Listen to a reading by Tim Foley:
“Man that assassination thing with Trump was so freaky,” said Carl while stepping over a woman in a hijab clutching a dead child to her chest.
“I know man! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing,” said Steve, nimbly leapfrogging a large puddle of blood.
“He’s definitely got the election in the bag after that one, right?” Carl asked as the two strolled casually down the sidewalk through mountains of gore and human suffering.
“He’s gotta!” replied Steve. “Did you see that epic photo of him with his fist raised and his face all bloody underneath the American flag? You couldn’t make a better campaign ad if you tried.”
A skeletal young girl approached them with hands outstretched, urgently speaking to them in Arabic. The two ignored the child and walked on.
“Man, he’s gonna run this country into the ground,” said Carl, sidestepping a screaming man holding a headless baby.
“Oh no, the woke mob got to you!” exclaimed Steve, holding his nose as they passed a decomposing corpse being gnawed at by a stray dog.
“What? I’ve always preferred Democrats!” shouted Carl over the sound of machine gun fire and anguished cries. “I come from a long line of Dems!”
“But Trump is just what this country needs right now,” objected Steve, shielding his face from the heat of a burning hospital. “What about your kids? Do you want them learning about butt plugs from some drag queen at the library? You gonna let the government force your son to wear a dress and use female pronouns?”
“Ah Christ, man, that’s just some dumbass conspiracy crap,” said Carl, stepping over a small burning body. “And anyway, Trump’s literally a secret agent working for Russia!”
“That’s just—ah shit—that’s just propaganda from the liberal media,” replied Steve, disentangling his foot from a dead woman’s intestines. “They’re trying to start a war with Russia to distract us from preparing for war with our real enemy, China.”
“Sounds like you’re the one who’s propagandized,” said Carl, moving out of the way of a crying man carrying two plastic bags full of body parts. “You probably get all your news from RT and Alex Jones.”
“No way I do my own research, mostly on 4chan,” said Steve as they dodged around emaciated children approaching them with empty bowls.
“Well, I hope he doesn’t suck too bad,” said Carl, covering his ears at the sound of an explosion. “Either way, this is gonna be a brutal presidential race.”
“That we agree on!” said Steve. “Fuck, man, it’s gonna be like the only thing on the news 24/7 for the next few months.”
“Yeah but what the hell,” said Carl. “It’s not like there’s anything else going on in the world that’s particularly newsworthy anyway.”
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If only this piece were typically brilliant mordant satire, rather than turning out to be a close approximation to the reality of dunderheaded discourse on the streets in America. If only . . .
while the world is on fire people discuss a man on a stage searching for his shoes