Black Books-Chapter Fourteen

A fictional account of life in MAGAritaville.

Steve Bannon walked out of prison on a crisp Tuesday morning at the end of October.

He squinted his eyes against the bright Connecticut sunshine.

Danbury, he thought, not so bad.

Benedict Arnold himself did some damage to the Red Coats here once in the Revolutionary War.

Defending Ridgefield in the aftermath of the Danbury Raid turned him into a Major General who went on to become a hero at Saratoga.

Before they called him a turncoat.

They said the same of Steve but he was back to lead another battle - perhaps even another American Revolution - at least that is how he saw it in his own twisted mind.

He scanned the prison parking lot for the truck with the Trump flag on the back and approached the first one he saw, as a young man got out of the driver’s side and awkwardly saluted the grizzled ex-con.

Unexpected but it gave him a thrill.

He was back in it baby - and it felt good.

‘Hi Steve, I’m Kyle from America First - they sent me to pick you up. I brought the fifth of Smirnoff and the beef jerky as requested. Also, six pens and two shirts. Would you like to stop by the Aryan safe house for a shower and a shave? Ok, no problem, straight to Trump Tower it is…’

Two days earlier a still incarcerated Steve Bannon spoke into a prison payphone.

‘We’re gonna talk about hardcore fascism now - that is the closing argument - I mean really dark stuff. The Left will obviously lose their shit and retweet our clips endlessly and guess what? More people will hear our final message and they will fucking like it….trust me. ‘Hey that doesn't sound half bad,’ says John Boy in Altoona when they hear this stuff. I’m telling you, America IS a racist country ruled by white men - or at least it should be - that is our closing argument. You gotta understand…the MAGA base is like Bonsai trees, they’ve been pruned and bent and twisted with wire to grow a certain way and never reach their full potential. Shaped to please OUR aesthetic not their own natural desires. It’s an art crafting them, it takes precision and it’s a damn valuable commodity to have an army of idiots with the bodies of men and brains of boys. Violence and perpetual adolescence is the stylistic hook that connects us with our demo. The angrier the better!”

A guard at the end of the narrow prison corridor signaled to Bannon that his time was almost up.

“We like dumbasses around here, embrace them - we wouldn’t have a movement without it. Rural and suburban white dudes are key to our success, wave a flag at ‘em and feed ‘em Fox News and they will march on their own damn mothers if Trump tells ‘em to…that is what he needs to drive home at Madison Square Garden. Dress him up in black and gold like a fucking Proud Boy this weekend…’

Bannon saw his reflection in the prison pay phone as he spoke these words to an underling in Trump Tower.

The real campaign was being run out of a condo owned by an anonymous Russian LLC with a big dude named Sergei standing at the door and taking no shit.

Don Jr. showed up daily to receive instructions from Bannon himself, who found the last four months at Danbury Federal Correction Institute to be a fruitful and productive period.

Steve thought he almost looked good when he caught a brief glimpse of himself during his frequent calls to Trump Tower. NO more bloodshot eyes and even the gin-blistered, ruddy visage had faded as the few months without vodka had done him well.

He still looked like a werewolf’s girlfriend but he would take it.

His grandma’s haircut had grown in a bit and he was hoping to get it trimmed at Supercuts before the revolution began in earnest.

Hell, he was even back to eating as healthy as one can in prison.

He still had the almost androgynous qualities that made him appear as if he should be selling dreamcatchers and honey at a flea market in New Hampshire.

There was just an air of Subaru around him no matter how much he wanted to be a Jeep.

The guards gave him special treatment and a steady supply of cannabis gummies which kept the shakes away and allowed him to focus.

He was never one for the ‘hippie shit’ but had to admit he enjoyed the results.

Bannon had grown downright ebullient in his thoughts about Trump’s campaign.

He thought Flynn had pulled off something spectacular in Butler, Pennsylvania and found the imagery to be just as on point as he had originally dreamed it up, high on gummies in his cell.

Even the blood came out alright and streaked just so across his cheek and he rejoiced in how that now iconic picture of Trump saying ‘Fight, Fight, Fight’ had become a battle cry for the campaign. He laughed to himself that he should hit him up for a royalty since he was making so much off the merch.

He wished Donald hadn’t asked for his shoes or looked like a duck walking off the stage but once a vain dork always a dork.

The fact that he had this clown on the verge of destroying democracy gave Bannon a feeling in his pants that had long been dormant.

Another benefit of staying off the booze, he could now proudly display his hard-on for hurting democracy.

Some men are just born to break things.

Trump tapped into that, the restless idiots all throughout America who have no problem burning down all that others have built - if for no other reason than they felt excluded from accomplishment.

Most men, especially the mediocre kind, know they are losers deep down.

Men like Trump understand from an early age they will never truly measure up.

They cannot compete on a even playing field so they make sure one does not exist.

This is the unstated purpose of MAGA; Bannon knew better than others it would take root in the psyche of modern white mediocrity if it was married to violence.

Blood and fire were part of the myth. The imagery was essential.

Charlottesville was part of the narrative for Trump - and Bannon made damn sure blood would be spilled.

The tiki torches were a nice touch - he had to tip his hat to Stephen Miller for that one.

But that was all a prelude to what was coming, which would kick off tonight at the Garden.

He was so happy he could barely contain himself.

He would be out on Tuesday morning.

A week before the election - just in time to lead his troops, so to speak, from a war room well-stocked with vodka and beef jerky and maybe some of the marching powder that flowed to freely in all of Trump’s properties.

Speed was essential to their plan and fueled their pursuit.

One must be both numb and reckless to do the sort of damage these men had in mind.

He prayed they wouldn’t know what hit ‘em when election day came around.

The ‘Enemy Within’ line was perhaps Bannon’s biggest contribution to the election and the Madison Square Garden rally would be its coronation.

They wanted to drive the MAGA hordes out into the streets, to make them turn against not only their fellow Americans - he wanted them to turn against the Constitution, to hand their power over for good.

They seemed dumb enough that they just might do it.

Hell, anyone willing to sleep on the streets of New York City to get into a Trump rally would do just about anything for him.

They were counting on the cult now, to burn it down on their behalf. The sickest part is MAGA own supporters would become obsolete to the cause as soon as Trump took power.

Once they give him a pass on his crimes and hand him their votes he no longer needs them. There will be no more elections-at least not real ones.

Bannon smiled slightly as he thought about all that was to come.

How their names were mentioned alongside the worst dictators in history.

He loved it and knew they were laying the groundwork for not only a multipolar world; they were ensuring they alone would control who profited and who perished in the years ahead.

It was this power they all dreamed of the most and none more so than the orange idiot who was about to take the stage at MSG. Hordes of miscreants poured in from all over the Tri-State Area to embarrass themselves and anyone who ever had a hand in raising or teaching them.

Trump wasn’t just a failure business and politics, he was a failure at life.

Just like the folks that now worshipped him - and this more than anything was the redemption he offered them.

A moment to lash out, to wretch and scream and hammer those they’re too dumb to respect, through the empty rhetoric of a cabal of idiots bellowing from the stage in New York City.

He reminds them of everything they have been taught to respect.

So inundated are their lives with fake patriotism and the fetishization of America First type iconography. From the toxic masculinity to the badge and flag worship they exist in a culture that is self perpetuating reassuring.

They are the ‘good guys’ in this story, this is their heroes journeys as well as Trump’s.

A dynamic that has been cultivating under Bannon’s tutelage and a trick he carried over from his Hollywood producer days. Make the guy in the audience feel like he is the super hero on screen.

That is what MAGA means in the hearts and minds of its followers.

In a week it would be go time.

Bannon would be there to watch it all go down.

Again.

This time they hoped to win.