High on the Plains: Bound for the lake of fire


Chad Christensen, Columnist

Well, what’s the hatred forecast looking like today? Whitewashed and ugly.

I guess Rep. Steve Arnold King (aka Arnie) is working his way towards grand wizard of the notorious hooded sheet gang. Even David Duke gave him a strong two thumbs up the bum as a way of showing his approval. Ol’ Arnie is finally jumping on board the whites-only wagon (at least publicly). Glad to see 61 percent of northwest Iowa is still keeping it real by voting in family values and hatred. Have you seen Arnie’s teeth when he smiles? This man loves America and white babies. You should see him weep in church. It’s horrible. However, not all of this is working for poor Arnie. I think he might be dead inside. If you Google his name and add 666 at the end of it you’ll find a picture of him and Steve Bannon in a heated game of naked Twister. It’s awful.

And there’s nothing quite like waving the flag of patriotism, family values and religious liberty to get everybody in the mood (I know I am). Can you hear it? It’s actually a strange sound—like dogs panting and drooling. I contacted my old friend Pavlov and he said, “It’s no good, Chad. No good.”

It’s almost like these cranky old white bastards are trying to manipulate us. What did John Prine say in that one song? Your flag decal won’t get you into heaven? Things are getting weird, lord. You had better get down here and do thy will.

And where are you, holy John Prine? We need your divine musical powers to help heal our psyche. Let me draw some circles on the ground and conjure you up. Heal us, John. Heal us. Save us from the ignorance of Steve Arnold King and the other Johnny Appleseeds of hatred.

God, these people are exhausting. It’s like a wasp nest and every year they keep coming back. But it’s OK—John and I are just going to keep doing these verbal push-ups. It’s good to stay in shape when the wolves are at the door.

Tonight, I’m going to pour myself a bourbon, take in a little Curious George with the kids (we need him right now) and make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. We’ll even slap it all together recklessly, because that’s very American. And look—notice how well the peanut butter and jelly get along. Things are possible. And hell, (let’s end on a positive note) in the end it all goes down the same tube. The dirt takes anyone.