Scorched earth

Final scene, I think. A Bruce Willis movie? The hero is walking toward us, away from whatever bad thing has just happened. Without looking back or even breaking stride, he tosses a lit match or cigarette or grenade over his shoulder. Or maybe he presses a button on the remote he’s carrying. Whatever it is, whatever he does, a gigantic explosion rips the air behind him as he walks past us out of frame.

That’s me (metaphorically, Bluffdale, chillax) exiting the voting booth in November, because I’ll have voted for Big Orange, and Big Orange, you may be certain, will blow shit up for real.

Two solid years of this, I figure, and the tide that Bernie almost turned will sweep down on Washington like Judgement Day, flooding Congress with progressive senators and representatives, flipping red state legislatures, repealing Citizens United and bringing the military-financial-healthcare-industrial complex to its knees.

Either that, or we’ll be at war with China and I’ll be holed up in a prepper shack somewhere smoking the rest of this killer weed.