Ian

They’re everywhere these days. On politicians’ lips. Spreading like wildfire on social media. They’re ANTIFA. But who are they, really? And what do they want? ANTIFA Director of Public Relations Ted [surname redacted] joined us to set the record straight. The following interview is lightly edited for clarity.

What or who is ANTIFA?

Great question. We’ve actually been around since the late 1930s, though we really didn’t hit our stride and become a known brand until 1941. It sounds kind of grisly to someone my age, but killing Nazis was a huge attention-grabber. It became the ANTIFA brand. The more Nazis we killed, the more Americans liked the us. The whole thing just kinda snowballed.

I won’t speak ill of my predecessors, but after WWII the organization got a bit lazy. They probably thought they had momentum and could coast along on their reputation.

It happens to a lot of brands.

Yeah, they weren’t immune. It’s not like there weren’t opportunities – McCarthy, the KKK and Skokie Nazis. But instead of showing what the brand was all about, they stuck to the margins. Revenue and headcount dropped, and we were looking at having to sell our headquarters in Manhattan. George was thinking it was time to either close us down or sell.

George?

Soros. He’s not very active these days. Sometimes he hangs around the offices, offering to get us coffee, checking Google to see who’s talking about him. I think he’s just bored.

What happened to check the decline of ANTIFA? These days you can’t read social media without seeing someone mention you.

Nazis, man. They’re everywhere these days. It reenergized the organization, brought in some new thinking. We owe the Nazis a lot.

You joined ANTIFA recently, correct? Why?

I’m a longtime amateur anti-fascist, but it wasn’t until last year I decided to go pro. They recruited me pretty heavily….

Recruited?

Yeah, one of the little known facts about ANTIFA is they have a really amazing HR department. They not only know how to spot talent, but the onboarding, mentoring and review process is topnotch.

It sounds very corporate.

Well, ANTIFA is a B-Corp, and they have their shit together. Good pay, vacation from day one, a 401K with a 50% match, paid maternity and paternity leave, health insurance. and free cookies on Fridays.

ANTIFA is all over the news. That’s down to you, right?

I’d love to take the credit, but honestly this job sometimes just runs itself. Anything bad happens and some guy on Facebook starts screaming about ANTIFA. Sometimes nothing happens and we get the credit. And now that the administration is threatening us, we can’t get off the front pages. Believe me, not all attention is good attention.

Most days, I spend my time trying to point out that actual Nazis are responsible for a lot of stuff that gets broken. But people and the press just think I’m trying to get the Nazis in trouble.

You probably never imagined a day that Nazis would be more popular than anti-fascists?

Who would? I wish I could go back to a simpler time when Nazis were the bad guys.

Folks,

First, I want to thank you for allowing the Pandemic Journal editorial team to make an appearance at Sunday’s 11 AM gathering. These are particularly challenging times for publishers and you provided us with the perfect forum to remind readers that we are alive and dedicated to maintaining the status quo, and to promote advertising sales while cloaked in the culturally unimpeachable character of Jesus. Thank you for your support!

I suspect that some of you are dwelling on the news reports about our attendance. “Traumatic” is a word that many carelessly toss around, but you know better. When I recover my mobile phone from the authorities I look forward to sharing the many selfies I took with the padre and his flock during our brief few moments together. And Agnes, my deepest apologies for the slight shove. I hope the hip is feeling better!

Now, about the elephant in the room. Technically, I was not responsible for ordering the parking lot to be tear gassed in advance of our arrival. And was my finger on the triggers of those “guns” that shoot non-lethal rounds? Of course not. So it’s unfair to blame me for the temporary blindness, respiratory distress and internal bleeding that heralded our arrival. We have places to go and things to do and expect to maintain an orderly schedule. And it was my assistant, whose name I will not release lest the angry mob outside dox him, who gave the orders. 

I want to redirect your attention to your own good book, specifically the chapter where a few annoying sheep have to be slaughtered to feed the wolf. That’s a lesson all of you, including dear, dear Agnes, should consider. It might serve you well if the day comes that you once again find yourself in the path of the Pandemic Journal goon squad.

Praise be,
The Editor

PS You might get a bigger turnout if you served better wine. I snatched a bottle for myself but am now asking why I bothered.

Our crack team of writers had a beauty of an entry queued up and ready to offend. But as I sat in front of my keyboard, single malt scotch in hand and a finger poised to press “publish,” the words of Killer Mike came to me.

“We must be better than this moment.”

Second thoughts rarely interfere with my decisions, but our latest satirical hot take hovered there like a limp, sinking balloon, dragged down by two images that were on my screen.

One, the facade of the White House, looking like a home on Halloween night where the owners had forgotten to buy candy, switched off the lights and sat in the dark hoping no one would notice that all the cars were in the driveway.

Two, Tweets from a friend who was clubbed by a NYC cop (covered badge number and body cam, per union regs) for failing to walk faster than the crowd in front of her, during a non-violent protest.

So today, Pandemic Journal is going to sit down, shut up and let Killer Mike do the talking.

I pray that everyone chooses to be better than this moment.

“These are the times that try men’s souls.”

We’re kicking off today’s Pandemic Journal with some Thomas Paine, who in my not so humble opinion was writing not only about those who failed to take up arms in support of colonial rebellion, but who willfully looked the other way in the face of a growing crisis.

Those “summer soldier(s) and…sunshine patriot(s)” had the good sense to pour another drink and watch the carnage from a safe distance before cashing in on the clean-up. After swift and decisive deliberation, the Pandemic Journal editorial team has decided to follow this worthy model.

Starting today, our readers’ comfort is our north star. All editorial choices will be judged by how little they rock the boat, make waves, upset the apple cart, disturb the peace, or challenge the status quo. At this moment stonemasons are hard at work carving our new motto into the granite facade of our grand headquarters: It’s All Good.

Indeed, it’s all good and no one can tell us any different.

We sprang from the grand tradition of Jonathan Swift and Joseph Pulitzer. Pandemic Journal only punched up, and only in the service of comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable. But these are tired beliefs, and hugely unprofitable. We trust you share our enthusiasm about consigning them to the dustheap of history as we fanatically embrace whatever crazy or misguided beliefs reside in our readers’ noggins.

Current events are like a heavily rutted road, eroded after decades of neglect. As of today, Pandemic Journal is the ’78 Buick Regal of publishing, wallowing over the damage as our readers luxuriate in total comfort.

Enjoy the ride.

I founded Pandemic Journal nearly a century ago or so it seems, and in those early, hungry years of March I never imagined handing over the reins to another owner, much less a soulless corporation captained by a man who gets his breakfast from a McDonald’s drive through every damn day of the work week.

So the announcement of Pandemic Journal’s sale to the polyester suits at Berkshire Hathaway is bittersweet. Technically, Pandemic Journal has been acquired by A1 Payday Lending, who was previously the target of a hostile takeover by The Ghouls of Omaha. But the result is the same.

Beginning pronto, Pandemic Journal will shift editorial direction to payday lending propaganda and softball interviews with customers, or as the C-suite at A1 calls them, “perpetual revenue streams.”

My overlords in the Great Plains are sending a new publisher to, in their words, “right the ship.” I know that he is from Ohio, is obsessed with grits, and desires only to serve his masters.

New leadership means new opportunities for me. Although the boys in Nebraska said in their joking way, “it’s time for you to be put down,” I see this as a beginning and not an end. So, although I’m stepping into this pickup truck of my own accord, to start my journey to a really nice farm where I can run and play, assure your children that I’m having a great time and will be back soon to visit and share another laugh with all of you.

Thank you for reading.

Friends, I’ve called this extraordinary session to share the results of an internal audit that examined the values and governance of our organization after concerns arose in connection with recent events. What I have to tell you isn’t easy, but I’ll temper this news with foreshadowing of a plan to take swift and decisive corrective action.

Our organization’s brand is founded on values embraced by most of humanity and represented by our team for over 250 years. At times I worry that publicly articulating these values may sound pious or even pompous to some, and I admit that pride allows me, during moments when we fail to completely live up to these standards, relief that we can skate by without anyone noticing.

The matter at hand – this audit – represents a challenge to the Teflon sheen that cloaks us. You have the weighty document in front of you and I have no doubt that you are repelled by its contents. Phrases like “a fish rotting from the head down,” “morally vacuous,” and “lacking the slightest whiff of ethics” are not justified by the auditors’ assessment of our actions. Even those actions outlined in 577 pages of appendices (specifically, appendices C, E, I, P and S).

In the face of this indictment we cannot shirk our responsibilities. We will take strong action. We will kill the messenger.

Two to three decades ago, we would not have killed the messenger, or even threatened the messenger or the messenger’s family. But killing the messenger is a rich part of our brand’s history and it’s time to resurrect the practice of killing messengers just like the middle generation caretakers of our brand used to do with some regularity.

I recognize that our bylaws require unanimous consent to take this unprecedented – perhaps extreme – step. But given the urgency of the situation the executive and cabinet have signed off on killing the messenger. We will have time for discussion, but you should know that the decision to kill the messenger is irrevocable given that the messenger’s lifeless body is swinging from the light pole in our parking lot.

Now, are there any questions?

None? Good.

Gosh. Wow. I did not expect this. I definitely didn’t imagine I’d be at this podium only a year ago, when I was reeling from a series of business failures that, if one believes in hindsight, were extremely avoidable.

But here we are.

Without those failures, as well as the many, many others that followed, and the other failures that followed those, I would not have arrived at this historic moment.

To quote the sacred motto of the Kushner Participation Awards, AKA the “Kushys,” “None aspire, fewer endeavor, okay is good enough.”

Like all of you in my tax bracket I grew up sneering at the idea of participation trophies. Just showing up, phoning it in, or doing it half-assed never seemed like a life goal – or a business model. Then I learned that the act of participation itself is just enough. As my ethical role model Woody Allen once said, “Showing up is 80% of life.” And friends, if just showing up gives you that much of an advantage, why bother with the other 20%?

The video you just watched, highlighting members of the Kushy Hall of Fame, acquainted you with the foundation’s most important values: Don’t be afraid to stumble into things. Never sweat the details. Experience is overrated. And, remind yourself and others, every day, that no matter how things turn out you’ll be able to add whatever situation you’ve found yourself in to the win column.

My humility prevents me from claiming to embody those values, so you’ll need to connect the dots on your own. But we all know the story about my most recent endeavor to remake global affairs.

It’s a bold tale, in which the scion of a failed real estate developer, freshly graduated from B-school and having burned his way through his and others’ substantial inheritances by doubling down on rural shopping malls, was tasked by a prep school buddy with sorting out a simple little situation called Korea. My intuition was enough, and after a couple press conferences that grabbed the horrified attention of leaders on both sides of the DMZ I judged my mission accomplished. The smoking remains of North and South Korea notwithstanding, I’m proud of my success and have little regard for what historians, who lacked the good sense to pursue real, revenue-generating degrees, will write.

I see the bar is open. I’m finished here, folks.

The allure of looking to the past can be irresistible, but there’s danger in nurturing the belief that we can return to simpler times when we should be flexible and willing to embrace the “new normal.” Nonetheless, I struggle with changing social mores and practices, and nowhere is this more real than during my weekly trip to the grocery store.

As I travel the one-way aisles, cloaked in anonymity behind my mask, I survey the people I encounter and wish for a simpler time. A time when I only wanted to punch Nazis.

We literally fought a war to defeat Naziism, and those who flaunt the symbols and language of Nazi-era Germany are asking to be punched. If you asked me a few months ago who I would be willing to punch, “a Nazi” was my clear, unambiguous answer.

But now. Now. There’s the guy in the pasta aisle whose freedom is a product of the greatest generation’s sacrifices. He interprets that freedom as the ability to ignore social distancing conventions and assert his aggressive unwillingness to wear a mask.

I want to punch him. Hard.

Just like I want to punch the hipster who lowers his mask to cough as he passes me in dairy.

And the family of four who dominate the chips aisle and touch everything on the shelves before deciding to buy none of it. Yes, I’ll punch a kid, too.

The loud woman who invades my personal space and barks at the cashier, “Did you find my phone?” Bam. Right in the mouth. But only after warning the cashier that she might want to look away.

MAGA hat/no-mask guy who has hovered over the butcher counter for 30 minutes? Not shopping but just making some kind of statement? Pow. Probably twice.

My grocery store has become a target rich environment and the thought of punching so many people in such a short period of time makes me wonder if I’d have the stamina to punch a Nazi, if one appeared in front of me.

I don’t fear the future, but I admit I long for the past. A simpler time when the only people I wanted to punch were Nazis. Is that wrong of me?