American Bathos, Ch.1

American BATHOuSe

The Greek Tragedy That Is America, Inc.
By J.B. Pravda

Author of the NYT Bestseller "Clown Shoes"

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Introduction

Don McClean had it right; American Pie was overbaked in the Kitschen of
horrors we have dared deem a culture. Come on, now, you all know what
went on in those now-closed Bath houses. Got it? Good, because the
Editors weren't about to allow me any further graphic license.

Yes, in common with some yogurt, it has been active, nay, hyperactive,
though hardly a culture. In its vapid vacancy of acquisitiveness, where
happiness----at least for the all-too-prevalent shooter----has been a
warm gun, baby, and Las Vegas is the apex of this craven corner of the
planet of the apelike.

Lest the 'best of all possible worlds' crowd slam our critique for
coloring this 'culture's' somehow purer beginnings with its extant
decadence, we hasten to recall that there was a time when the land,
inconveniently occupied by primitives, had to be tamed, conquered and,
yes, alright, raped so that Manifest Destiny ---or was it
Delusion----could be realized&;#8230;&;#8230;..it was just asking
for it anyway, right, what with all those nomadic freaks running around
half-naked, showing their privates and all. Had it coming to them,
Lord's will, Amen and Amen. No sir, damn miniskirt made us do it long
before the 1960's.

Now, finally, the true American saga can be shown for what it was and
is: a steady timeline of elitist Caucasian Eurotrash's zero sum
progress, whose freedom to worship their true God, fashioned in the
image of themselves, drove them to these 'needy' shores to spread the
blessings of civilization, along with a little microbial
mayhem-----hey, who knew, too busy slaughtering each other in the name
of that self-same mirror-like God image to pursue the truth or, as we
now like to call it, Science.
Come with me, then, as we ride the thoughtful divinings of the purple
Sage into the vast expanse of an entire continent-sized nightmare we
like to call America&;#8230;..brought to you by a phalanx of
branding/ narcotizing consumables some regard as their identity as
Ameri-Cons.

Chapter One: From Columbus to Columbine
Ok, went the pitch, here's the way it's gonna happen, Ferdy &;
Izzy&;#8230;&;#8230;all I'm gonna need is three ships, couple of
priests, some conquistadors and, that's right, your flag and your
financial statement is gonna look like a veritable gold exchange, as in
the ultimate commodity&;#8230;.am I speaking Castillian Spanish here
or what? What's that, will this eat into the funds allocated for the
Inquisition, you ask, Hades, no, your Excellencies, I reply, as in,
kill all the Jews you want, I 'll throw in a whole vulnerable native
race myself, with much more bang for the old dubloon, so whaddya say,
do I sail or cut bait? What's that, start packin, you WOP, you, to
which I reply, fourgedabowedit!!
Hey, this is business, no offense taken. [Besides, plan on takin the
place over wid my own countrymen in a coupla centuries anyway,
cabish?]
Roughly recalled, that is essentially how it came down: a Genoese
sailor, with delusions of grandeur, set before a cash-starved
aristocracy bent on the ethnic cleansing of their own miserable
peninsula, gets the royal largesse to launch his pestilent nightmare
upon untainted----save by a few short-term Irish and Nordic settlers
[leaving aside the Atlantis/Bimini Road deal]-----shores, and the rest
is the history of one dispossessed bunch of displaced original
'communal land squatters' displacing another far more egalitarian
enlightened aboriginal peoples we like to call 'Indians', largely, mind
you, because that same Italian sailor couldn't tell a sub-continental
from a Chinaman, or vice versa.
What the Hell am I talking about, you inquire? Oh, I see, you're still
laboring under that religious freedom crap the Elizabethan-spawned East
India Company put out as a cover story for colonization, courtesy of a
few thousand miserable former Arcadian communal land-occupying grunts
who happened to be the casualties of the Enclosure movement in medieval
Europe-----itself sponsored by aggrandizing bastard knights with the
King's permission; well, here's the Truth, which you probably can't
handle: seems that egalitarian thing was getting quite a following,
what with no vassalhood or servitude getting in the way to make the
5'4" knight feel all powerful and so forth, someone came up with the
idea that land was to be grabbed and awarded by Royal grant, as in
retroactively, sorry, troublesome scum, can't read anyway, but, not to
worry, we've got a whole new continent for you to enslave
&;#8230;&;#8230;that is, save&;#8230;.. for civilization and
you only have to work for seven years----don't worry, we'll keep track
of the time-----to earn your freedom and a really nice swath of real
estate, if you can defend it (for us) against some really mean but
ignorant savages: hey, no worries, we'll even sell you the guns to blow
up their miserable opposition. Deal?
Let's pause: this represents a novel innovation in the written
word-----the need for air sickness bags for the few of you out there
who are justifiably sickened by the Truth. [Waiting for the four or
five bags to be distributed&;#8230;&;#8230;..fine, let's move
on].