All hail, and welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Put on your best frown, because there's nothing funny here tonight.
Today I was in a teacher's meeting with a few of my colleagues. After lunch as we were settling in to yet another wrestling match with curriculum, I turned to them and said, "Well, I won't have to do this much longer. I got a new job, $1500 a week to be a paid protester."
Their jaws dropped.
"Yes," I continued. "It's $1500 a week, and all I have to do is march in protests and go to Congressional town hall meetings and disrupt them."
And my colleague, holder of a master's degree, said, "Really?"
And the young student teacher, working on multiple certifications, looked at me and said, "Really?"
They believed it.
Sorry, but that is scary.
My colleague said that she believed me because I am trustworthy. I've never told a lie before, so why would I start now?
Then the student teacher took out his phone and started punching in numbers. "That's $71,000 a year," he reported.
"Yes!" I said. "Now multiply that by all the other people who have been 'hired' after the Women's March: 500,000. Not even George Soros is that wealthy."
Tonight I was going to come into this space and tell you readers all about my "new job." I know you wouldn't have believed me, because my job description would have gotten more outrageous on here. But I'm so shaken by the belief I saw in my colleagues that I can't even joke. They believed that such a job, at such a salary, could be possible.
Oh my goodness, this is a hard time to be funny.
I was also going to write a blog post about how Donald Trump tortures puppies. Again, satire. But have you heard that federal records on animal welfare were deleted from the USDA web site?
How can I joke about something that might be true?
When the situation becomes sufficiently grim, satire is no longer possible. It could very well be that we are reaching that point.
Oh, and I might as well add that it was 75 degrees here in Snobville today, and my forsythia is blooming. This is not satire.