The American Left has always been a dour, preachy lot, content to badger about righteousness rather than take good seriously. As much as they might have admired Che Guevara, the Hollywood-handsome Cuban revolutionary idol, there has been no one in their ranks who could rise to such levels of intensity and commitment.
Guevara led his guerrillas from strongholds deep in the Sierra Maestra - a warrior's life, a patriot's life never content and never with pause until the scourge of capitalist, venal dictatorship was overthrown and the people once again ruled the island.
No, American progressives have been more idolatrous than activist, more Sunday sermonizing than revolutionizing; and never more than today. The ten years since the emergence of Donald Trump on the political scene have been nothing less than a clown show of outrage.
‘How could he?' became the meme as the President toppled one liberal shibboleth after another during his first term in office. In the interregnum, the Left upped the ante and warned Americans about the threat Trump posed to democracy itself.
'Democracy Matters', shouted the lawn signs, and progressive politicians not unlike Biblical exegetes of Revelation, saw the coming Armageddon in every corner of Trump's world.
None of that did any good, and despite every attempt to debase, smear, and discredit the President, he was back in the Oval Office. His first few weeks have been worse than any progressive could have possibly imagined. Not only were the jewels in the crown - Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion - tossed in the dumpster, but one by one their privileged sanctuaries, the institutional homes of caring solicitude were razed and reduced to rubble.
Worse still, phalanxes of blonde, blue-eyed women marched into Washington, jeering as lines of high-shelved, bounteous, righteous black women filed out. It was a shameful cavalcade, a display of rooting hilarity, an upsetting spectacle of the righteous but unfulfilled ideals tossed aside by an army of bimbos.
'Despair has its ups and downs', wrote German psychiatrist Otto Friedrich whose work on mass depression won him the Blauvelt Prize in Munich. He contended that unlike clinical depression, mass depression was a matter of circumstance. 'The world of the unhappy good man is a penitential one, but one short lived'; and to no one's surprise, sex was in play. Writing in Welt after the second Trump electoral victory he said:
‘Nothing can be more existentially brutal than the loss of fancy for the dreamer.
‘Just as adults with arrested sexual development will resort to self- pleasure in times of stress, so it is with those who have built their entire world around fanciful notions of goodness.’
And so it was that when the sex scandal of Amanda and her high-placed customers of the American Left was revealed, Friedrich could not help himself and in a grand 'I told you so' to his predictions, explained once again how febrile notions of righteousness simply set the believer up for a fall.
Amanda Barker had made her way from a small farming community in Iowa to Las Vegas thanks to her precocious sexuality, classic American cornflower blue eyes, soft Marilyn Monroe appeal, and willingness to please. 'She has what it takes', said an advance scout for the Saul Stein talent agency contracted by a number of top Vegas hotels to find the hottest numbers for their chorus lines.
The scout, always with an ear for promising news, heard of Amanda through the Midwest grapevine. Apparently the young girl had already been noticed by a Dubuque alderman who, a rising opportunist like her, was soon to be installed in the House of Representatives.
Stein invited Amanda to Las Vegas. He and the line manager of the MGM Grand approved, and the young girl was hired. As fate would have it, the Dubuque alderman, now a member of an important House committee, and who was vacationing in Las Vegas, caught her show, and invited her backstage. Would she be willing to come to Washington as his aide? The pay and the opportunities would be unlimited.
Amanda accepted, went to Washington, and soon became a fixture on the floor of the House, not so much for her policy initiatives but for her particularly appealing allure. She was discreet, willing, and from all accounts worth every penny.
Which is where Radley Stookins comes in. Radley was an old time, passionately committed progressive, champion of the black man, the climate, women, and gay pride. He had given his whole life, heart and soul to liberal causes which were never simply items on a political agenda, but matters of existential responsibility.
It was his duty to see the black man at the pinnacle of the human pyramid, in his proper and rightful place as sentient, aware, intelligent man of the forest, attuned to the environment and man's place within in it. From that fundamental insight, subscribing to the rest of the progressive canon was an easy elision.
When Donald Trump won the first time - an unexpected, horrific outcome - Radley was shocked and confused; but four years was enough time for the interloper to be defamed, dismantled, and dismissed forever.
When Trump won the second time, and took out his long knives to wreak vengeance on his tormentors, Radley was totally lost. His heart had been ripped out, he was no longer alive, no longer able to put one foot in front of the other.
Otto Friedrich, had he had Radley in his care, would have understood his adolescent regression completely. In times of such complete and utter despair, the allure of a beautiful young woman - especially a courtesan, a call girl, a tart - was exactly what the doctor ordered.
Not only would Radley be deliberately turning his back on the dignity of women, the sins of sexual servility, and the debasing pornographic culture of America, he would wallow in it, debase himself but meanwhile ridding himself of the sexual frustrations that righteous neo-Puritanism had enforced upon him. And best of all, it would absolve him of the guilt of political failure. At the moment of ecstatic orgasm, Donald Trump was somebody else's problem.
Friedrich thought it quite amazing, but a definite confirmation of his theories, that once the little black book of Amanda Barker was revealed to the public, most of her customers were progressives. Not just liberal, but from the far left of the political spectrum. 'Zis', said Friedrich, sounding like an SS Obersturmführer, 'is ze problem', and went on to say that 'political febrility always ends up in smut'. Realists screw real women, but idealists make them up.
Amanda had made a fortune by the time she was outed, but because of her political influence, criminal cases against her never saw the light of day. Thanks to a wealthy Wall Street investor, one of her few conservative clients, she invested well, and retired still a young woman to a villa in St. Bart's where she quickly became the belle of the ball.
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