The Yellowed Letter and the  Google Challenge
It was just getting light when I got up to pee.  On the way back to bed I stumbled over the pile of dirty laundry.. (Don’t worry, Mom, I will keep my New Year’s Resolution and go to the laundromat,, real soon.)   On the floor between the pile  and the door I saw a yellowed, grimy envelop, addressed to me in a spidery hand. Uh oh! It had to be from Zombie! More trouble.
Sure enough,  above the big Z which Zombie used for a signature,  was this message, “ Dumbo my love- You think Trump is a demagogue not a  populits . See what Google thinks..
 Love Z. ”
 
OK. OK I turned on the old IBM CPU which my parents had given me  fifteen years ago when I was applying to college , made a cup of coffee, , waited some more for it to boot up,  then Googled .  “Trump populist.” Did you know there are about 10,600,000 results for this search? For ”Trump demagogue” a paltryy  418,000.. 
 Vox popul, vox sapientiumi! Zombie will gloat.
What a terrible way to start the day,  I’d ben totally outvoted. Add that to being broke, living alone in this lousy garret, amid a stinking pile of laundry, my only friend a zombie ...   Well, you get the point.   Maybe something will turn up before Friday night when I have the rendezvous with Zombie at the mausoleum. I sure hope so.  

 

                               Zombie's Mausoleum of choice 

 
 
ZOMBIE NIGHTS III
On –isms, especially the wicked ‘populism’
Wherein the Zombie appears by night, populism is deflated, and a tryst arranged.
 
    
 On Thursday night I finally completed the punishment the sadistic Zombie had imposed. Upon me. I finished reading that agonizing book the New Politicians of Fifth Century Athens.  , I was exhausted and fell into a deep sleep.
  Sometime in the middle of the night I became aware of something – no!  some body-  next to me in bed. YOW! It could only be the zombie bent on erotic mischief!
I jumped out of bed, put some clothes on as fast as I could and growled:
“What are you doing here?  How did you get in.? Get out.”
“I just thought I’d come a day early to see how you were doing.   But when I slithered under the door  I found you were already asleep,  so sweetly that  I didn’t want to disturb you, so, well, I just slipped under the covers to keep warm.  Don’t you ever heat this garret? It’s cold being a zombie, you know.”
“Why in the world did you come a day early? Isn’t once a week enough?”
“I felt bad. I made you read that wretched book. It seemed cruel and unusual punishment.  I thought I’d give you a reprieve.”
“Too late. It is a wretched book, .the worst thing I have read in the ten years since I graduated from UC Santa Barbara with a major in Necromantic Studies. But I finished it. So let’s leave it at that.”
 “Oh, no!” Zombie seemed almost in tears. “The whole idea was that we would talk about it and figure out why it was so bad.”
“OK,” I gave in, “let’s have a quick talk and then I’ll go bac to bed and you will go back to Zombieville or wherever you hang out.. And that will be that.  No more slithering under the door or  between the sheets.. OK?”
Zombie looked dubious.
“I’ll make a cup of tea and we can sit next to each other on the sofa, but just for a few minutes.”
 “Do you have Chamomile?”
“Sure.”
“Ok then.”
After we started sipping the tea, I told Zombie that usually I liked bad books better than good ones. . “Good books just make you assent. They compel agreement. Bad books make you ask yourself what is the right way of thinking about this stuff?”
“So is this a good book or a bad one?”
“I don’t know. I was so exhausted by all thus Atheno-centrism  thatmy brain wouldn’t work. So I went to bed to sleep it off.”
“You’re the one who wanted perspective, to get some distance on Tr*mp and what he is doing to l life in this country, including your miserable sex life. Remember?”
“We are not going to talk about my sex life.  We are here to talk about high minded stuff,  populism. But this book is no help.  It never talks about populism. It doesn’t even use the word.”
“Except once.””
“That part is just blather about these politicians being anti-elitist. Big deal.  In a democracy you bash elites.  Everyone knows that. But where’s the serious analysis  of populism? New Politicians  doesn’t analyze the phenomenon.. So all this talk about Athens isn’t relevant. ”
“That’s nonsense.” Zombie insisted. “ You just didn’t like the book because it didn’t match your crackpot theory that populism is ‘discourse” not a set of policies or a political philosophy or anything like that.”
“You are not going to defend this book, are you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.. but ....”
“But what?
“I hate the word populism. I think we’d be better off without it.”
“All the smart people talk about populism all the time, espexially whenever they talk about Tr*mp and his overseas look-alikes. Populism is where the action is.”
“I thought you were down on all the smart people. They sure messed up in predicting the election outcome, didn’t they?”
 ”Yeah, sure, but you can’t wiggle out of the importance of getting a better understanding of populism. All this book does is talk about demagogues. ”
“It is such an ugly word.”
“Demagogues?”
“No, populism.”
“What’s the matter with it?”
“It’s a hybrid word: Latin at the start, with a Greek ending.”
“What’s the matter with hybrids? Someday I will buy one”
“Not at the rate you’re going: ten years out of college, big debt,  no job, living in a garret, no sex life..”
“Lay off; just tell me what you’ve got against words like automobile, or television. They are half Greek and half Latin.”
“But when the Greek half is –ism you are in for trouble.”
“Like communism?”
“Or capitalism.”
“Or romanticism..”
“Or classicism.”
So it is ugly. So what? It’s useful.”
“It’s a neologism.”
 “Can you get arrested for committing a neologism in public?”
 “No, but maybe you should if the word goes viral..”
“Is it really such a new coinage?”
“Ask Siri.”
“I can’t afford an iPhone.”
“Here,, use mine.”
“Here it is: 1895 is the answer. American.”
“Keep going. Read the definition.”
“ ... any of various, oftenantiestablishment or anti-intellectual politicalmovements or philosophies...”
“Stop right there! That’s where things go wrong.”
“What do you mean?  That’s a good definition.“
“Use your head, dumbo.  If you use populism, you are likely to do what that definition does – assume that it is a systematic pattern of  belief,  or doctrine, a philosophy, an ideology, or a coherent set of policies.”
“What’s the matter with that? Tr*mp has policies. Lots of them. They might even be coherent. The problem is they are bad policies. We needd to argue about policy.”
“Wrong!  The man is a vortex, a huge moral vacuum that sucks into itself  anything that’s not anchored down – whatever is in The National Enquirer, a talk show, a factoid. a Steve Bannon rant., There is no there there. Call it populism and you have played right  into his hands. ( I shifted to the far end of the sofa as Zombie said this.  You may remember Zombue has this thing about hands.)  A;; the smart people dither about  his “populist policies” They don’t see the moral vacuum.”
“So he is not a populist?”
“He’s a demagogue. He wants to lead people. He doesn’t care where. As long as they follow and applaud. That’s why he can change course so easily. He heels no need for consistency..”
 
 “But demagogue is meaningless. It glues together  “people and “leading,” but doesn’t say anything about where they are being led. It’s as if these politicians were like the pied piper.”
“Well? Does that sound familiar?”
“OMG!. I see where you’re headed, Zombie.  If you are right, it would change everything!”
“Well,.” Zombie said with uncharacteristic  modestly, “It could explain how  a politician could succeed with no coherent policies  or with half-baked ideas that were really against the interests of the people who vote for him..”
 
“You mean they get sucked into the vacuum, like everything else? It is like Typho, the typhoon god!”
“Spoken like a true necromancer.”
-Somebody really ought to write thist up.” I mused. “. Start with the Greeks maybe. Do a book about demagogues,. I bet it would sell.  Get me out of debt. Displace the junk that is out there right now.”
“Good idea. Better than writing satirical sketches that Saturday Night Live will never produce. You should write this  book., Call it  ”The First Populists.” Then show they were not populists at all. “
“Great idea, terrible title.”
“Make up your own title then,  but  get us out of the rut New Politicians has had us in for 45 years. You have to rewrite the whole thing, all by yourself.”
“No way,” I replied unaware that I was stepping into a trap. “I can’t possibly do it alone. Too much work..”
“Well, in that case, I guess I have to make the sacrifice and help you with it. That is the only way it will get done.”
“Ghost writing. So to speak?”
“I can show you how to plagiarize.”
“Without getting caught?”
“Of course; it’s easy. I can show you how to embroider what you plagiarize with some fashionable discourse-theory discourse.”
“Where were you when I was in college and really needed help with my term papers? But let’s get a better title for the book, maybe one that has a clever pun and lots of words? That’s very trendy nowadays.  I was thinking of something like The Tanner’s Hide: Secrets of the ancient populists and  why only they can save us now from the mess we are in..”
“It would be hard to do better than that, but together we can bring it off. ”
“With big-time marketing?”
“I know the ropes. I’ll help you. Big time.”
“And with an agent for the movie rights?”
“Sure, and for an animated TV series. The Cleons.. modelled on the Simpsons.’
“On Fox?
“Absolutely. All that and more. “
“That is so-o-o kind of you.”
“We could start work together on a working vacation. I know just the place for us, rural, quiet; just the two of us. No one to bother us.”
“Where?”
“In an authentic McKim, Mead & White building. You admire fine architecture,, don’t you.”
“Absolutely. They are great architects. I’d love to live in a place they designed. Where’s the place?”
“Met ne next Friday at Rock Creek Cemetery. Right  at midnight and I will show you. Bring your double sleeping bag It gets cold there.”
“Will you bring your iPad?”
“Of course if you bring some wine and a candle or two.”
“OK. It’s a deal. I’ll be there.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,”
“Cross your heart and hope to ...”
“Cross my hear and hope for the best. ”
--
Next installment: Zombie Nights IV: Aristophanes’ Dark Secret. Coming soon to a computer screen near you. Rated PG-13 fir a change.
 

                                 Above: Gucci ,  alligator  hriefcase brief case, $379, with whip $429.. with New Pols $441. 

 ZOMBIE NIGHTS II
                   or
On Hyperbole
With new insights on Trump,, populism, and a brand new form of sadomasochism thrown in for good measure!
--
  Zombie arrived right on time, dressed Business Casual, carrying a Gucci alligator hide brief case with gold plated latches ($379, unless it was a knock-off).  Very impressive, very professional. 
“Did you stay off satire for the whole week?” was the first question.
“It was hard, but I did it,” I replied, only slightly misrepresenting things.
“Good. And what about your interviews with Tr*mp supporters? How did they go?”
“Pretty miserably for the most part- mostly warmed over talk radio and Fox News stuff. “
“Mostly? Not entirely?” Zombie zeroed in.
“No, not entirely. Let me tell you about a friend. I didn’t even suspect she was a Trump supporter until we got chatting about leadership styles and she said she though Trump was right – that Putin was a better leader than Obama.”
“What did you say?”
“That if that had been Obama’s style of leadership,, Donald Trump  wouldn’t be around anymore; he would have had a mysterious accident, drunk a  nuclear cocktail or just disappeared.”
“How did she react?”
“She surprised me by saying ‘Oh. I know, I know, he exaggerates, but I think I know what he means.’”
“So what did he mean in her view?”
“I blew it. I didn’t ask. I failed to follow up with that question.”
“Why not?”
“I guess I was interested in something else- the tone she used. She spoke as if she were empowered by Trump’s exaggerations; it put her in the driver’s seat. She was his spokesperson, interpreter, exegete, all rolled into one.  At that point I realized that hyperbole was not a ‘figure of speech; it is a way in which the speakers empowers their listener and thereby win their supports. ”
“So,” Zombie interrupted,” it’s part of the secret of Tr*mp’s success?”
“Exactly.  All the smart people thought he was making terrible mistakes when he said outrageous things. They were dead wrong. Each one empowered and activated his supporters – the more outrageous the better. Exaggeration empowers the listener.  They love hyperbole”
“Excellent,” Zombie spoke in the tone of a high school English teacher encouraging a student who has for the first time said something smart.
“Thanks,” I said. “Now I want to go on and think about Tr*mpism, and maybe all populisms. My hunch is that populism is not an ideology or theory, or set of policies but a linguistic phenomena.  If we want to understand it, we have to analyze it as, um,
...”

“Discourse?”

“Yes, that’s the word. Discourse. I love it.  But I need more perspective on this discourse.  I mean, like, a historical parallel.”
 
“Promising insight and a fresh insight!. You must follow up on it!” Zombie sounded genuinely enthusiastic about my ideas. I told myself Zombie likes your mind. But then Zombie added, “But first, let’s have sex.. I really like your body.”
“No way!” I was revolted by the idea of sex with a Zombie and I let it be known in no un certain terms.
“You promised.”
“I did not..”
“Did too.”
“Did not!”
“The whole point of this exercise,” Zombie explained in a pedagogical voice, “was to restore your libido after it had been destroyed by non-stop Tru*mp talk.  Remember? Now you have gained some perspective on it, so you and I can ...”
“I am not having sex with a damn Zombie, fresh out of the grave. I majored in necromancy, not necrophilia.”
Uh-oh!  Have you ever looked into the eyes of a zombie after you have said something really hurtful?  My heart melted. I apologized:
”Look, Zombie, I’m sorry. That was really mean .of me to say that.  I’m sorry I said it. I didn’t really mean it.”
Sob.
“You are rally a wonderful person, as zombies go, one of the best. I mean, well, if I was going to have sex with any zombie, it would be with you. Really.”
Big sob. Eyes over with tears.
“It isn’t you fault. It’s mine.  It’s all the social pressure against living people having sex with dead people.  A terrible prejudice. Bigoted, really, but my parents, all my friends have these attitudes -  I know.  it is silly of me. But I internalize all this pressure. So I just can’t. Nott your fault, not at all, it’s all mine...”
And so on
More sobs, Tears.
“I feel terrible for what I said.  You are right to be mad. I deserve to  be punished  for saying what I did.”
At that Zombie’s face lit up.  Business Casual dropped away; under it was black leather. From the $379 alligator hide Gucci brief case with gold plated  latches came the $50 whip.
“Yes,” Zombie hissed.” You deserve punishment.”
CRACK.
I will spare you, gentle reader, the details of the exotic fusion of pleasure and pain that followed, but I cannot omit the culmination of her punishment Zombie inflicted on me..
“Now for the real punishment,” Zombie smirked while reaching in the $379 Gucci  brief case – not a knock off – and  drew out of it ... ..
“Oh no, not that. That is too cruel. I won’t be able to stand the pain. I cannot take it. Please, anything, but not that!”
“You must submit. Your punishment for everything you have said is to read this book, before I come back next Friday for an inquisition about ancient populism.”
“No, no, please, anything but that ...” Bu there was no mercy in Zombie, who handed mea copy of The New Politicians of Fifth Centry Athens.´
 
“Tolle, lege,” Zombie latinized;. “Read every word. I’ll be back to test you next Friday. .” 

​

                                                       QUIZ: WHICH ONE IS THE ZOMBIE?

                                     
 
                                                                      ZOMBIE NIGHTS - Part I
                                                       Zombie Says No More Satire!

      I was so engrossed in writing a spoof of what Obama heard when he was wiretapping Trump’s phone  – so engrossed in fact that I didn’t hear the Zombie come in. But I sure heard the shout. Right in my ear:
“Stop. No more satire.” Simultaneously the Zombie reached over to press  CTRL A and DELETE.  “No more satire.”
“You can’t do that” I screamed, desperately trying to push Ctrl Z.
“Orders,” the Zombie replied. ”From the highest authorities in the lowest depths. No more satire. You gotta stop. “
“Why? It’s just good clean scatological fun.  And it’s therapeutic. A lot of people need some release - some distance on what’s happening to our democracy.  Satire is cathartic in a situation like this.”
“Maybe fun but it’s not therapeutic. Very bad for you and for your readers, if you have any.”
“Nonsense,” I insisted. “I’m carrying on a grand tradition following the example set by many of your associates down below. You have probably met them - Jonathan Swift, Voltaire, Juvenal, Horace, even old Aristophanes.”  
“Wrong again! They were all tools of the establishment, providing a way of venting steam before it turned into an explosion. Look at Juvenal: he serves the Roman elite. The problems sees are ascribed to the Orontes pouring into the Tiber. He’d love Tr*mp’s anti-immigration policy.” 
“But somebody has got to expose the absurd nonsense that he spews out.”  
‘You are overlooking the core dilemma in satire, young man. It implies that everyone is doing rotten things, So the obvious question is “Why shouldn’t I do them too?”  When you write satire, you may make Trump’s atrocities seem routine, ordinary, even normal. Don’t go there.  That is one reason we are telling you to stop.”
“What’s the other reason?”
“You are not very good at it. Leave it to Maureen Dowd or Gail Collins. Even if you were as good as they are, you’d still be making things worse, feeding his ego and helping him take over people’s brains.  Look what’s happened to you, for example. ”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He has colonized your brain. Instead of thinking about sex 24,7, 52, like you did in the good old days, you think Tr*mp, Tr*mp, Tr*mp. All the time.  Non-stop.  Here you are: ten years out of college, still in this shabby garret, all alone, trying to make a living writing satire. Get a life!”
That, hurt; I got real angry and told the Zombie in no uncertain terms to get out. That did no good. I got more of the same: “You are playing right into his   hands ... ” WHOA!  The word “hands” seemed to have a powerful effect on Zombies. Never use it when you are near one. In this case the left  Zombie hand started unbuttoning my shirt; the right one groped at my belt buckle.
“Hey,” I said,, ”Cut that out. Right now. Stop.. Let me go. Get out of here. .”
“You see,.” the Zombie  responded. “I was right.  He has destroyed your libido. All you can think about is  Tr*mp, Tr*mp, Tr*mp. This Tr*mp talk is ruining your sex life.. Just like I said.”
“Get out..”
“I won’t leave until you promise to stop writ9ing satire.”
 “OK, OK,” I said. ”Tell ,e what I should be doing and then, leave, please leave. Pretty please leave. ”
“Go out and listen to some Tr*mp supporters. Listen real hard how they talk.  Learn from them.  I’ll be back in a week’s time, Friday at the stroke of midnight, to see what you have found.”
And with that she slithered out between door and threshold, just as the clock struck midnight.