Despite what “experts” claim, there is no consensus—scientific or otherwise—about how it started. The tin hats still say Hillary Clinton, the clear front runner in 2007, was co-opted by the powerful economic elite by whom she had always dreamed of being accepted, immunized then pumped full of enough of the virus that she could travel through the transition process freely infecting most if not all of the serious players. Some say a cabal of ultra right wing global warming deniers replaced the fluoride in the water supply at the DNC with a waterborne chemical agent. Others say it was simply an act of God. We do not and probably never will know for sure.
What we do know is that in the days following the election of Barrack Obama, some sort of virus turned most of a population of recently vital, excited, committed and well-organized Progressive Democrats into the lifeless, mumbling, stumbling disoriented sub-humans that have come to be called The Walking Dem!
The symptoms of the infestation were subtle at first. While most of Obama’s acceptance speech was in full campaign stride—claims that “change has come to America” and pointing to a “new spirit of patriotism”–in hindsight we can see that even then the disorientation and delusion that would become so pronounced in the coming months were subtly manifested. Little things like adding to the list of American sub-groups the “not disabled.” Bigger things like believing that he would be able to work with McCain and Palin “to renew this nation’s promise in the months ahead.” Telling white folk from crop to shining crop that he was “your President too.”
Once the infection took hold, its effects were stunning and irreversible. Previosuly vibrant people would shuffle around, their commitments dragging behind them like a ball and chain. The disease attacked their speech centers and short-term memory. Months after signing an executive order to close Guantanamo Bay, it had not been done.
“Mr. President, why haven’t you closed Guantanamo?”
“uumm. . . . gaa. . . relocation . . . erggg . . . blarggg . . . study . . .”
“Mr. President, why haven’t you repealed “Don’t ask; Don’t tell?”
“gleeepppp . . . . schmuuuu . . . panel of experts . . .whuufff . . . more than anyone . . .”
While the disorientation and inability to function were evident and spreading among all who came into contact with the growing horde of Walking Dem the worst was yet to come. The heat of the summer—apparently the optimum breeding ground for the disease– mutated their simple incomprehension into an actual taste for human flesh. In August, 2010, the Presidential Press Secretary leaped from his podium and attempted to devour an entire group of “professional left” supporters who “ought to be drug-tested.” Others in the throng were at first sedately unraveled, but the smell of blood was in the air, the flesh laid bare, and the horde came to find that liberal tasted “gooooooooood.” Even while the President labeled his left wing critics “glass half empty” liberals, his rabid, gut-hungry mob was ready to wolf that half-glass down.
By the time the midterm election season came, the zombie menace had reached its full, unnatural maturation—wandering the campaign trail unable to utter a coherent sentence in defense of their two years on office, often not even recognizing the man around whom they had been orbiting for months. Many lost their memories completely, forgetting how they had voted, what they had said—wandering, stumbling, incoherent, hungry for they did not know what.
To date, none of us know for sure whether the severity of the infection has peaked. It is difficult to imagine that it could get much worse, but then who ever dreamed it would come in the first place? For the time being, all we can do is survive—we, the hunted. We whose broken trust and shattered expectations drive them ever more rabidly to feast on our timid flesh. Will the disease be burned out of them by exposure to the harsh light of day? Having driven us to a safe distance will they turn on one another? Will the Republican alpha-dogs constitute a worthy predator?
All I can offer in the way of optimism is the promise that some of us have not given up. Some of us are still trying to find a way to cure the ones who aren’t lost and drive off the rest. In fact, I am going right now to a secret meeting of my local NYPIRG group to get an update on—
–Wait! What was that? Oh, it was just————