the owner of the dead pony or to another, that is neither here nor there. And, most certainly not to this heartland type of erotic mind, all seethed and bathed in country and western “music,” and rap cursing….
Plainly, nothing is to be done about any of this botchery under the remnant “values” of our latemodern setup, but now in the early decades of the postmodern it begins to occur to some among the insightful at least that new departures may well be in order. Other avenues need be followed in restoring a modicum of real value to these dreadful congenital cases among our regional underfamilies. It is the old Sufi matter yet again in history, of lemons…and lemonade.
For of course the two dull rascals portrayed here are but a token sample.
The Squawbunion County jail is full of this stuff, and all the surrounding county baileys.
It is a commonplace of the now largely (and, rightly) discredited psychology of the twentieth century, that such young males are a product of our long cultural “experiment” over many generations, with more and more immorality and more and more fatherless boys to go with it, and that the male offspring of our regional underfamilies suffer thus from “low self-esteem.” This is probably true, although in fact one really must suppose in many cases there is in fact entirely too much of this unearned stuff going on. Certainly of the wrong sort, and of the undeserved sociopathic variety that positively demands outrageous behavior as a “right,” and lots of “self-expression” too.
And so the social, the eleemosynary, question surges to the fore:
However shall we as the compassionate and creative community we are after all at bottom, act now, above all to restore to these drooling locked up bravos a rightful sense of selfhood?
It is of course an artifact of the Old Liberalism of a previous era that such a possession is their natural “human” right. So now, I say, let there be experimented with a possible remedy that only twenty years ago, when we were still in modernism, would have offended mightily no doubt the same professional liberalism of that bygone time. Experiment now though, if well founded at least, will serve moreover several purposes, allowing these botched young males in criminal trouble [A very great many are themselves also unwed fathers, this the diseased result of untimely play among the abandoned young girls of their misfed poisoned generation — ed] to make amends at least to us, their annoyed neighbors, if not their insensate parents. On a number of levels then they may thereby discover, and very probably for the first time in their lives, their own self respect. If only at the end of life and on the threshold of the long, dark, hot deep plunge right down into the pit of Hell.
Better late than never….
After all, those of our young wholly unfitted even for the army, because of wrong feeding and stupid state pedagogy, and too, too much Ritalin in the elementary grades, even so these too can still serve their society. It is in any case a matter of dying in the good cause, after all. Only now instead of in Iraq or some unheard of swamp let it be right here at home, and in the name of our very own public unity and community celebration in Indian-haunted Old Terre De Bleu City, under its rotting mansard roofs. My proposed possible solution to all this lost young male misery is in fact the soul of simplicity.
It will not cost a lot beyond some carpentry and bunting. The Civil War Society (“Get Ready For Next Time!”) already has assured me that they will supply the uniforms and costumes and period weapons. And the project so realistically produced well may go far to enhance, as well as the sensation of real selfworth among some of the malformed young among us, our community adult need for a revivified sense of our own history in this poisoned place. Sacrifice is demanded of all, that is the social message.
But, successful society depends on a lively sense of history in the first place, and this must be taught:
Those of my friends active in the moribund Squawbunion Historical Society (SCHS) tell me that today for a fact there is precious little interest among our dawdling young in our remembered past, and that those who do know something of it are mostly, well, ashamed.
It is not that they are ashamed of their natal place, as such:
Most of the highschool students of the class of ’08 when polled last Spring by the city paper agreed, that Terre De Bleu City is a wonderful place indeed…especially to be from.
Their regret seems centered rather on the gloomy history that they feelingly reject, and especially the revengeful hanging by white settlers here, of the sixty-three Buffalo Indian warriors taken captive at the conclusion of the great hellish 1857 Indian Uprising that scarred the Northern Plains. This was after the thieving by certain Indian agents and whisky traders, from off of the starving treaty Indians, had forever and ever come to light. The outbreak in fact menaced huge interests as well as pending Minnesota statehood and, indeed, the hapless Indians were strung up by the christian pioneers on Easter Sunday of 1858, in order to clear the way for the proclamation of admission to the Union in May and the consolidation of trade, and the expansive didoes of a progressive business community on the make and with an eye on the main chance. Some of these latter gentry involved in our early trade and its necessary judicial murders as is well known went on to found some of our own oldest and finest families in this place, today.
So it seems a pity that our young should reject out of hand now that history which in fact demands their sensitive reappraisal. Not least it is the bedrock of their own past, and there is as well the ongoing work today of reconciliation, between the guilty heirs and assigns of the exultant whites of the century before last, and the aggrieved descendants of thrown down Buffalo Indians of so long ago. It is fundamentally a deeper wound than any to be appeased by allowing the First Nations among us their monopoly on the casino trade as is done today, although all agree that a generous continuous washing of postcontemporary cash in hand can indeed go far to console many a remembered tale of woe….
As to our own caucasoid young, leering over their text messages and iPods in the coffee bars, there can be no doubt that history to them, as historian emeritus John Lukacs points out, has been taught more poorly than to any previous American generation. Indeed, Terre De Bleu City itself with its three-quarters destroyed and pulled down old downtown gives few clues of our yesteryears to our children, and all we have with which to beguile their imaginations are the musty exhibits of mothy clothing and rodent gnawed leather books, in the tumbledown old Murgatroyd Manse, on Bourgeoise at Schmeckelphartz Street. It was built in the silkstocking district in the Second Empire style with Romanesque detailing, by fugitive slavetrader Micah Murgatroyd after the Civil War. There he dwelled in deepest seclusion for many decades, with his octoroon mistress it is said, until poisoned by her reputedly with a fulminate of mercury poured into a waxy, hairy upturned ear, while the old man dozed behind blighted arbors on the rotting front porch, in 1915.
A housemaid said to the police, after the death of Murgatroyd and flight of his dusky companion into oblivion on the St Paul train, that her lady employer had been fatally revolted finally beyond bearing by the syphilitic pustules that marred the scabby Murgatroyd integument and made of him such a ghastly scarred ogre to neighborhood children, when glimpsed at his cobwebby windows….
But is this history?
It is the stuff of smutty legendry, to be sure it is, every provincial town in the land can avail such tales — but, the study of history is not the mere collection of pornographic japes, and gossip however envious and correspondingly creative. Without what Sir Winston Churchill called the “moral theme” there can be neither progress nor reconciliation in the affairs of men. Nay, until there be, we are forever condemned to repeat the miserable tale, of wars and intoxication, theft and murders. Hence, my friends in the SCHS enthusiastically endorse the support already mentioned above for my proposal, by the Civil War Society. Also committed are the Squawbunion County Jail Department, the Public Welfare Office, the Terre De Bleu City Chamber Of Commerce Shoplifting Reduction Desk, the Anti-Illegitimacy League and other private community groups.
We now only await word from the (Whites Only) Terre De Bleu City Pow Wow Club (TDBCPWC), and their Buffalo Indian spiritual and “authenticity” advisors, as to whether our proposal, namely that the Indians in a signal and transformative, empathic, ouevre of role reversal might agree playing the part of the 1858 christian settlers, is welcome anywhere in “Indian Country.” If this is at all agreeable to the “‘Skins,” well, if they can but allay their understandable nausea,certainly the ongoing work of reconciliation, and the whole redemption of our often repulsive history, all of that can only benefit. My concept is based on principles of historical reenactment and the educative value thereof, it will enhance the experience and value of direct participation so important to today’s effective learning, and it above all emphasizes the learning of empathy, in authentically grounded authoritative recreations of illuminative historical tableaux.
The key to the whole transformative and consciouness broadening opus is the critical part to be played by role reversal.
As noted the Buffalo Indians are now being approached as to enactment of the divers christian roles. Meanwhile, work goes forward with obtaining the needed “Indians.” To this end, I am pleased to report that Schluckbebier Farms will provide gratis as many turkey feathers as may be needed, and Barney’s Hobby will stand good for all the dye needed to make the requisite “eagle” plumes. Ma Ewert at Schisshabende Walnut farm says they will supply all the juice needed for free, for dyeing the quondam “Indians” and Mac, over at Away We Go (AWG, LL C), the handicapped bus service, has offered to drive the “Indian” players from the jail every weekend to the pageant site, just as long as they are securely manacled, and sedated as needed. The SCHS people are happy, too, because as already mentioned the Murgatroyd Manse is kind of played out more than somewhat as a key Terre De Bleu City attraction, and the commerce chamber and Street Brat Sellers (Unislamic) association both look forward to the improved tourist draw.
The great advantage of this proposal is the creative example it sets, of resolving the thorny problem of what to do when all you have is lemons?
The answer of course is lemonade….
In this case, we propose simply to reduce the Squawbunion County Jail Department budget with significant savings on both grub and supervision, by using for a public purpose the gangs and relays of inadequate young males of all ages now cooped up there on any given weekend. There are always at least sixty-three inmate malefeasants domiciled in the municipal and county bailey, and we simply envisage using them in the role reversal exercize noted above, as the “Indians.” Indeed, as matters now stand, on sheer numbers of available deficients in this region we anticipate during the warm (tourist) season being able to conduct weekly live reenactments, of the 1858 hanging of the sixty-three Buffalo Indian warriors, and with matinee “extras” at Memorial Day, the Fourth of July and on each of the three days of the Labor Day weekend. In any case, station KORN AM-FM has offered free In any case, station KORN AM-FM has offered free publicity and promotion through the Hoodwink Farm Network, and the whole enterprise bids fair more than anything to give our jaded young people above all a living historical experience…..
The only question remaining — it is after all the whole point of the exercise, certainly from the aspect of reconciliation and most notably amends — is whether any of our new innovations in municipal festivity shall win anything like the affectionate appreciation and approval, of our Indian friends and neighbors:
Will they at least perceive at last our authentic cultural change of heart, in all of this?
[Emmett R Smith all rights reserved 14 October 2008]