Washington Star Wars–A Wobbly Hans Solo In The Oval Office And A Hopeless Kamala Harris As Princess Leia

Kamala Harris always tries to look good, accentuating her bi-racial features, appealing to black, white and Asian voters who want beauty, diversity and a bang up profile more than political competence.  “We are the people”, Kamala said in her post-Inauguration speech, “and the people look like me”; and from that point onwards, her Vice Presidency was forever more characterized by race and gender.  

Bugger all that she demurred when it came to political policy and, like Mark Sanford before her, excused her absence from the Mexican border because she was ‘otherwise occupied’ on the Appalachian Trail.  She was an anointed multicultural goddess, half-Indian, half black, a racial amalgamation that turned out felicitously right as opposed to Amerindian – Black miscegenation which always turned out wrong. 

Diversity had its limits, Kamala cattily confided to her inner circle, referring to an up-and-coming Congresswoman from Florida who had inherited nothing but the worst features of a combination that was common in the region given slavery and Spanish conquest.  “Bad hair”, said Kamala, stroking her fingers through her long, black straight hair; “and bad everything else”.

She was reluctant to comment on eyes, nose, and lips, but her innuendoes were clear.  She was the Nefertiti of her generation, pure mixed blood of the best kind, nothing of that flared-nostril, full-lipped, darkish product of lower class sexual indiscretion.

Joe Biden never liked Kamala Harris. She was attractive in a Third World kind of way but she never managed to approach Bollywood and Turkish diva beauty; and she was devilishly ambitious.  She would sell her grandmother downriver had she the chance, hop over the Ohio River more adeptly than Eliza if pursued, and goddamned scary when it came to politics.

Joe tolerated her.  After all, he had chosen her from among a stable of many qualified women of color, and deferred to the preferences of his advisors; but he was always uneasy having her in the next room when she could burst into the Oval Office with a cleaver; but he knew that decorum would rule, and the Vice-President could not interrupt him at will.

So off they went together on their anointed journey, two likeminded reformist creatures in a spaceship bound for  Utopia.  Joe, he of diminished mental acuity; and Kamala of surgent female ambition, were political twins joined at the hip.  No matter what their disagreements, they would soldier on to a better world.

Kamala of course had no such partnership in mind.  If the rocket ship headed to the stars had to be in the command of her Chief Executive at launch, there was nothing preventing her from taking the helm after liftoff. And so she did, at first fumbling at the controls, but once she got the hang of it, veering it starward .  

There were the bulrushes controlled by the Ur-Demons of Zor who wished her off course; the reaches of Scylla and Charybdis through which she had to navigate; and the frightening Mighty Masters Of the Waters.  None of these were a match for the navigational skills and heroic courage of Kamala, but unseen and unexpected, and untried waters awaited.

Liftoff was uneventful, straight, on trajectory, and guided by both American technological aptitude and fundamental belief.  The Harris journey to the stars was but the first, foremost, and notable sally to the uncharted.  There would certainly be others. Already, young aspirants were lining up to get on board, eager to show their progressive credentials. There was the attractive Puerto Rican Congresswoman from New York, wide-eyed, brown-skinned, fine-toothed, and implacably and reverentially down with her people from the South Bronx.  

There was the representative from Vermont, Independent allied with the crazy fringe who advocated transgenderism and free everything.  The born-again Christian from Eastern Tennessee, hallelujah evangelical harbinger of church-state rule.  The woman born man, champion triathlete, MSNBC host, accused but forgiven in the name of diversity for sexual indiscretions with both boys and girls.

“Enough, already”, shouted Captain Kamala. “We will certainly crash”.

Meanwhile, President Joe demurred. “I am too busy to go to the moon” he said, but broke a bottle of Dom Perignon over the bow of the Spaceship Good Acres, and watched it as it carried Kamala and her band of faithful outward bound. “Where did you say they were going?”, he asked the Sergeant-at-Arms.  “Can’t say for sure” the Sergeant replied.  “Top Secret; but maybe to the moon”.

The President felt alone and uncomfortable without his aide-de-camp, code name Vice President of the United States of America.  In his dotage, she was the one who answered the most difficult questions, signed off on policy, and presented the face of the Administration to the public.  After all, the American people couldn’t seriously  give allegiance to an old, incontinent, sketchy and wavering white guy, no matter how many votes he got.  They wanted a young woman of color; someone who, unlike the President had known oppression, racial hunger, penury, and the boot heel of white male elitism.

Kamala was a woman for today’s people.  Not for all the people, certainly, but for those who were multi-colored, pan-sexual, and tethered to no neo-colonial hitching post.  So the Spaceship Good Acres on its outward journey was filled to the brim with trannies, dwarves, Oglala Sioux, and Jamaican Rastas.

This inclusivity however, had its issues.  The Sioux were offended at being designated as Guardians.  Despite their heroic wartime valor and exploits, they thought of themselves as philosophers and high thinkers, and demanded positions worthy of this.   The Rastas were stoned from lift off to the stars, and were worth nothing except for Selassie verse, and the trannies upset the sexual applecart with untoward demands to do ‘it’ with all comers.

The victory over Darth Vader, the Evil Prince of Darkness, Satan himself, Donald Trump had been only a Pyrrhic one.  The Evil One was still abroad and attacking progressive righteousness; but how to bring ‘diversity’ together to fight his spawn was the progressive question.  Too many Trumpists were threatening to destroy the very pillars of progressivism; and progressives felt a new imperative to assert  the right of people to bugger whomever, to claim sexual identity however, and to proclaim secular solidarity with the poor at all costs.

Princess Leia aka Kamala Harris knew that it was a matter of Full Speed Ahead And Damn The Torpedoes, let loose a Hiroshima arsenal of weaponry against naysayers , and proudly carry the banner of inclusivity into battle; but there were seditious elements within her party, and already the trajectory of the ship was wobbly and off course.  A crash into one of God’s desolate asteroid outposts was likely.

The Forces of the Light had never retreated and were only arming for a counter-putsch.  The reviled Trumpists were alive and well, more hateful than ever of the gross infractions of democratic rule perpetrated by Bidenites and their lackeys, and more enraged and unrequited than ever before. Once the Spaceship Good Acres crashed and burned on Uranus, they would take over.

Einstein theorized that time slows as one approaches the speed of light, and the Spaceship Good Acres had been equipped with a super-light speed Teletron, so while progressivism came and went on earth a number of times, it remained intact onboard; which meant to say that when it eventually docked, its search for Utopia unfulfilled, back home, the ship’s crew members were shocked.  Not only had Donald Trump returned to office many generations ago but his MAGA ethos was now the law of the land. 

None of the crew members had the energy let alone the gumption to take up a battle for which they were now centuries out of date.  Better, to relax, enjoy the home fires, go with the flow, and realize that history had rendered them useless and irrelevant.