It was a cool night, cool for early August. The poplars sighed in the
evening, the small mansion's windows were shaded against the bright
moonlight, and everything was peaceful at the O'Reilly home.
Suddenly a screech of tires, doors kicked in, shouted orders, a small
porcelain figurine of Simon LeGree shatters on the floor! It was the
night that all who speak out fear!
Bill O'Reilly, stalwart voice of the oppressed oppressor, champion of
speaking Power to Truth lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. He
looked up, his heroic, handsome face marred only by its complete
repulsiveness, and saw the sight that every right-thinking American
feared most: The torn Converse ... the saggy jeans ... and the faded
"Think Different" t-shirts ... it was the dreaded BlogoNazis! Clearly
the order had gone out to silence him, the only person brave enough
to stand up, night after night, and fight against the tyranny of this
almost powerless minority! He had tried to warn America about the
danger the marauding ThinkShirts were to Corporate Democracy, how
they wanted to subjugate the will of the Right People to the
Dictatorship of the Laws, and the dreaded Constitution! And now he
would pay for it.
With his wife cowering next to their prized lawn jockey, O'Reilly's
thoughts were, of course, not of protecting himself. As he looked at
her tear streaked face all he could think was how to protect his
beloved Owners. Throughout his fight for injustice his Corporate
Sponsors had always been there for him, even when it seemed like the
whole world of facts were against them. Since that cloudy morning
when they proclaimed of love, and made their vows before Satan, Bill
and the plutocratic overclass had always loved, laughed, snuggled,
and supported each other in their quest to free America, free the
World from the crushing Boot of Truth. And now it looked like that
viscous, brutal Truth had finally caught up with him!
As he looked into the eyes of the ThinkShirt nearest him, the rage
of all theyears of savagely true blog attacks bubbled within his
chest at the spot where his heart would have been. He wanted to fight
back, but the total dominance these TechnoThugs had over a fraction
of the internet, plus his own lack of courage, meant that resistance
would be futile. Silently wetting himself in defiant protest, he
boldly crouched amidst his captors, as each one of them trained the
polished end of a fully loaded iPhone on him...
The ferocious sound of the merciless 4 megapixel photography almost,
but not quite drown out the triumphant whimper against Freedom, and
further pajama wetting which emitted from either end of the
courageously cringing blowhard.
And so they took him, these unfeeling slaves to the First Amendment,
these ruthless ThinkShirted footsoldiers against unFreedom, they took
him. Into the night they took him, their faded tennis shoes trodding
mercilessly over the lawn Bill had so lovingly threatened his illegal
immigrant gardener, Menchaca, to tend or be deported. Bill would be
going to... the Camp! Computer Camp... where they twisted your mind
into a shape they called "open." They took him from his ever
widening puddle of urine, continuing their terrible "Solution 1.0,"
their plan to visit horror on the last few flames of the Shamocracy
so many hold so dear, to trample the other Freedom Fighters who fight
against Freedom! Michelle Malkin, Ann Coulter, MIchael Savage, and
everyone with the bravery to stand up for Money and Power, with the
courage to fight for xenophobia and corruption!! Shining beacons of
Darkness trying to shield us from the blinding illumination of Justice!
And into the night the dreaded ThinkShirts faded, dragging their
prey, and leaving only a trail of urine sizzling into the ground to
mark the passing of a true Hero of the Oppressor.
Next time: Bill is visited by the Ku Klux Blog!