“….to see the elephant and big kangaroo!”---Lieuen Adkins
In case you haven’t been paying attention, hellzapoppin’ in Portland, Oregon these days. The Donald Trump Royal Mounties have turned their attention to the place because it is a festering nest of rowdy liberals doing unspeakable things like worshipping doughnuts, watching thousands of birds dive into a chimney at sunset, racing pumpkin boats on the Willamette River and voting heavily for Democrats at every opportunity.
Captain Trumpy, who has rarely been there, sees it differently. “Portland is burning to the ground,” he swears. “Insurrectionists all over the place,” he says. South Portland’s Waterfront neighborhood, home to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) building, has become the site of nightly clashes between federal agents and local protesters opposed to immigration arrests. Cymbals clash and protestors dash. The sweet smell of tear gas grabs the nostrils. “It’s like a war zone,” says local resident Brenda Hammer, who lives across from Ground Zero. “There are times I have to wear a gas mask inside my own home.” Mayor Keith Wilson blames the ICEmen for inciting the crowds. While Wilson was speaking, a resident skulked by carrying two pet rats and screaming at ICE agents posted outside the building. “Get back in your pen, pigs!” he demanded, without much success.
Most residents, of course, blame Trump for the tumult. In 2020, during his first term, the fake prez was also accused of inflaming protests when he sent in National Guard troops to downtown areas as thousands demonstrated against police violence. In the gentrified Alberta Arts District, residents call Trump’s claims about Portland laughable and praise the city for its culture and friendly vibes. One grocery worker noted the city has a long history of being villainized by the Republican Party, citing George H.W. Bush, who referred to Portland as “Little Beirut.”
The Rose City, of course, is just another would-be notch in Trump’s broadening belt, following after L.A., Memphis and Chicago, where tempers rose, bullets flew and a few unlucky Hispanics were rounded up and exiled to Timbucktoo. In those three encampments, the residents got angry. In Portland, they got even.
Feeling Froggy
Portraying The City of The Big Shoulders as a den of dangerous pistoleros is one thing. Crime has an earthy history there, gangs run rampant through parts of the city and people get shot on a regular basis while sitting in their houses watching Popeye cartoons. If you think we’re kidding, watch Chicago Med some time. Memphis tops the list for violent crime with a rate nearly six times the national average, with a particular fondness for homicide and carjacking Kias from little old ladies. Putting Portland in the same category as these two places is silly. The biggest danger to Trump in Portland is all the citizens vote against him..
Portlanders, however, are savvy to the fact that self-aggrandizing tyrants are mortally terrified of only one thing---Ridicule. If you’re a puffed-up lump of cheese sitting on a throne with supplicants in place and enemies locked safely in dungeons, it’s shocking and downright unseemly to have the population suddenly laughing hysterically at your foibles. You can rock it, you can roll it, do the stomp and even stroll it, but you can’t dispel the staggering power of Ridicule.
Yo, here come the scary ICEmen in all their wartime finery, helmets buckled, giant weapons in place, looking ready to take on Attila’s mighty Huns, and suddenly they are confronted by---bunnies and piggies and several versions of Froggy the Gremlin. You can’t shoot Froggy, so what do you do? Back up, mostly, and try not to laugh. Even when Froggy shakes his or her booty directly in your face, as Froggies are wont to do.
It’s hard to call a place a war zone when one side dresses up in inflatable bunny rabbit costumes. When Kristi Noem, the Queen of Mean, showed up on the ICE facility’s roof leering at protesters below, a large person in a chicken suit sauntered up to take issue. The Queen was outraged when told she couldn’t cut off the chicken’s head and accused local elected leaders of “covering up terrorism.”
The Republicans like to cite any opposition to their folly as “Antifa-inspired.” Those Antifas are everywhere---upstairs, downstairs and in my lady’s chamber, stirring up trouble. Federal agents have stepped up their use of force outside the ICE facility where inflatable chickens, dogs and frogs have an endless loop dance party going. New answer to “Why did the chicken cross the street?” To get away from the flying pepper balls. The sight of grossly overstuffed troops in helmets dragging floppy frogs down the street is Portland’s Vaudeville theater. So far, only a couple of the frogs have pissed on the ICEmen.
Operation Inflation, A Portland Sensation
“I think it’s amazing that Portland is taking a uniquely Portland approach to protests,” says Oregonian Justin Kent. It takes any doubt out of the idea that this resistance is a violent thing.”
Kent said that after seeing Operation Inflation take off, he started an online gift registry to get more costumes to protestors and it’s been booming. “I’ve even had international friends donate costumes,” he reported. “I set it up on Friday and by Monday I had 26 costumes. People seem to like frogs the most, but new costumes are popping up every day. We got a raccoon---that went REALLY fast---and I personally bought about half a dozen unicorns.”
If you’re not wearing an inflatable, you might be donning a onesie costume provided by Kevin X. “This is my own money I’m spending so Portland can refute claims of violent protestors. It’s hard for the bad guys to come up with an alternate narrative when people across the country see Portlanders dancing in dinosaur costumes and onesies. I mean, come on, right? Chicago is telling the world ‘we will fight, Portland is saying ‘we will be silly.’”
A few nights ago, a small group of federal agents in camouflage and face masks watched from atop the immigration processing center as a unicorn, a peacock, a dinosaur and a raccoon danced to Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time.” Across the street, the self-proclaimed Frog Brigade, three adults in inflatable amphibian costumes, posed for photos and bounced around in unison. A very small group of counterprotestors nearby shouted, “We love you, ICE!” There’s no accounting for violence groupies wearing colanders.
The absurdity of adults dancing in inflatable costumes is meant to display community joy and help dispel the Trump administration’s narrative that Portland is a crime-ridden war zone; as an added bonus, the costumes provide protection from gas and other toxins deployed by federal agents. Protestor Jack Dickinson, known locally as the Chicken Man was early to the game, having first donned his chicken costume in June during Trump’s military parade in Washington. “They present a show of force,” he says. “We present a show of farce. This is an unacceptable betrayal of American democracy. ICE is kind of the perfect example of the cruelty with which they are implementing their agenda, and it’s not something we can sit by and let happen. The inflatables have them confused, on the run. Even ICEmen know it’s not nice to beat up on Cinderella.”
A Soldier’s Letter From The Portland War Front
“My dearest wife…
It is week two of the Siege of Portland and still these barbarians will not yield to our troops. We have severed the cords of their Latte machines but they are making cowboy coffee in their camps, where loud ukulele songs of resistance even now drift on the breeze. Our platoon has foraged for bush food and is now forced to live on cacao nibs and gluten-free bagels, though Lieutenant Knickerbocker believes he knows where he can raid some salmon jerky. Not an Arby’s is in sight and the grumbling of my stomach is part of this ordeal. A mere child has from afar ruined our stew with her banana-slug catapult.
My love, this is not the enemy our fearless leaders advised us to expect, in that they are all pale, even pasty, but defiant or rather not defiant, but interested in longwinded discussion of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, which our officers will not engage in as long as the enemy wears t-shirts blaspheming against Our Lord and our leader. Nevertheless, three of our men have defected---one lured by a Tarot reading and a promise of dry socks. Two others went off to shut down a drag show and never returned.
My own faith has been shaken by the discovery that Antifa merely means anti-fascist, and is not an organized terrorist group, but my commanding officer will not address what it means to be anti-anti-fascist. On the other hand, I have heard that “pollinator garden workshop” is a code name for dangerous assembly, and that “brunchista” is yet another such pseudonymous appellation.
I regret to tell you a Golden Retriever has stolen my ammunition belt, undoubtedly trained to do so by these infidels. Will it ever stop raining?
I remain your devoted husband,
Ezekiel.”
That’s all, folks…hang on Portland!
