THE POWER of establishment literature has been shown by its ability to transform even hard-core ULAers into puppets.
I was walking through a small urban park on a cool fall day and noticed at the end of it-- a side surrounded by a wall of luxury condo skyscrapers-- a puppet theater. A yellow box sat on a table, a miniature green curtain at the front of it. I'd wondered what'd become of two departed ULAers. The curtain raised in the box, and there danced in puppet form facsimiles of the very same writers!
One was growly and mean, with a painted-on red sneer at the bottom of his puppet face. The other was placid and bland, inked-in eyebrows raised in amusement as a voice came from the other (from somewhere behind the box) filled with vulgarities and hate directed at me! Their puppet arms moved wildly. A Maud puppet and Depressed Reader puppet (holding a pretend book) stood clapping to the side. As with all puppet shows, it was ludicrous, cheap, and insane; the sing-song incoherent nonsense of a bad dream.
I knew they were puppets because they followed scripts and voiced talking points. The Maud puppet took the lead, calling the ULA "the King Wenclas Show." The other puppets fell into line. The problem with me, they said, wasn't my blog itself, but that it was attached to the ULA! "Better for you to attack, not promote," the placid puppet advised, leaning forward with feigned objectivity, having moved close to the edge of the stage. The voice somewhere behind the box dropped to a confidential whisper. I bought the argument for a second-- before realizing it came from a comical puppet!
The show turned into mad hilarity. "I'm not Guski!" the other puppet claimed-- then turned around to show the very name written on the back of his clothing! Children in the audience laughed at his transparency. The puppets began clubbing one another as the curtain came down, along with sudden cold rain, people fled from the park, I put up my collar and hurried away.