Back to the Stone Age
Was there ever any real doubt that when Donald Trump finally blustered and blundered this country into a real war, he would do it like a troglodyte — or, alternatively, like a semiliterate adolescent hayseed braggart bully-coward from 19th century kid lit?
Read his late-night toilet tweets. Listen to his photo-op statements. Hear the infantile threats, the sneering, demented knock-the-chip-off-my-shoulder taunts.
Just last night, from the toilet:
“Our Military, the greatest and most powerful (by far!) anywhere in the World, hasn’t even started destroying what’s left in Iran. Bridges next, then Electric Power Plants! New Regime leadership knows what has to be done, and it has to be done FAST! … BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE, AND THERE IS NOTHING LEFT OF WHAT STILL COULD BECOME A GREAT COUNTRY!”
The day before, into a microphone announcing accelerated bombing if Iran doesn’t surrender: “We’ll bring them back to the Stone Age, which is where they belong.”
—
Now consider this passage from “Tom Sawyer”:
“What do I care for your big brother? I’ve got a brother that’s bigger than he is — and what’s more, he can throw him over that fence, too.” [Both brothers were imaginary.]
“That’s a lie.”
“YOUR saying so don’t make it so.”
Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:
“I dare you to step over that, and I’ll lick you till you can’t stand up. Anybody that’ll take a dare will steal sheep.”
The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:
“Now you said you’d do it, now let’s see you do it.”
“Don’t you crowd me now; you better look out.”
“Well, you SAID you’d do it — why don’t you do it?”
“By jingo! for two cents I WILL do it.”
The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out with derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys were rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and for the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other’s hair and clothes, punched and scratched each other’s nose, and covered themselves with dust and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him with his fists. “Holler ‘nuff!” said he.
The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying — mainly from rage.
“Holler ‘nuff!” — and the pounding went on.
At last the stranger got out a smothered “’Nuff!” and Tom let him up and said:
“Now that’ll learn you. Better look out who you’re fooling with next time.”
The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing, snuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and threatening what he would do to Tom the “next time he caught him out.” To which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and as soon as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it and hit him between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like an antelope.
Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he lived. He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the enemy to come outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the window and declined.
At last the enemy’s mother appeared, and called Tom a bad, vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away. So he went away; but he said he “’lowed” to “lay” for that boy.
—
Today’s Gene Pool Gene Poll:
—
Please consider becoming a paying subscriber to The Gene Pool. We are very rudely disrespectful of the current administration regime. That has to be worth $50 a year, no?