The following was transcribed from the audio of an accidental and very confusing Twitch stream. The speaker’s grand-nephew neither informed the speaker that he had installed the Twitch app nor explained the reason he had done so.*
To begin, I’d first like to thank Luis, our Senior Center shuttle driver, for his patience and understanding. I thought I had brought my colostomy bag. I had not. I’d also like to thank Miss Maria and Loopy—Loo-pay, my apologies—for unlocking the door to the McDonald’s PlayPlace room early for our meeting. As we have complained on numerous occasions, the main dining room is too warm, the air from the door is too cold, and that communist albino Anderson Cooper is always on the TV. All the same, we want to love on him, and we pray Jesus sends him a wife. I’d also like to thank Jerry for donating yet another rifle to the fundraising raffle for middle school field trips. This year’s trip is being planned by fifth-grader Alejandra Dominguez, who hopes students will meet with our district representative in Washington, Congressman Pablo Miramontes, to advocate for victims of domestic abuse. If only today’s youth could be so fired up about real issues, like eliminating wasteful government spending or building a border wall high enough to prevent cirrus clouds from Central America entering our nation illegally.
Which, sadly, leads us today. As I announced in a Facebook post earlier this week (which, by the way, received well over five “likes”—a record!), the new owners of the strip mall-car wash where the Jefferson County Republican Party has had its headquarters since 1952 have decided not to renew our lease. According to them, it is not, quote-unquote, “economically feasible” to allow tenants to pay with horseshoe folk art, models of ducks whittled from Vietnam-era combat boots, and half-eaten apple pies. We offered to tell Jerry to stop eating the pies, but they demurred. Given our dwindling membership roster and non-existent emergency funds, our only other option for an office was to take up residence in the old haunted Freemason lodge on Bear Street. However, as Mister Pedro Diaz at the County Building Inspector office has repeatedly written us, that Freemason lodge burned down twenty years ago. So we find ourselves without a home.
How it could have led to this is beyond anyone’s knowing, perhaps even God’s. They told us that we might win in 2020 or even 2024, but we would never win again. They were technically correct, but only technically. It was a lucky guess. As Jerry has patiently explained on several occasions in presentations with his slide projector, there was simply no way to predict the way forecasted demographic shifts would render the Republican Party a powerless minority of elderly whites with limited-to-no higher education.
It is inexplicable. We offered minorities, youths, and the general American populace trained by secularized liberal universities everything they could possibly want: angry, racially tinged rallies; promises to slash government services to everyone but ourselves; vehement denials of even cautiously reasonable scientific findings; vulgar attacks on public servants of honorable character and admirable service records; patently unconstitutional threats to punish political opponents; a simultaneous ritual veneration of police and military personnel and caustic denigration of any police and military personnel publicly concerned with national security and integrity; evangelical charlatans wagging their fingers at critics of the party while quoting Scripture out of context; a totalitarian tendency to deny basic observable facts about reality; conspiracy theories entwined with diet supplement schemes; a revolving door freak show of hucksters, idiots, clowns, and white supremacists let free to wander the halls of the executive branch of the most powerful nation in history—I ask you, lady and gentlemen, what more could America have wanted? Is it our fault the rest of the country could not keep pace with our bold, noble, and daring platform of scrambling to justify whatever fruity word salad tumbles out of Donald Trump’s mouth after he’s been left unattended around a television, arguing about it even to the point of debasing ourselves repeatedly in the public eye?
There was, again, literally no way to predict such a thing. We saw no signs in the local community or broader culture indicating—oh, why thank you, Francesca, I did order an apple juice—we might become a politically impotent and demographically obsolescent institution, no portent that our shortsighted, desperate grasp for power in 2016 may have dramatic electoral consequences in the future. We must face the facts, my friend: America is no longer the golden age of universal freedom, prosperity, equality, and dignity that it was in the 1950s. Today’s voters simply have no appreciation for how good we had it then. We, the Republican Party of Jefferson County, did all we could do to show America a better path, but America has rejected us. Now, I am afraid—
—I’m sorry, yes, yes, come in. Ah, I see. There is a quinceañera scheduled for later, and the staff needs to do some cleaning beforehand. Quite popular these days, eh? I don’t remember ever having one myself when I was a boy. Well, let’s clear out. No need to be in the way. Elk’s Lodge demolition is scheduled for two, isn’t it? Hmm, that’s when they show Magnum. Perhaps I’ll see you three there.
[There is a rustling of breathing tubes and the squeaking of cart wheels laden with oxygen tanks, followed by indistinct voices as the speaker’s phone slides into a coat pocket. The next three hours of the broadcast consists almost entirely of muted chatter and the crinkling of Werther’s wrappers.]
*the grand-nephew insists he be allowed to advertise the reason for installing the Twitch app on the speaker’s phone: it was to launch a hot new channel dedicated to ASMR recordings of bowel movements. You may subscribe to him at “ASMfaRtist_2015” for just $4.99 a month or for free if you use your Amazon Prime subscription.