Typing Monkeys

 “Now what has been done is done and Americans now fear Iranian terrorists attacks on our own soil and being dragged into another war by Netanyahu when we weren’t even thinking about any of this a week ago.”

This pronouncement on the bombing by U.S. planes on nuclear facilities in Iran echoes what many citizens of this great land of ours are feeling. It certainly struck a chord with me. 

The only real problem with this, for me, is that it came from the Twitter account of one (checks notes) Marjorie Taylor Greene. There is not room here in this post to detail all the ways in which Marge and I disagree, and yet here I am. Agreeing with something Marge wrote in her social media. I am reminded of that analogous room in which infinite monkeys are given infinite typewriters and eventually they produce the works of Shakespeare. Research has been done on the monkey thing, but yet here I am, left with something an evolving primate has pounded out on a tiny keyboard that resonates with me. 

Not the plays of Bil Shakespeare or even a sonnet, but a thought from someone with with whom I have been ideologically opposed since she first started chasing victims of mass shootings around insisting that they were fake. What we have here is called cognitive dissonance. 

Speaking of monkeys being right, it was just a few days ago when another pair of them sat down in front of television cameras to argue next steps against Iran. Ted "Cancun" Cruz and Tucker "Seemingly Everlasting" Carlson got into it about the "president's" plan to bomb Iran. Suddenly I was thrust into yet another confounding situation wherein I found myself leaning toward the shrieks of (checks notes again) Young Tuck as he dismantled Ted's obedience to his dear leader's insistence that we topple the regime of a country about which he knows nothing about. 

So there I was, left with that lingering aphorism about how the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And not at all comfortable with it. And yet, as I sat with this long enough, I took heart on the topic of regime change. The center, if we can call it that, is not holding for the Second Trumpreich. These people hate each other almost as much as they hate the Constitution. This gives me hope in the form of a poem by William Butler Yeats.  I apologize for not being able to supply you with the number of monkeys required to reproduce that work.