Pandemic Journal

There are two facts that protestors in this otherwise quiet neighborhood choose to overlook: Firstly, when our family purchased our three bedroom/2.5 bath ranch in Siesta Acres, there was nothing in the HOA covenants to prevent us from breeding a series of increasingly unhinged and dangerous Dobermans. Secondly, the warning signs (“Walk Slowly and Do Not Turn Your Back on Our Dogs”) that we stapled to front doors on our street were not in jest.

We issued reasonable warnings about the consequences of checking one’s mail, going for a walk or climbing into a car without looking around first, but here we are. Besieged by a savage mob who mistake our love for our now-deceased pet with the memorialization of its habit of stalking and taking down – eventually for good – our neighbor’s 88 year-old Nana.

Yes, there is no doubt that Frank, our beloved dog, was responsible for the demise of Martha. She was old and didn’t put up much of a fight which tells us her time was running short, and though we paid our debt to society we still maintain that Frank was just doing what came naturally and was to his core a very, very good boy.

That’s why we erected a bronze statue of Frank in our front yard. The artist depicted him in his final moments, a powerful paw against Martha’s throat and a police officer drawing his service revolver. It was, to all of us who mourn Frank, a solemn reminder of his tragic end. We hoped that its placement, facing Martha’s grandson’s front door, would be a symbol of our shared grief.

I’ll admit I probably got that wrong.

Each morning the greatgrandkids left the house, sobbing most terribly. Serious sideeye and a restraining order told the rest of the tale.

But Frank’s memory deserves to live on and we refuse to remove his monument. Not even when all our neighbors have shunned us, the HOA has issued a notice of violations, and the local constabulary has said, “You’re on your own with this one, buddy.”

But if we have to stand alone, alone we will stand. Frank is part of our heritage, and easily-triggered survivors don’t get to write history. Unless the HOA makes good on its threat to fine us, Frank’s monument isn’t going anywhere.

Listen up. You think your snickering and eye rolling is funny but let there be no doubt that I, Barney Fife, am the thin blue line between relaxing Sunday evenings on the porch with a glass of sweet tea, and total anarchy.

Make no mistake, the progressive policies of Sheriff Andy Taylor and Mayor Pike have led us to this day of reckoning. Ernest T. Bass throws rocks through innocent citizens’ windows and out-of-town lowlifes pass through town for a quick score, but Andy Taylor plays it calm and sends an unmistakable signal to any miscreant who lurks in the streets of Mayberry that he’s soft on crime. Just the other day he allowed an obviously sauced Otis Campbell to sleep one off in the jail, rather than charging him with public intoxication and exposing him to the full weight of the town’s legal apparatus.

I am committed to law and order, I will not let this stand, and I make the following demands:

First, give me back my bullet, Andy. Although I have never needed to draw my service weapon in the line of duty, I hope and pray that day will come. And if it does, I want to get off at least one shot.

Second, I want a formal apology from the citizens of Mayberry. Yes, I put you all in jail that one weekend. Face it – you deserved it and it’s time to stop yanking my chain. Enough already. Sometimes justice has a hair trigger.

Third, the tenuous nature of civil society demands that law enforcement be prepared for extraordinary circumstances. In our case, this preparation requires an Army surplus Sherman tank, complete with armor-piercing shells. Or don’t you care about the safety of your police force, Mayor Pike?

I await your answer. I’ll be at my desk, or chatting with Floyd the barber.

I have been inundated with emails and letters from readers who are incensed with our editorial staff’s decision to green-light publication of last week’s editorial “Kill ‘Em All and Let God Sort ‘Em Out.” Most of you who have taken time to write have demanded we cancel your subscriptions. Others have issued personal, detailed threats. I have read each and every one of your carelessly crafted, semi-literate missives and have a message:

I hear you.

Before I throw my editorial team under the metaphorical bus and selectively demand resignations, I’d like to rationalize their decision making process for you in the hope that firing and mansplaining makes this all go away.

It is true that one of our team’s guiding principles is clicks sell advertising. But this instance raises significant issues about newsworthiness, amplifying a range of voices in the public arena, and the duty of publications to their readers. The intern who accepted, read and published the editorial essay in question, unedited, has promised me that she weighed all of these factors before sharing the unhinged, virulent rant of her white Christo-Nationalist uncle. While I can quibble with her about the propriety of throwing gasoline onto a fiery national debate about civil rights, policing and the role of the military in quelling unrest, I do agree with her that his acid words are newsworthy, seeing that they come from a duly elected county commissioner in the rural wastelands of North Dakota.

The writer is not just a writer, but the representative of the 153 citizens who voted him into office. So when he proposes the military conduct “a mass cleansing of urban streets, so that God can then judge the holy and consign sinners to eternal hell,” he’s not just speaking for himself, but for an underrepresented group of Real Americans.

I grant that his might be a fringe position, but lifting up the voices of marginalized sod busters and cranks is essential to democracy, and I stand by our right to do so even if it means I need to spend my afternoon shopping for a new staff for our editorial department.

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.