Metaphorphosis

We must keep all options on the table vis-a-vis the Oceans, for the sea gods have abandoned US in Our time of greatest need. And I don’t mean in the “there’s only one line of footprints in the sand” sense, but in the “there’s no footprints at all because We’ve been swept out to sea by an undertow, and left for dead in the icy water” sense. (Think Bobby Shatford (Mark Wahlberg) at the end of The Perfect Storm.)

But there’s an iceberg, and though it seems cold and desolate, it is strong and faithful. Frozen out of down-home cooperation and know-how, deep down it’s got the good graces of the benevolent sea gods. It’s just… well… adrift.

And there is a ship. A great and mighty ship. A 46,328 ton luxury ocean liner. Built out of hundreds of years of pioneeristic bravery and true grit, it’s hull remains strong and seaworthy. But it has veered dangerously off-course.

It seems the global warming of the Unitary Executive will crack and melt the iceberg with the sunrays of secrecy, corruption and domestic spying — but not fast enough — for the mighty ship, while its captain flirts with the first-classers, seems set on a not-slow-enough collision course with the iceberg.

What is a cold and lonely fellow treading water to do? Can he effect a mutiny of sorts among the ship’s crew, entreating them to correct it’s course? His cries are muffled by the cold mist of the black Atlantic night, and seemingly go unheard. Is there a sturdy place on the iceberg where he can rest his weakened limbs? Or should he just let the icy waters in to soothe his tired lungs?

“Aah, but it is an unsinkable 46,328 ton ocean liner built a good no-bid steel by the ol’ founding fathers an it’ll never go down. Look, there’s an iceberg, let’s hop in the CEOcopter an watch this ship plow that iceberg under.” —Bodiciah T. Rentlord III (Fafblog! comment section.)