Inside a MAGA Re-Education Camp, Part 3
It was time for lunch. Filets-o-Fish, fries, and Diet Coke. Simple. Delicious. Hyper-American. (I sound like Gordon Ramsey describing the new menu he’s devised for a failing restaurant!) After lunch, we watched the famous Tucker Carlson edit of the January 6 footage, confirming that, exactly as President Trump said, January 6 had been a day of love, during which American patriots strolled peacefully through the Capitol, eating cotton candy and bludgeoning policemen only when the policemen acted unconstitutionally toward them.
We were marched out to the exercise yard, where half a dozen pixellated riflemen and a hooded traitor were taking their positions for the afternoon’s executions. One of my fellow inmates told me that the traitor’s identity would be published within 24 hours on a website whose URL he’d provide me in exchange for a pack of cigarettes. “For now,” he said, “all you need to know is that he or she hurt President Trump’s feelings.” I hoped it wasn’t J. Ann Selzer, who wasn’t my type, but whom I couldn’t imagine trying to sodomize me in the middle of the night.
The camp’s grief counselor, who was also the camp’s three-hole golf course’s groundskeeper, would be available for consultation for 24 hours following the ceremony.
Later in the afternoon, we assembled in the camp’s auditorium for a presentation by a hologram representation of Stephen Miller of a film in which a succession of luminaries — Barack Obama, Josef Stalin, Elvis, Pablo Picasso, the cowboy from Village People, Jacqueline Susann, Freddie Mercury, the optometrist from Village People, Sen. Joe McCarthy, and Dr. Jonas Salk, among many others — crawled over to the table President Trump shared with Lady Diana Spencer and a quartet of bodyguards in New York’s famed Copacabana to kiss his loafers. I suspected that the filmmakers had relied heavily on CGI, as the Copacabana went out of business in 2020.
Afterward, there was a spirited Q&A with the hologram of Stephen Miller. during which several inmates annoyed him by asking when they could expect to be released. “I should know this?” he sputtered angrily the fourth time the question was posed. “All of a sudden I’m the fercockte warden, and not the Secretary of Xenophobia?” It was the first time several of us had heard him speak Yiddish.
It turned out that the seats in the auditorium were no less electrified than those in the Art of the Deal memorization studio. After Secretary Miller’s hologram wished us luck with our rehabilitation and left for the airport, a succession of photographs of various foes of MAGA were projected onto the huge screen. At each, we were to bellow, scream, shriek, or otherwise loudly express our loathing. “Chuck” Schumer? Boo! Nancy Pelosi? Boo! Liz Cheney? Boo!
We have all had the experience of attending a concert at which the performer asks us, for instance, if we’re having a good time, and then, to elicit a louder affirmation than the first tendered, pretends not to have heard that first one. That — and my inability to afford them — is why I don’t attend concerts anymore. On many occasions, in response to a performer running this scam, I have been tempted to shout, “Get a fucking hearing aid!”
I had no such inclination in the ETP camp, as, when our expressions of loathing of La Cheney was insufficiently boisterous, the warden — a one-time college friend of Don Jr — gave us all a little shock. When he signalled his audiovisual person to flash her image on the screen again, we were louder than Deep Purple at London’s Rainbow Theatre in 1972, a show so loud that residents of apartment blocks as far away as Aylesbury reported that their dental fillings being dislodged.
In case you missed Parts 1 and 2:
Inside Don Jr's Education Through Pain Camp
In the week before Christmas, A Legend in His Own Minefield pulled a few strings, handed out a few bribes, and was able to spend 72 hours in the first of what Donald Trump Jr foresees as a national network of Education Through Pain camps intended to help campers better understand that Donald Trump not-Jr’s is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, and t…
https://johnmendelssohn.substack.com/publish/post/154065091
I’m over the MangoMussolini.. him and that South African ghostly white bloated Ahole…
Why did you mention Diet Coke. Coca Cola pays screen writers and producers to use the phrase.
Anything named Diet, be it Pepsi, Coke or Snapple has aspartame in it. Aspartame is a toxic chemical produced from smelting aluminum. Aluminum manufacturers had to spend a fortune disposing of it, till some bright bulb of a scientist realized it was a sweetener.
Here is what aspartame doe to the body. Besides causing cancer of the pancreas and liver, it fools the body into thinking that it has ingested glucose (sugar), the body reacts by pumping insulin (aspartame also causes diabetes), the insulin attacks the glucose in the blood, you become hypoglycemic and crave sweets lots of it. You then ingest sugary junk food, and that causes weight gain. So Diet drinks actually cause weight gain.
I've stood in a supermarket line, many times, with people in front of me buying cases of Diet Coke and Diet Pepsi, and on top of the case, was a case or two of Twinkies or some other high sugar carbohydrate.
Also Diet Drinks are highly addictive, that is why Coke pays screenwriters and producers to mention them. If you try to educate and detox a Diet Coke or Pepsi drinker, you will run into denials and rationalizations, the same as you would an alcoholic, a gambler, a sex addict or a drug addict.
My mother in law was addicted to Diet Pepsi, had cases of empties in her garage, wouldn't list to me, and only when she lost her job and had to live on Social Security alone, did she finally give up Diet Pepsi, she had no choice but to detox.