I'm Sorry. I Was Wrong.
Harris lost. Now what of the amerikkkattle?
Regarding my last email, in which I forecast a Harris victory due to the likely split among remaining ballots, I must issue a correction and apology:
I’m sorry. I was wrong. Harris lost.
The WASBAPPIN Election Forecasting System (WEFS) did not account for the total fascization of the USian electorate and its degeneration into amerikkkattle.
Across the former United States, which formally ended with the Roberts Court’s granting of the President unlimited power (provided the President is named “Donald Trump” or some variation of “TrumpAI”), homo republicanus, a potential subspecies, convergent evolution, or simply North American variant of homo axis, had already displaced the Free Human population within the Trumpist entity’s recognized borders.
And while I once believed millions of bison might roam across the continent under the shadow of de-extincted passenger pigeon flocks, rewilding the mountains and plains together under the guidance of the kangaroo and corvid, who would feast together on 6uilt 6ack 6etter decolonized industrial camas fields and chokecherry groves, I find that amerikkkattle beyond reckoning profane the landscape as the long-foreseen and overdue Yellowstone Caldera eruption destined to spell our final doom.
Beneath the ash of their rolling coal, a Harrisdise lost.
The cows graze on the ruins of the old Forum. They gaze back, unable to even mock us, chewing their cud and turning away with a snort when their neurons tire of us.
How are we to handle this creature? The one that challenges our own humanity?
By its nature, it degrades us. It attracts petty humiliation and abuse of all sorts. But honor is a gift we give to ourselves, and there is no better one we can receive now. It is the one thing a man who owns everything can never have and will be the source of a power he can never, amid the desert of his mind, imagine.
The amerikkkattle suffer under a cruel master. They need a Temple Grandin.
A humane approach to the amerikkkattle would see them guided like calm waters, pleasantly without obstruction, to their final destination. The amerikkkattle suffers in its existence like a brachycephalous pug. Who are we to keep this mockery of nature?
Rowdy in their pens, the amerikkkattle nip and buck and strain the gate with their mighty weight. They beg their golden gateman to release them, onward to the endless pastures of Greenland and Canada, Panama and Mexico, to stampede through the muck of a supply chain collapse and to fall by the herd to the Trumponine plague.
The amerikkkattle exist to serve one purpose. Whatever our feelings, we cannot avert their fate. Biden proved that in the battle for the soul of America, Trump always wins.
Our consciences are clear. Therefore, at each juncture facing the amerikkkattle, the only humane approach when determining our actions would be to ask:
“What would Temple do?”