As has been recorded in previous parchment scrolls such as this one and this one, the lives of the serfs in this wretched land have become rather difficult. When the king isn’t abusing us, the nobles are, and when they take a five minute break, the members of the king’s Privy Council malign us as ingrates, proclaim that our mental faculties have been severely limited since birth, and warn us that if our loyalty falters, the Barbarian Hordes of Boehner will sweep across the land like the devil’s own legions, scourging it like it’s never been scourged before. They’ll ransack our huts, ravage our wives and daughters, feed our aging parents to the wolves, haul us all off to the nearest dungeon, and make this dark age even darker than it already is.
Then Robert of Gibbs curses us in Latin from the king’s podium, the heralds and town criers translate it all into lowly serf language, the king remounts his bipartisan steed, draws his centrist sword, and the cycle of abuse starts all over again.
But all is not lost, for one of our fellow serfs whose mental faculties have been functioning very well lately has suggested a course of action that would demonstrate our solidarity, while causing dismay and consternation in the palaces and castles of our oppressors.
If enough of us withdraw our paltry earnings from the bank vaults of the overlords, if that act of defiance spreads, if defenders of the serfs such as Jane of Hamsher proclaim their support, and withdraw their not quite as paltry earnings from those vaults of iniquity, our determination to resist would be demonstrated, our cause would be strengthened, others would join us, our journey to freedom would finally begin, and that shining moment of achievement would light the way for all of us in the days to come.
Or we could just dismiss all that as futile nonsense and limit our efforts to something that would be more acceptable to our masters, like bending over, puckering our parched lips, and kissing our serf asses goodbye.
I’m one of the lowliest of serfs, my humble scrolls have never been read in the Main Serf Hall here. It may be that my words are too radical for the not quite as lowly serfs who gather there, perhaps they don’t want to offend the overlords. We wouldn’t want that to happen, they might start oppressing us, they might even banish Jane of Hamsher from the Chamber of the Oracles, where the walls are hung with velvet that is black and soft as sin, and little dwarfs creep out of it and little dwarfs creep in.
It mystifies me why a nice girl like Jane keeps hanging out with those creepy dwarfs who babble bullshit all day long and call it commentary, but then I’ve never understood women anyway, they’re the only ones who can save this world but they don’t seem to realize that. They keep trying to convince men to save it, despite 5,000 years of evidence that most men don’t have the slightest fucking clue how to save it, while the rest have tried to burn it down in order to save it.
Tell them to step aside, they aren’t leading us anywhere anyway, except to annihilation. Consider my appeal, Jane of Hamsher. Hear my plea, mothers and daughters of humanity. Lead the way. It’s up to you now.
May it be an evening star,
Shines down upon you,
May it be when darkness falls,
Your heart will be true.
May it be the shadow’s call,
Will fly away,
May it be you journey on,
To light the day.
The promise lives within you now . . .