D.B.Tarpley's Amazing Ass Blog-5/5/18

Here is another reprint of an older piece i did for Novelmasters.

(This is my ‘A Modest Proposal’ only not as clever and not as poignant. I don’t think my audience at the time got it. Damn J.Swift, how do you do it?)

PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY

Greetings and salutations people and peoplettes,

D.B.Tarpley here, polite purveyor of poignant political prose. But not today. That’s right folks; all the hard hitting journalistic rhetoric of late has left a sour taste in my mouth. One can only take so much depression and international angst in stride before one lies down on the ground and curls up in a fetal position for like… one hour or maybe sixty minutes. No, today we are going to take a break from terrorism and refugees and French Onion dip and all that heavy silly stuff and talk about something that really matters… the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

You’re welcome.

That’s right, I’m not afraid to say it. I am a peanut butter and jelly fanatic, enjoying the palatable concoction for as long as my memory allows. Not in the womb of course but then again I do not acknowledge any active memory of the era. Nor of that moment my face brushed against my mother’s vagina on the way out. Who would want to remember that? (Fondly stares off into the distance.)

Yes peanut butter and jelly has always been there for me in times of strife and distress throughout my life. It has been the rock upon which I have stood the oasis in my desert, the Mr. T in my A-Team. When Jimmy Carter was crushed by Reagan and his PR thugs in 1980 – peanut butter and jelly was there. When the Coca Cola bottling company decided to introduce a new formula for Coke in 1985 – peanut butter and jelly was there. And when Woody Harrelson was taken to court by an emotionally distraught Jerry Falwell in that movie… well, you get the picture. So in lieu of discussing all the bad, mean, nasty shit of the day I will simply divulge to you D.B.Tarpley’s world famous recipe for the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich. And again…

You’re welcome.

So the first thing we need to do is round up all the ingredients. Now here is one thing I will not do, scrimp on generics. Some generics are fine but if you want a premium product you have to use premium components. For example, Americans want a premium leader but somehow expect to get there with bargain basement generics.

Donald Trump wants to start up a national Muslim registry and has compared Syrian refugees to a pack of rabid dogs. These tactics incidentally are virtually identical to those used by another of history’s great leaders, what was his name? It rhymes with Fadolf Bitler, or Gandolf Titler. My memory isn’t all that great.

Or Ben Carson’s statement that, “I would not advocate that we put a Muslim in charge of this nation. I absolutely would not agree with that,”

These must surely be an evil people for the men who are running for the highest office in the land to besmirch their reputations. Let’s look at some passages from this hideous religion’s guiding book.

“Do not mix Truth with falsehood, nor knowingly conceal the Truth.”

“Do not kill yourselves, nor kill one another.”

“Repel evil with that which is better.”

Those bastards!

I mean, it looks innocent enough on the surface but… I mean… subtext and stuff. But here I am getting off the subject. I swore I wasn’t going to talk about politics and by gum that I shall not do. That thing there shall not be done. Not by me, not at this time… um…

Peanut butter and jelly!

Ingredients. Nothing but the best. Pure, fresh, fluffy white Wonder Bread – accept no substitute. Smuckers Concord grape jelly, (Now here is a point open for contention. I have known a few wild and crazy souls who would, without blinking an eye, slather cherry jelly, or blackberry jam, or… gulp… even orange marmalade on their bread. And in the end the choice is ultimately yours; but for the purposes of this recipe I am going with the classic and most universally pleasing of all known jellies. Deal with it.) And last but not least grab that jar of creamy Peter Pan Peanut Butt…

Hold on, where’s my peanut butter? I swore I picked some up the last time I went to the store. Here I am, living in America, where I can run down to any multitude of freshly stocked grocery stores at almost any time of the day and grab damn near anything I could ever possibly want and I can’t even remember to pick up something as simple and necessary as a jar of peanut butter. What a fucktard I am. It’s not like I live in Syria or anything afraid to leave my house because the local entrenched government thugs might grab and publically behead me, not in spite of, but BECAUSE of my Muslim faith and how it differs from their interpretation like they have at least 1,000,000 of my fellow brothers and sisters. No, thank goodness that is not the case.

It is easy to see why refugees want to come over here. We all want a better life for our family. The people coming over here, determined refugees, go through 2 years of interviews and appointments which is almost impossible to get through. It is like the locks to the Panama canal with each lock having an expiration date so that if you don’t make it through lock C before lock B expires you end up having to go back to lock A and start all over again. But people do it. They hold their breath and scratch out some meager survival in refugee camps, where peanut butter is often a luxury of all luxuries, and bide their time until they can maybe one day give their loved ones the kind of life which all human beings deserve.

If only the people trying to stop these refugees from coming over had access to this information… if only they had some way of knowing the specifics of this vetting process. If only…

Wait.

The people attempting to stop these refugees are governors. 26 governors at last count have decided that they want no part of any refugees residing in their states. Governors. 10,000 refugees a day are flooding the shores of Greece and these people are balking about the idea of 10,000 coming over here over the course of a year.

That can’t be right. Surely someone as entrenched in the government as a state governor has both the resources and the staff to garner a sufficient understanding of the refugee admittance process before opening their fat mouths and blurting out a summary negation of the endeavor. And if they have access to this information that means their actions can only be seen as the most insufferable populist pandering in recent memory.

Inhuman.

That is the only word I can use to describe the actions of these public officials. So concerned about their political futures that they would, given sufficient knowledge to the contrary, paint a picture of an Islamic people which perpetuates a narrative of ignorance and blind panic, (refusing to see people but rather a faceless evil behind a mask,) all so that they can further their careers one more day. Theirs is not to serve humanity but rather to serve themselves. Maybe I am foolish to believe that people at this level of power have a higher than average level of obligation to the betterment of all mankind.

No, not maybe… I am just that.

A foolish man.

But I am rambling all around the Mulberry bush… or rather the Concord grape bush as the case may be. What am I going to do about this peanut butter situation? It’s just mashed up brown stuff. Should have picked up a jar at the store, I should have done the work but I didn’t and now here I am stuck, trying to piece something together without the proper ingredients. All for the lack of some mashed up brown stu….

Wait a minute…

Mashed up brown stuff.

Muslims are brown, and I do have that food press my mother gave me for Arbor Day. It is a solution so simple as to be insane… ly easy.

All I have to do is go out and grab the nearest Muslim, chop them up, shove them in my food press, and wallah! I’ve got peanut butteryish stuff. Throughout the country people in power are all telling me flat-out, with no pretensions, that Muslims are a lower grade of people than you and I. There is no misinterpreting their words or the intensions therein. Muslims are subhuman… nothing more than walking… breathing… peanut butter.

So go out and scoop one up today. Shove them in that food press and go to town. De-bone them for creamy and leave the bones in if you like crunchy. This is all the powers that be would have you believe they are good for.

Until next time this is D.B.Tarpley saying smile a sticky-icky smile, raise a tall glass of milk high to the sky, and have an an amazing motherfucking ass day

.

A salaam alaikum.