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The Life & Death of a Global Fat Cat

Picture
Watching people react to the U.K. voting to leave the European Union here in the U.S. is like watching a mother bird feed her young. She carefully chews up the food first, making it easier to swallow, and then spits it down the open mouths of her brood of chicks, who hungrily consume their mother’s loving regurgitations. Without this vomitus process, how will they grow? What will they think? Likewise, what will David Cameron, Obama, or Hillary’s followers know what to think? How should they react? So they sit, waiting anxiously for Cameron or Obama or some acolyte to bring their nourishment—and with mouths agape, they wait eagerly for a few talking points to make sense of it all. How else can you explain the hatred of global corporations and mega banks that are core principles of the progressive movement, when these very same things are the lifeblood of the Europeans Union’s form of globalism? That is, after all, the core of the EU’s real supporters.

Yes, progressives hate big business but love big government. That would mean that they are either outright central planning Marxists, which has never led to anything other than tyranny, poverty, and mass murder—or, they support big business. I mean huge, multinational, globalist big business, which they do as a byproduct of supporting the EU. You’d think there was an intellectual disconnect or something. But no disconnect is necessary when no connection is ever made, to begin with. That is why, and it is how, tyranny will reestablish itself in places where it appeared to be long-dead.
You see, elitists are like roaches, they’re always around, hiding behind smiley faces and ad campaigns that would make Madison Ave. flush with envy. That way nobody sees the danger. Nobody sees the smiling stranger offering candy and shiny objects.

So, for your edification, I’ve written a play. In it, there are three protagonists. The Globalist Fat Cats. The Natives. And, perhaps the most important players in the drama, the Educated Elites, who function like the dimwitted hunchbacked assistant that every mad scientist must have. Who else will dig the bodies of the dead? Certainly not the Globalist Fat Cat.

                                                                           Act One:

The Globalist Fat Cats - “Here’s a couple of bucks’ worth of trinkets, now give us a deed to the Isle of Manhattan.”

The Natives - “What’s a deed? We’ve never heard of a deed.”

The Globalist Fat Cats - “No problem.” We happen to have one, right here. All you have to do is sign on the dotted line. Then all this magnificent treasure can be yours.”

(This is where the Educated Elites speak, offering commentary, but also engaging in a dialogue with the Globalists’ Fat Cats.)

The Educated Elites - “Oh. You’re talking about colonialism. Yeah. We're with you on that one. How can we help fight the power?”

The Globalist Fat Cats - “Don’t worry. We’ve got you covered.” If you support us, we’ll support you. How about a big, fat donation to the university of your choice? You know, the one that you work for. Will that help?”

The Educated Elites - “Sure. But aren’t you really just the mega banks and huge multinational corporations in disguise?”

The Globalist Fat Cats - “Who? Us? We’re a non-profit organization, who loves the environment. We love immigrants. And if you’ve got any other group that we’re supposed to love, we love them too. So, let me rewrite that check and add a couple of zeros. Will that help?”

The Educated Elites - “Uh….sure…I guess it wouldn’t hurt…being a non-profit and all. What could be wrong with that?”
 
                                                                     Fine’ (The end)

And, with that, our little drama ends, as the curtain closes on the Western world. Sold out. Bought out. Lock stock and barrel and taken wholesale, by an enemy hiding just behind the smiley face. Maybe not now because the Globalists’ Fat Cats have been defeated. Only for the moment, though. They will be back. Make no mistake about that. They will be back

Mark Magula