This year the Darwin Awards may have to create a sub-category for coup cretins. The Cretin-in-Charge, Mr. Trump, will be given a special mention, but let’s face it, even his idiocy was surpassed by that of some of his followers.
Like everyone else, I particularly enjoyed the horned and befurred ‘shaman’ who luxuriated in his two minutes of fame. I understand he’s an unemployed man who lives with his mother and obviously spent his $600 government check at Costumes-R-Us. I can almost hear the phone conversation with his Mom.
“Hi, Mama? Yeah, it’s me. Oh, pretty good. Got my picture in the news a lot. I liked the one where it looks like I’m howling at the moon. Did you see that one, Mama? Tons of mentions in Parler! Say, can you do me a favor and UPS me my spare set of buffalo horns? The cops took mine. Yeah. The spares are in the closet with the Yahtzee set. Also, can you find a good place to dry clean the coyote skins?”
The guy trying to leave the Capitol with the speaker’s dais was one chalupa short of a Happy Meal. Where did he think he was going? Did he really hope to get the thing back to his rec room?
The best, hands down the Grand Prize Winner, was the guy who posed in a congressional office with two semi-automatic rifles. Turns out he accidentally—and repeatedly—Tasered himself in the crotch, leading to a fatal heart attack. Really. This is the sort of thing that makes you believe God does have a pretty good sense of humor.
On a serious basis, what amazed me was the lack of good sense. The rioters, ninety-nine percent white, managed to botch an invasion when the odds were overwhelmingly in their favor. They outnumbered the Capitol Police who’d called for help that came far too late. It appeared that though some police officers acted with great courage to lead rioters astray, others actually invited the mob into the building and politely pointed the way to congressional offices. It was interesting to see windows energetically shattered when nearby doors were open, and climbers scaling the walls when unguarded stairways were a few feet away.
Personally, I’d have had second thoughts the minute I realized that Trump, who said he’d march to the Capitol with his mob, of course did not, but instead repaired to a sheltered White House media room where he and his family and friends enjoyed the riot from a very secure distance. Big surprise there.
My days of protest are largely over. I’m a Vietnam era guy, and I did almost get shot by a cop while covering an antiwar demonstration in Georgetown for The Washington Post.
Even back then, demonstrations were for many a recreational outlet. We didn’t do selfies, and the cops were a not as kind as the ones on Capitol Hill. They charged the crowd, wielding batons and tear gas, and you could look forward to a serious beating and hospitalization if you tried to stand your ground.
The January 6 people came to Washington, preened, and posed for a lot of photos of each other, broke stuff, and left behind a trail of trash. Then they took trains, planes and automobiles back home so as not to miss their Thursday evening shows. A good time was had by all but the five people who died, including the cojones Taserer.
No doubt they’ll be back because the riot was the highlight of their lives, something they’ll boast about to like-minded buds. They’ll buy tee-shirts and embroidered caps displaying their participation, and ballyhoo their courage. But be reassured—in the end it was a cretins’ coup, badly planned, stupidly executed, and without a snowball in hell’s chance of success.