Dusan Bicanski, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
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By Bill Stokes
Kickass, the doorstop dog, reports that the keeper, not knowing where else to go, is crawling under the communication porch to nap in the cool dirt with the dogs that long ago concluded that their barking at the mailman made about as much sense as chasing cars.
The measure of the keeper’s daily rant in the company of shouted lies in a social medium that does not distinguish between true-and-false entries has him—the keeper, coming off as something of a fool, an identity he is not unfamiliar with and has even been fulfilling for lo these many years.
But where else is there the opportunity to exercise his inclination to shout above the murmur of the crowd while arrogantly assuming that what he says is worth someone else’s time? He could rent a billboard but that is expensive, as is buying newspaper space, even for an obit.
So the keeper will linger for a time in the cool dirt of communication isolation, and if he resumes his ranting in this medium it will be after due consultation with others who are comfortable with the understanding that what appears here can be dangerous garbage, offensive lies, narcissistic babble, a witticism, an anniversary greeting or wishing Aunt Emma happy birthday.
As he lolls in under-the-porch obscurity, the keeper will be trying to figure out if, in the past, he has been in the social media company of those who contributed to the Jan.6 outrage; and, he will also wonder just how the hell the likes of Joe Manchin and Krysten Sinema came to rule the world.
And then he will probably rant somewhere, maybe back here in this medium with the liars and the scoundrels and the narcissistic fools.
