Political ruminations of putrid elected officials
There Is an Ultra-Underground Cult Grooming Future Politicians
Do what you want, to who you want. That’s politics!
The following was written by the Shibboleth regular contributor known as Amaya.
“Right around age six,” our source said. They opted for no pseudonym. I’ll call them VOICE.
“That’s when we start understanding how to dehumanize someone else.”
I attract tapeworms and leeches after chugging the bullshit downtown. I love you but hate myself, it’s the only reason I would self-flagellate with the pointless meetings and bad faith arguments of local politics.
Invisible stink lines float around me and wave at the parasites now. VOICE waved back. They followed their nose while its mucus membranes puckered in fear. That’s how we met.
All for a purpose, VOICE assured me. Politics is the worst purpose but humanity can’t seem to break away. I’m talking Big-P here, but never mind that distinction, actually. We’re poisoned with it all until our star finally takes back all the shit it let us borrow.
VOICE and I circled each other. We squawked and tested limits, stabbed and raked at each others’ weak spots. Journalists have to somehow decide if the story is about more than hate. Not easy when it comes to politics.
You’re free to believe VOICE is lying, or I’m lying, or your reality is built in the film on a corpse eye. Whatever, you know?
I’m in your town right now, listening while your dads and uncles and brothers and cousins all lie. Maybe an aunt is there too, but usually not. VOICE is with me whispering about what they’ve seen and how they escaped. They’re whispering about The Tyrant Lord.
Kids are taken underground all the time. Not younger than six, not older than 10. The cult needs pale grey brains, smooth but plump. It’s about teaching them to lie to you, trick you, to own you and your life.
It is about making politicians.
The kids are put in suits, sent into an office. They’re told no one can tell them what to do. Little indomitable lords. A cult run by politicians built to mold politicians.
Of course there is a lie being told.
One of the kids knows more than any six-year-old can, VOICE doesn’t know how, although they have theories. I can’t print them because they’re past satanic, weightier and more unshapen than any dripping volpescent thing from the world’s abscess.
This one child knows why they’re all there and how to get the others to start changing.
Inside the cult the liar child is called The Pit.
VOICE detailed the last meeting they saw. The Pit walked into the office and broke every pencil on one desk. The other children gasped but eventually they all found their own desks to attack. If there weren’t any pencils they straightened paperclips or tore business cards into piles of snow.
They all cackled and ran around sweating. When they finally sat down, panting and staring at each other, the Pit grinned and smacked themself across their chubby cheek.
Silence, but not for long. The other kids reached up and slap-slap-slap, hit their own faces.
No matter how The Pit started, the meetings always ended with the kids leaving the room through a hidden door. VOICE watched it happen again. It was a door inside a metal cabinet The Pit opened with a key.
All of them stared at the back of the cabinet until The Pit reached out and pushed. A click, shuddering metal slid away into darkness.
Cold and blank, a big room waited inside. After they all walked in and stood side-by-side, they saw something.
It was The Tyrant Lord entering the room. VOICE would never specify how this being showed up. They only told me it always did.
The Tyrant Lord is a body of bloody, rotting meat. A human shape with a hole for a face. The Pit shuffled to it, tentative six-year-old waddles until they were close enough to reach out and caress the decaying flesh.
In time, all the children followed. They laid their hands onto the slime and gritty fat.
This was always the first day, VOICE said.
Is The Tyrant Lord alive? A statue? VOICE won’t even blink once for yes and twice for no. They walk away, they act out in public until more eyes start swiveling our way, that way they can leave quickly.
I have to find The Pit if I want answers. I’m too old to be in their cult, plus I’ve got the Jackass Disease. I think knowing things can actually help us.
They don’t want assholes like me.
