Welcome back to the McCarthy era, folks.
The Vice President of these Divided States of America has blasted out to every god-fearing American weasel to report their friends and neighbors who exercise any independent free speech. Henceforth, only politically correct MAGA Speech™ will be allowed. Not just allowed. If you don't exercise MAGA Speech™ at least once a day, you will be cast under suspicion. If on camera, you must praise Dear Leader with all the fervor of a North Korean subject.
Every member of the cult has been drafted as an informant.
Wrongthink is punishable by being blacklisted and thrown onto the welfare rolls.
Vladimir Putin must be grinning from ear to ear at these old-school KGB tactics. He must be so proud of his protégé Donald Trump.
So let's add up how far down the totalitarian road we have come so far.
First Amendment? Gone.
Fourth Amendment? Gone.
Fourteenth Amendment? Gone.
Posse Comitatus? Gone.
Separation of powers? Gone.
Emoluments clause? Gone.
Bash a cop's head in on the Capitol steps on live TV? You're a patriot!
Doubleplusgood!
Hurt MAGA's feelings? You're an enemy of the people. Have you now, or have you ever been, a subscriber to The Washington Post?
Come on, kids! Don't be shy. Don those jackboots and armbands. We have plenty of brown shirts in your size to wear during your brave patrols through the rough streets of social media.
It's safe now. You have become everything, and more, that you used to whine about.
What was it that had altered in the faces of the pigs? Clover's old dim eyes
flitted from one face to another. Some of them had five chins, some had four,
some had three. But what was it that seemed to be melting and changing?
Then, the applause having come to an end, the company took up their cards
and continued the game that had been interrupted, and the animals crept silently
away.
But they had not gone twenty yards when they stopped short. An uproar of
voices was coming from the farmhouse. They rushed back and looked through
the window again. Yes, a violent quarrel was in progress. There were shoutings,
bangings on the table, sharp suspicious glances, furious denials. The source of
the trouble appeared to be that Napoleon and Mr. Pilkington had each played
an ace of spades simultaneously.
Twelve voices were shouting in anger, and they were all alike. No question,
now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside looked
from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already
it was impossible to say which was which.
Animal Farm
