I await your return.

Dear George,

I refuse to believe that your term has “ended; I refuse to believe that you have “left office”.

No! It is none of the above!

You are simply in a temporary exile until your minions can manipulate your triumphant return to power. And you will return! Let me explain why.

Even though I was stoned; even though I was face down on the floor inhaling the perfume of my piss-stained carpet, I could still hear your successor’s inaugural address, and I was appalled at the decency that poured from his mouth. Peace, love and understanding—it’s enough to make you barf.

Well, let me tell you, Big Guy, sixty years of martial glory has killed this nation’s appetite for decency. All we care about is wars: wars on Communism, crime, drugs, poverty, cancer and terrorism. Our tolerance for peace and understanding is limited.

The most virulent savage walking the face of the earth is the man in a dark suit and tie with an American flag pin in his lapel, for he believes himself to be above superstition and ignorance when, in truth, both rule his life. And the most pervasive superstition that rules his every thought is his belief that there are rational solutions to that collection of messy problems we call life. So this savage forces the yoke of rationality on a life that is one continuous nonlinear paradox.

A rational solution begins life as a child of pragmatism, but quickly hardens into an ideology driven by inertia, an ideology that books no opposition and, in the end, must destroy all who refuse to embrace it. A realist is a man who buys into this superstition.

These suits form a black vortex that will suck even the most decent of men into its dark hole. It makes up a vast bureaucracy that slowly turns upon its own momentum, a momentum too powerful to resist. Already we are seeing signs that the vortex is beginning to draw your successor in.


I must say, I’ve gotten quite a chuckle out of all this blather about “racial harmony” and how “historic” is your successor’s election. The greatest con game ever foisted on the American people is that there is such a thing as race. Skin color is as phony a biological determinant as being skinny is. But, it serves an important function in that it distracts the drones from the real division that rends America: class and culture.

Class and culture mark a man in the way he dresses, the way he talks and the way he acts. And the belief that your successor represents a new age in race relations hides the fact that our class divisions are growing wider. Your successor belong to the elite class, his rhetoric notwithstanding.

America will achieve true class harmony when a Black rapper takes the oath of office and begins his inaugural address by saying, “Yo! Listen up, motherfuckers!”

I await your return.

Your admirer,
Belacqua Jones