Diary Of A Madwoman - Taken For A Visionary, She Matched Her Madness With The Liberal Agenda And Succeeded Brilliantly

As a toddler Phoebe Nelson had shown signs of the mental ferocity that was to be her calling card in later life, but her parents simply took her seemingly irrational behavior as 'the terrible twos'.  She would wail and flail, tear up her books, spit on the Audubon print in the hallway, throw her food, and smear her face with gravy. 

'Wow, she's really something', said her father, admiring God's creation - such a volcanic temperament in a two year old was remarkable, for it showed the limitless power of the human will. 

Frank Nelson was a Nietzschean who had read all of the philosopher's works, and was convinced that his daughter was an Übermensch, a being destined to ride above the herd. 'The only validation of the individual in a meaningless world is the expression of pure will', Nietzsche wrote in Thus Spake Zarathustra, and Phoebe Nelson was showing the first signs of such willfulness at a very early age.

'Frank, be serious for a change', said his wife, a practical woman who saw Phoebe as a spiteful, intolerable girl who needed a good thrashing. She might have will, but there was nothing philosophical about it. She was obdurate and antisocial. 

As she grew older, she lost that infantile, inchoate rage, but never lost the intent behind it.  For there was, despite the seeming unbridled anger, a purpose - a defiance of the world around her; and she was never at a loss to show it.

'Bobby Nevins is a fat, ignorant, bullying imbecile', she shouted at the principal of her school as she stood before him accused of 'antisocial behavior'.  The school was in the throes of diversity, inclusivity, and equity, and the principal went to great pains to harness youthful energy to communitarian well-being. 

'We do not say such things about anyone', the principal admonished her.  'Ever'. 

'But he is an obese moron', Phoebe went on, 'and an ignorant bullying retard to boot.  Like it or not, you can't deny it.'

The principal thought for a moment about how to be principal-like, temperate, understanding, and helpful; but he couldn't avoid the truth spoken out of the mouths of babes.  Bobby Nevins was indeed a doltish clot, a stupid, vain, and imbecilic piece of work, the offspring of equally backward, moronic parents. 

'Perhaps we might be a bit more tolerant', the principal managed, 'and a bit more kind'. 

'Give that halfwit an inch, and he'll take a mile', she replied. 'Nip him in the bud'. 

As much as he hated the idea of having been intimidated by a student, he knew she was right.  Bobby Nevins was a disruptive, interfering, empty-headed twit; and the school would be better off without him.

And so it was that before long, Bobby tripped himself up, crossed the line, passed the limits of tolerance and inclusivity, and was sent packing. 

This was to be the first step of Phoebe's political activism, and the principal, long retired and reading about Phoebe Nelson's rise to power, said to his wife, 'I knew it'. 

There were many intermediate steps between middle school and Washington, defining moments in Phoebe's career, moments when her voice became more forceful, mature, and resonant.  

Her classmates at the Brown University Young Progressives Association were in awe at the young woman.  They had many firebrands in their midst.  LaShonda Evans, an uppity, loud, borderline hysterical black woman from Washington's worst slum and admitted to Brown on affirmative action, couldn't hold a candle to Phoebe who combined eloquence, intellect, reference, and determination with brutal, savage ad hominem attacks. 

President Phillips is a cowardly, buggering, idiotic lowlife - a drunk pedophiliac moron in power only because of a craven board of directors on the take.  His administration of university policy has been nothing but a drooling, lobotomized joke. The man is mentally flatulent, a farting, disgusting prick, a gutter-dwelling piece of shit...

She took on every campus cause - gays, black people, the climate, immigration, the gender spectrum, Wall Street - with the same venomous passion. She went from revival tent to revival tent, podium to podium, lectern to lectern without missing a beat. She was the Miss Universe of campus progressivism. 

When she was at her best, she was poetic. 

The black man, descendant of the rainforest, the savannah, and the veldt, home to the wild things and God's first human creation, is the legatee of that native sentience, that natural intimacy, that primordial understanding, that universal brilliance. He belongs on the very top of the pyramid of human society, not on the lowest rung where he has been relegated by generations of white slavers. We who understand his greatness, his superiority, his genius will fight to the last to see him become the model for civilization, the brightest shining star in the human firmament...

She was able to dismiss conservative cavils - the persistent, perennial pestilential slums of the inner city, consistently bottom of the barrel test scores, academic performance, intellectual ability, and lack of socialization, abandoned children, dereliction, addiction, and violence. 

'How dare you?', she shouted at her critics, launching into another fiery, intimidating, brutal reprisal.  She was unbeatable, unstoppable; and best of all she could make the most untenable, historically inaccurate, wild, febrile, nonsensical claims sound reasonable!  She was brilliant, a master, a genius at winning the public.

She believed nothing of what she said.  Everything was a product of her madness - for now even she admitted that madness was the engine that propelled her - and she found the progressive agenda perfectly suited to her rage. 

Liberals hated things, found everything wanting, found despicable, nasty bits everywhere.  They were already a hysterical lot, so stepping in and adding nuclear fuel to the fire was easy. 

Politicos in Washington took note and visited her before her graduation from Brown.  Mightn't she be interested in an internship, or even an associate aide to an influential Democratic Congressman?

And so it was that this Summa Cum Laude, Phi Beta Kappa graduate from a premier Ivy League school became one of the House's youngest aides, in the office of the representative from her home district in Ohio. 

She, despite the age-old rules of decorum in the Capitol, became a whirling dervish of passionate conviction for all the Congressman's liberal policies.  He was the most radical of the white members of Congress, never as bulldozing and scuttling as the Squad, that cabal of assaulting women of color, but far left nonetheless. 

'I can help you, Congressman', Phoebe told him. 'I'm the white bitch who'll put you on the map', and so it was that she went after AOC, the Somali, and the Affirmative Action Queen with a vengeance. She was merciless in her demeaning, insulting, scurrilous attacks on these cunts'.  She staked out territory to the left of all of them, uncharted political land no one even knew existed; and before long the Congressman had become the Great White Hope of radical liberalism. 

She felt good at night, emptied of her bile, her virulence, her anger, and her madness.  It was a time for recuperation, regeneration, and rebirth. Tomorrow was another day, a better day, a more bitterly angry one.  The demon inside her must be fed. 

She made the news.  The liberal media gushed with praise.  A woman was not just making waves.  It was a tsunami!  She was written about, featured, and interviewed; so when the suddenly quit, everyone was caught unawares.  There had even  been talk of her running for office. 

'I don't give a shit'', she openly and characteristically commented to a friendly reporter. 'Don't you get it?' 

Of course the reporter had no idea what she was talking about and was unwilling to surmise the worst, the truth - that the whole Phoebe Nelson thing had been a show, a vaudeville act, the Madwoman of Chaillot come to Washington to fret on the stage and then disappear. 

But it was just that - a marvelous circus act, a high wire performance, a stunning trapeze act of glitz and glamour but without any substance whatsoever. 

Observers on the Right saw her act as a metaphor - the whole progressive movement was nothing but a vaudevillian act, a rabbit out of a hat, smoke and mirrors, Sturm und Drang, signifying nothing; and they were sorry to see her go. 

'Wasn't she wonderful?', said the editor of The Federalist, a conservative journal; and so she was indeed. 

After she left Washington, she disappeared. Some reports had her in Tallahassee, others on St. Bart's; but not even the most sensitive surveillance instruments could pick up even a trace of that magnificent, mad voice.