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Battered Wife Syndrome Streak In The Liberty Movement Chapter VII

(part 7 of a series inspired by glenn beck, by smudge pot and bill3)

The show closed. The sponsors spots began to run, and a lighter air breathed into the atmosphere. The big man's bearing and voice changed as if on cue.

The nameless one looked on, reclining in his seat.

The small, pudgy man with the blondish flat top swaggered off the set. He walked with the bearing of a man who had one day transformed a waddling stumble into a swagger, on that day he realized he could use other people more stupid than himself, and so gained a confidence not native to himself.

The thin man sitting in the chair looked on, with a look on his face perhaps like that of the aged Cato reclining in the forum as some bombastic demagogue strolled out with a feigned dignity and an artificial pomp in his step, after a particularly brazen rhetorical exhibition. Or with the look one may have seen on the face of some solemn man of rectitude, at the cessation of a mime act, a juggler, or a common card sharp at a county fair.

Yet here he was. The valet of such a man, in his employ. His enabler. The young and new enabler of a former drunk. A man formerly broken but now risen again from ashes, yet still and no less learned in the art of lying to himself at every new twist and turn. But not now a mere drunk, dangerous to no one but himself But now a new man, a man reborn, a man with a mission. So to say, a man dangerous to many, with that self same conviction in himself and free hand with facts and people as before.

Addicted not now to an inert substance, but to the adulatory applause of crowds, to public praise, to followers, to echoes.

Briefly, a demagogue in the making, albeit a petty one. Small in stature, suited to his age. No great demagogue, here.

A reformed man, now inverting his inner disease outward upon a world unsuspecting but ripe for the taking.

The smallness of this self-described rodeo clown and showman, this fool, was perhaps as grating to the young man's conscience and sense of self worth as the sordid nature of the act in question, oh which he was the enabler.

As the clown crossed the threshhold of the door, stammering out an order delivered with neither grace nor magnanimity to a sweet looking young staffer, something in him boiled over and the appearance of the world around him became hazy and unfamiliar. Time seemed to slow.

He stood up from his desk and walked out the way the former one had walked, though in a different manner. Normally his tasks occupied him for hours past the point of departure of the eminent one, yet he continued walking unresponsive to the surprised questions spoken to his back...

to be continued.