Talking to Republican friends at the Trumpian crossroads - I'm not interested here in what's "savvy," or in playing some kind of 11-dimensional chess game. I'm thinking here, instead, of all the Very Nice People I ...
Monday, July 1, 2013
A Message From The Terrified People Sitting Next To Pat Robertson
Hi. We're the folks sitting next to Pat Robertson. We'd like to make something clear to you: We're not bad people, okay? We don't agree with whatever crazy thing just came out of Pat's pie-hole. Most of the time, we are just as horrified as the rest of you. But the goddamn cameras are on us, and we need to keep this job.
Yes, we should say something. Yes, we should tell him he's a lunatic. Maybe even get up, take off our mikes, and storm out of there. But then what? Where would we go? What would we do? How would we keep our kids in school and the bank from taking our homes? Plus - and we are serious here - Pat would bide his time, and then someday he would take us down, Corleone-style. The guy's like Blackwater and the Church of Scientology had a baby and raised it in a racist tent revival. He's every villain from every 1980's action movie you've ever seen. You have no idea what he's capable of.
You know what a Communications degree from Regent University gets you? Fifty thousand dollars of debt and the ability to do TV work anywhere in Virginia Beach, VA. Which means you're fucked. This place is the media equivalent of one of those company mining towns where they pay you in scrip. When Pat sits down next to us and starts babbling about the demons... trust us, that is the least humiliating part of our day. But we're powerless. Pat owns us. He owns our souls.
There's a reason most of us are secret atheists. We know there's no hell after we die. Because we're still alive... and we're already here.