My apologies for the lack of sexiness in that title. It is no secret that in the current zeitgeist, nothing kills the sexy quite like any mention of politics. But I decided to go with that title anyway, in the hopes that it will be vindicated by the passage of time. Perhaps this blog post will have a sexy title in another era. An era when the free world is not being ruled by a living breathing Oompa Loompa. An Oompa Loompa of a far less intelligent breed than the familiar Wonkan stock, with an even looser grasp of human normalcy than the experimental bastard child of a wolverine and some thousand-fanged entity that hatched from an undigested corn kernel buried deep in a roadside pile of excrement shat by the Dark Lord Cthulhu himself somewhere in the same parallel timestream in the multiverse where everybody’s evil twin lives. A timestream where CEO is an anagram of God, but dog is not.
A couple of weeks ago while I was waiting on baited breath for some special announcement telling us of the grand opening of a fancy new dog park at a certain house on Pennsylvania Avenue, politics as it relates to world-building in fiction spontaneously came up as a discussion topic on the aforementioned Oompa Loompa’s social media network of choice…
Six Strings and a Funky Pickup 