High on the Plains: The KKK took my baby away


Chad Christensen, Columnist

Well, this Friday we get to see the host of “The Apprentice” be crowned in Washington, D.C.

There’s that.

I’ve been trying to scrape that goofy image from my skull but I know a lot of people out there in red hats are priming up for the grand coronation of this rich kid.

And that’s OK, I guess. Looney Tunes are funny. Train wrecks are cool when you don’t know anyone on them. I wonder if Christ saw this coming when he was dangling on the cross. That somehow he knew that in 2017 an orange-haired hotel mogul from New York would try to save Middle America from the impending doom of Muslims and Hispanics.

I’m sure it’s written down somewhere in a book or scroll hidden deep in some far off cave. Hell, it’s probably buried right next to a skeleton of a Brontosaurus.

But whatever. I’m just a peasant-serf-slave eating two-dollar pizza slices from Casey’s. Getting by. Doing whatever it takes.

I suppose if the country burns, it’ll take a little bit before the fire gets to Middle America. We’ll have plenty of time to stock up on ramen noodles and to fortify the compound to keep out cannibal vagrants and radioactive deer. It actually sounds rather exciting. Something is finally happening.

Yesterday, I tried to imagine the orange haired president-elect as Scrooge McDuck from the 1983 Disney version of “A Christmas Carol.” That maybe deep down he can be a good guy. And that perhaps if he was visited by the infamous Jiminy Cricket, Willie the Giant, and Scary Pete (the cloaked-man-in-black), then who knows—maybe he would get a soul and go buy a turkey for the Cratchit family so that Tiny Tim doesn’t bite the bullet.

It’s possible. I can be hopeful.

But who needs politics? Not us. At this point it’s too damned depressing. I find when the talking heads all become too much, I like to put them on mute and add my own lines to the show.

These are not actually newscasters and politicians, but really pirates from the South Pacific in search of gold and seductive mermaids. And if that isn’t enough, I crank the Ramones up and smash all the furniture in my house. That usually does it.

All I know is the collective psyche shapes the landscape and right now it looks like a sad McDonald’s restroom off I-80 during Thanksgiving break.