An Unprecedented Inauguration
Washington, D.C.
January 20, 2021
“I, John David Breen, do solemnly swear…”,
“I, John David Breen, do solemnly swear…”
“…that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States…”
“…that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States…”
“…and will to the best of my ability…”
“…and will to the best of my ability…”
“…preserve, protect and defend…”
“…preserve, protect and defend…”
“…the Constitution of the United States.”
“…the Constitution of the United States.”
“So help you God.”
“So help me God.”
“Congratulations, Mr. President.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chief Justice…members of Congress…my fellow Americans.
And thank you to those gathered here today. I assure you that I will waste no time getting down to business, the first order of which is to do one thing:
Demand a recount.
Let’s be honest: there is no way I won this election. Hell, even I didn’t vote for me.
Have you heard anything I’ve ever had to say, and tried to reconcile it with the prevailing perspectives of the American people? If so, you can’t possibly believe this election was legitimate.
And if you’ve never heard my opinions, you’re about to…and will agree wholeheartedly with those who have. You will acknowledge with them that my being here is manifestly a mistake, and obviously a farce. I don’t know how or why, but I am clearly a misplaced pawn in a 4D game of Deep State chess.
But, however it happened, I’m up here now. I’m on stage…and I have the floor. Like a convicted criminal on the cusp of sentencing, I am given one chance to say what I want. And I’m surrounded by armed guards and bullet-proof glass…so I may as well let ‘er rip.
Most modern inaugural addresses are laden with pandering platitudes, and soar on windy rhetoric that could’ve been written by an average eighth-grader. They say nothing and mean less. But today we return to earth…perhaps to crash and burn. We’ll say more than we should, yet less than we could.
Americans are for the most part fine people. That includes a few of you up here with me today…but only if we count my wife and kids.
As they do every four years, the citizenry cheered a few minutes ago, after I swore my oath. But let’s be honest. They don’t really believe what I said. Nor do you.
That’s OK. Neither did most of my predecessors, several of whom are seated stone-faced behind me…and each of them deserved impeachment for any number of offenses against that oath. They know they did. Even when they stood where I stand, they knew they would. I won’t call them on specifics. We’d be here all day. But you can ask them later…after a few drinks…at the Inaugural ball.
Yet, as I raised my hand and recited my pledge, a realization hit me: This job should be really easy. In fact, it’s supposed to be.
The Constitution allots very little to the president. Aside from a few ceremonial functions, and a responsibility to make treaties and oversee troops, his task is basically to approve and execute the few constitutional laws Congress sends him, to emphatically veto the rest, and otherwise mind his own business.
As president, I’m legitimately allowed to do only about three things.
First off, I am permitted to appoint people at the beginning of my term, and then…after they’ve “served the American people”…to pardon them at the end.
Second, I get to be “Commander-in-Chief”. But that really won’t allow me to do much. The Constitution does let me send soldiers overseas and to boss their generals around, but only when they’ve been called into “actual service of the United States.”
These days, under those terms, I can’t do anything. Only Congress can deploy troops…by the quaint, anachronistic act of declaring war. But they no longer bother to do that.
Congress long ago punted this power to my predecessors…each of whom fielded it, and all of whom fumbled it.
I’m tempted to let it sail harmlessly thru the end zone, or flutter innocuously out of bounds. Yet I feel compelled to return it, and force our “representatives” to reclaim their responsibility.
But unless or until Congress declares a war, I can’t send a single soldier anywhere. I probably wouldn’t even if they did declare war. But without a declaration, all I can do with the military is bring it home. In fact, I have an obligation to do so. And I will, right after this speech.
I see lots of troops are already here. Hundreds are occupying Washington, D.C., like a junta in Haiti.
It looks ridiculous, and more than a little ominous. This isn’t Caracas, the Caucasus, or the Congo. It’s America. Just because our finances resemble a banana republic doesn’t mean our streets should.
That we need rifles, ramparts, and razor wire to enforce a “peaceful transfer of power” is a surreal embarrassment, and a very bad look. So we won’t have it. Not on my watch. Our freedom is not a hapless Vietnamese village. We won’t destroy it in order to save it.
The third thing my new job permits me to do is “require the opinion, in writing, of the principal officer in each of the executive departments, upon any subject relating to the duties of their respective offices.”
That’ll be no problem. From most of them, the only thing I will ask for “in writing” is their resignation. And then, I will disband the departments.
Like Pride to the other deadly sins, the agency that most needs to be extinguished is the one that enables the rest.
The Federal Reserve deals the fake-money heroin to our strung-out, state-sponsored economy. It squanders savings, misdirects resources, distorts incentives, alters moods, wastes wealth, and destroys lives. It sustains the entire military-corporatist complex, and enriches Wall Street by ripping off Main Street.
It is the source and sustenance of the twin deficits, declining dollar, disastrous bubbles, and hollow manufacturing base. Without it, we could not have launched the reckless wars on drugs, poverty, terror, and germs. Absent the Fed, each of these escapades would shrivel-up and fall away, like rotten fruit from a withered vine.
As president, I don’t have authority to abolish the Federal Reserve. But no one had jurisdiction to create it either. It’s time to unplug the printing presses, shutter the Eccles Building, and send its slew of PhD economists onto the job market they have done so much to disfigure.
There. Apart from hosting a few ambassadors and appointing several judges, that is about all I can do as president.
But there is plenty we can do as citizens. No one should be looking to me or to anyone else in this dysfunctional city to make his life better. We have neither the ability nor the authority to do so.
Voltaire, in Candide, introduced us to a Turkish rustic who knew not the name of his Mufti nor the ventures of any Vizier, and was happier for it. His view was that “people who meddle with politics usually meet a miserable end.” He suggested instead that we clean our own porch, and cultivate our own gardens.
He was right. A free people should be tending their farms, running their businesses, enjoying their hobbies, enlightening their minds, doubting their rulers, raising their families, and worshiping their God. The last thing they should be doing is listening to me.
But as we turn our soil, we must also pull some weeds. We should occasionally put down the phone and pick up a book. Pull away from the screen and take a walk in the park. Turn our gaze away from politics and toward our progeny.
Many of us spend far too much time surfing the web and scanning social media. We are bombarded with information, but starved for knowledge. We think little, yet opine a lot. We ignore our families so we can spout off to strangers. Before we know it, from behind our keyboards, we’re screaming about topics we don’t understand to people we don’t know. Eventually, we become part of the circus…and are just another clown.
Which brings us here today, under the Big Top.
As president, I have an assigned rôle. Like a Christmas wreath on a meth lab, it is mostly ornamental.
The president is intended by the vintners of state to be a goblet, not the wine. They will fill me only with as much information as they want me to have, while keeping the good stuff to themselves. I merely need to look the part and be superficially appealing, while concealing the true nature of the vinegar within. But the last thing I am supposed to do is to pour it out.
Having done so, and spilled the rancid juice down the Capitol steps, I should probably let Congress get back to work. Unlike me, they have a lot to do.
Like drawing up articles of impeachment.
And, were they to make their way to my desk, I’d be happy to sign them.”
JD
