I can see the plan now. A fiendishly clever one. Through the ages, when we witnessed the hate, prejudice and racism bubbling up every day, we were disgusted, yet we had little idea where it would bubble up from next, some of these crazies look normal at first glance. This plan to draw them out, to turn or destroy them, seemed at first like madness, but now it starts to unfold.
First, to create a monster, a crazies wet dream of a monster. They will spout forth of sexism, racism and patriotism. All right minded folks will have an aneurism! While the wannabe nazis will think all their Weihnachtens have come all at once. It will take an incredible amount of lunacy and hate to get the most secretive loons out, but it must be done. Extreme hateful policies will have normal folks close to a nervous breakdown, but they will be thankful later.
Once hate and lunacy are accepted as the norm, there will be a get together, a celebration the like that has never been seen. From all corners of the land the crazies will march out for their day in the sun. The monster will bring its flute.
There was this bull I knew, he was strong as hell, of course, he could pull a tree stump from concrete. Yet he never felt of much use at all. Despite his strength and beauty he would mope and sit alone, not wishing to impose his worthlessness upon the world. This upset me, yet I could not get through to him.
On the other hand, a cockerel I knew, he would strut through the world as if he was the shine on a crown. He told all “I could fly, yet have no use to prove it to those below”. His arrogance was such that many would literally run away, rather than hear another boastful word that he would say. This upset me too, yet no wishes of humility would puncture his balloon.
Till one occasion the bull sat under a chestnut tree avoiding all gaze. He happened to glance towards a small puff of feathers marching along on proud strutting legs, a chest so puffed up and tail so high, a ridiculous cockamamie sight. The bull’s shoulders started to shudder, to rock up and down. Then a laugh not heard since his voice broke, thundered out of his throat. One slice of ridiculous to break the spell. A thought to why not stop worrying? suddenly occurred, in a snap the bull was cured.
The Cockerel? Well, he will have to wait for his cessation of self glory, that is in another story.
Do not stay where you’re put.