High on the Plains: Humped to death by Mickey Mouse, future leader of the free world


Chad Christensen

I’m sitting in the bathtub at 6:30 a.m. this morning, listening to Yo-Yo Ma’s “Appalachia Waltz,” trying to get my life together and, good god, what a struggle.

I’m surrounded by baby bath toys, specifically the Yookidoo Flow-n-Fill Spout. It’s for my two-year-old son. The thing shoots water everywhere from the mouths of colorful demons. It’s so godawful ridiculous but of course I have to use it.

And as I’m enjoying this instrument of youth, I’m suddenly bombarded with obscene texts from a highly impaired friend who says he’s still going from last night. He’s ranting and raving from his couch about all this election gibberish that’s pulsing from his god box.

Usually, I try to distance myself from people with this kind of unhealthy lifestyle. I’m a family man. A good citizen. But at times, it’s good for the soul to take in an unusual perceptive. It can help bring the world into view; make you a better person.

But right now I can tell he’s really losing it. His last message read something about the “political whores sucking the Iowa caucus before slithering off to New Hampshire.” Good lord. What truly horrifying stuff.

But maybe he’s right. The end is near.These scaremongering puppets are on the final stage. How did this happen? Who voted for this reality show? Trump with all his Neo-Nazi cronies. Your trucker hat with silly slogans will fool no one. This man is our next American Mussolini. Dear god.

And then there’s Hillary. Some scary real-estate shyster who will say and do anything to get on the throne. And Ted Cruz? Really? A wannabe preacher in flannel trying to resurrect Ronald Reagan. These are dire times for decent, wholesome people like you and I. Where is our Zion? When will we be free of these money hungry tyrants crippling the true American spirit?

Alright. Settle down. If China invades, we’ll be fine. I’m a professor of English. I can learn Mandarin. Plus, David Bowie’s dead. Not much point in having hope anymore. And if North Korea keeps it up, we may as well be a parking lot.
It’s time to face the facts, people. We need to build more spaceships. BIG spaceships.

My friend messages me again. This time it’s something about the Broncos playing some expansion team from the Carolinas in the Super Bowl. I respond: I’m no good at basketball. I never learned how to properly dribble. Bocce ball is more my sport. Heavy and low to the ground. A real gentleman’s sport. Plus, you can play it anywhere. Nothing like a good game of bocce ball.

My friend doesn’t respond and I begin to worry that I may have upset him. But later, he finally responds saying he was sucked into a Star Trek movie with both Capt. Kirk and Captain Jean-Luc Picard. “Truly,” he says, “a dynamic duo.” His anger seems to have subsided which is good. It’s difficult not to let these scary political crazies bring you down.

So now, as I’m driving to work, I cross the Elkhorn River. It’s frozen over and I can see a coyote taking its time to wander downstream on the ice. He seems comfortable in his stroll and for a moment I envy him. He doesn’t care about Trump right now. Or his terrible haircut.

And as I’m pondering this, my thoughts are interrupted by a song on the radio. It’s “Lodi” by Creedence Clearwater Revival and it’s just enough to distract me from this unrelenting political nightmare.

Good god. Save me John Fogerty. Save us all.

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