[Vision2020] Scarlet and I say fiddle-dee-dee

[Joan Opyr]

Like Prissy in a maternity ward, Doug and his fan club are fainting, 
gasping, and having the vapors over the sorry state of journalism in these 
benighted times.  But surely a man as media-savvy as Doug—a man who 
publishes incessantly, whose every thought becomes a pamphlet, or a column, 
or a screed—surely he knows that the media is like a big, shaggy, 
un-neutered dog.  It’s unpredictable.  One day, it wags its tail and licks 
your face; the next, it bites your butt and humps your leg.  This is the 
price of doing business, or, rather, the price of expanding the business 
you’re doing.

Because without the crass media what audience would you reach?  True 
believers, but those are limited in number.  Web-surfers, but there are only 
so many crackpots, insomniacs, and lonely, un-medicated, paranoid 
depressives—well, only so many who are actually looking for a defense of 
Southern slavery and not for free photos of women with large breasts.  No, 
to get to the man in the street, you must open your doors to Fleet Street.  
You must let those unpredictable journalists plant their dirty flat feet on 
your oriental rug.  You must mug for the cameras, dish out the 
controversial, newsworthy material, and trust to chance that A) you come off 
sounding thoughtful, witty, and clever, or B) you can plausibly claim to 
have been misquoted.

It's good to grant interviews and have your beaming countenance on the front 
page.  But here’s the dilemma—if you will insist on writing a book in 
defense of Southern slavery; if you will claim that a system in which white 
people owned black people made for true racial harmony; then you’re going to 
attract attention.  Some of it will be from people who watchdog this sort of 
thing, like Morris Dees and the Southern Poverty Law Center.  Some of it 
will be from your fellow citizens, who say, “Good God, does he really think 
that?”  And some of it—just enough to make it worth your while—will be from 
people who think that you’re really on to something.  These are the people 
who will buy your books, your tapes, and your DVDs; who will send their kids 
to your school and their teens to your college; who will attend your 
lectures, disputatios, and revisionist gadfly history conferences.  The 
people who will donate, the people who will tithe, the people who will buy, 
buy, buy.  In other words, the punters.

Right.  Let's get them on in here and lighten their wallets.  Roll up, roll 
up, roll up!  Carl and Melynda wonder if this is good for Moscow.  Is Ozzy 
Osbourne good for Los Angeles?  Is Arnold good for Sacramento?  Molly Ivins 
recently advised Californians to do what Texans have done: to take their sad 
public spectacles and turn them into tourist attractions.  I’m with Molly.  
Who knows about Moscow outside of Moscow?  No one—the same five people who 
can find Pocatello on a map.  It’s time for all that to change.  Let’s stop 
acting like Greta Garbo and make with the Anna Nicole Smith.  Gather round 
all ye clowns and gawkers!  Good-bye quiet backwater, hello carnival!

I only have one question—do I have to bite the head off a chicken or can I 
just hum Dixie while eating a cinnamon bun?  Alternatively, perhaps Rose and 
I could dress up as the Tarleton twins.  I'm sure she'd look dashing in that 
Confederate uniform.  Gray suits her.  It really does.

One more day for to tote the weary load,

Joan Opyr
AKA Auntie Establishment

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