One More Unto the Breach...

Years ago, on my old television show, Stella, we did an episode about a political campaign for apartment board president. My character was the candidate. Michael Showalter’s was the campaign manager. At one point, we clench wrists and say in, for some reason, British accents, “Once again into the breach, old boy.”

I mean, I guess the reason we said it in British accents is because some part of our brains must have placed the origin of the quote in some old-timey world war movie where everybody had a British accent, regardless of nation of origin.

To satisfy my curiosity, I just looked up the phrase’s origin and it turns out I was half right. It does come from Great Britain during wartime, but the war in question took place in the 15^th century and was chronicled by William Shakespeare in the play Henry V. Also, let’s be honest - somebody probably. also did it some World War II movie, too. And if they didn’t, they should have. So I was fully right.

Anyway, here’s the exact quote:

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, Or close the wall up with our English dead. And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. That those whom you called fathers did beget you.

Henry V

Anyway, the reason I bring it up it all is because I woke yesterday morning, the second of January of this, the dread year 2025, with that phrase running through my head like a goddamned ticker tape. Shut up, voice. I’m not interested in entering any more breaches. I feel like I’ve been in and out of breaches for twenty years despite the fact that I only have the foggiest idea of what a breach even is. A pit? A trench? Or is it just a hold in the castle wall? That sounds right. I’m going to go with that.

Regardless of whether we want to or not, we are all, sadly, heading again for whatever it is. The difference between this time and last is this time we have no excuses. Eight years ago, those of us who still believed in this country could, perhaps (?) credibly claim that Americans didn’t really know for whom they had just voted. This time, we we don’t even have that. No, enough of us wanted this to vote for him and just as many didn’t give a shit and so didn’t vote, so now we’re stuck with four more years of, as the haughty Frenchy say, merde.

(Long segue: the only reason I put the word “haughty” in front of the word “French,” is because I used to listen to a lot of right-wing radio. ((That would make, perhaps, an interesting post but I don’t want to digress more than I’m already disgressing.)) During the 2004 Presidential campaign, Rush Limbaugh used to refer to John Kerry as “haughty” because he had spent time in Europe or something? I don’t know why. Maybe he spoke French or something and Limbaugh associated the French with haughtiness? I have no idea. Anyway, now when I think of the “haughtiness,” I associate it with John Kerry who for, some reason, I am associating with the French, and so I put the word “haughty” in front of “French” to put a little smile on my face over the fact that Rush Limbaugh is now dead and because when I think about the difference in character between John Kerry and our soon-to-president, it makes my blood boil. BOIL, I tell ya!)

And so here go, all of us, pell-mell into whatever the next four years hold for us. It’s not a question of optimism vs pessimism so much as a sliding scale of pessimism. It will be bad, of course, so now we’re just trying to figure out exactly how tightly to strap the seat belts. How terrible do I personally think it will be? I have no idea.

What I know is it’s going to be a merdeshow. The question is only how merdy, and then we also have to ask ourselves how “stage-managed” will be such shows. How much will his handlers have learned about Trump’s chaotic nature to let him waddle around in front of the cameras with his baba while, behind the scenes, the MAGA wing strips away personal rights while the billionaire wing vacuums up the nation’s cash? Because I’m guessing they’ve learned quite a lot about their man and about the media that follows him around with a blankie.

Stella III

We certainly know one man has done his homework. The sudden emergence of Chancellor Underpants as our nation’s first shadow president has been a surprise I don’t think too many of us foresaw. One has to give the South African diamond mine heir credit for savviness; he bought the ear (and the pockets) of the American president for a surprisingly small sum. A few hundred million, give or take, which isn’t meaningless to a guy like Elon Musk, but probably doesn’t keep him up at night, especially considering how well the bet’s paid off. His personal wealth has gone up by something like $170b since the election. Think about that for a second: that’s not what he’s worth. That’s the additional amount of money he’s now worth.

Fuck.

The corruption will be bad, but the assault on people will be worse. We already know that. Migrants are going to be hurt. Transpeople will be hurt. Women’s rights may come under further attack. Gay marriages may be threatened. Social security. Medicare. Etc. Those are just what’s already promised to “look at”. How much he’s able to “accomplish” remains a question, but early signs are the GOP is ready to bend over and accommodate whatever he wishes to put into their copious rectums.

Those are just the thing we know are going to happen. We don’t yet know what we don’t yet know. Beyond what’s being deliberately kept up from us, there are events yet to transpire that nobody can foresee. The past few days of bombings and mayhem have proven that. Things are going to happen and when they do, we’re going to have an administration far more focused on the stock prices of the industries they “oversee” than they are going to be about the health and well-being of the American public. By the time they are forced to do their jobs, they will not know how.

On the foreign side, I’m just shrugging my shoulders. Dunno. Again, we know it’s going to be stupid. We know we’re going to be hearing more about fucking Greenland (and also: fucking Greenland) than we ever wanted to because this pouchbag got it into his head that the US can just annex whatever we want because we want to? What the fuck? And then, you know, everything else. In the next four years, we may be at war with Panama, Greenland, and allied with our new friend Russia against NATO. I’m kidding, of course, but am I kidding? Of course. Right?

So yeah, here we are. New year, same old same old. I am dragged back into this, along with all of you, and there’s really nothing to do but see if the old uniform still fits, shine up the boots, and find your comrades-in-arms. Yes, it’s exhausting and yes it would be easier to just ignore the next four years. I wish I could but I’m just not built that way. So, fuck it. Here we are. Here we go. Once more unto the breach, dear friends.