Everything is Out to Get Me

Kellyanne Conway said over the weekend that former president Obama spied on Donald Trump through a microwave. At first this seemed ridiculous and I scoffed with a hearty “That bitch is crazy.”

But I’m re-thinking my position. I’ve taken a hard look at my own microwave and my suspicions have grown like mold on meat sold out of the back of a pick-up truck.

Why does the light come on while cooking something? Is that a signal to a passing satellite? Is the NSA bugging the photons of light to collect data on how I live? Do they know I dance to Abba in chaps made of Italian cold cuts?

I haven’t used my microwave in days because I no longer trust it. When I open the door I’m sure I hear voices:

“Begin data dump now.”

“Why is he cooking fish sticks in the microwave? They come out chewy this way.”

“Not Dancing Queen again.”

I also realized if they’re tapping my microwave then my can opener can’t be safe either. That whirring sound as the can spins around could contain my bank account information, my H&R Block password or my secret security questions into the Captain Jean-Luc Picard Fan Fiction Club, I-95 corridor chapter.

I’m starting to get really paranoid. The light bulb in the living room lamp is flickering. Is that a signal between the CIA and the DOD? Is NCIS Los Angeles feeding the contents of my medicine cabinet to NCIS New Orleans (note: the fungal cream that was prescribed was a misunderstanding)? Does MLB now know I prefer the NFL and what about my complete disinterest in the NHL and MLS?

This is getting serious. I’m not sleeping, all the lights are off. I was going to cook something in the oven but I’m sure I saw a satellite dish coming out of the propane tank outside. The light in the refrigerator snapped my picture as I reached for a soda and the box of baking soda told me to have water instead.

I think I’ll go talk to the cat for a while and calm down. Wait, did she always have those faint stripes in her fur or are those implants installed by an agent of the shadow government that’s living in my underwear drawer?

Glenn Beck: The Czar of Conspiracy

Do you remember the movie Conspiracy Theory where Mel Gibson played a mentally unstable man whose life was consumed by paranoid delusions? For Glenn Beck this mediocre film was a watershed moment. It apparently gave his life direction and induced a psychotic break in Glenn’s feeble mind.

Glenn met more dullards like himself and convinced them to give him first a radio show and then a TV show on Headline News. Finally, he got called up to the show: the decepticons of Fox news gave him an hour a night and lots of publicity. Glenn’s mental breakdown has now reached Michele Bachmann-like proportions.

Last week on his show he was deciphering some artwork at 30 Rockefeller Center that he believes contains communist imagery. Now it’s hard to say what Glenn’s point was because after he rambled, spit and stalked his set like a bloated Yeti, he said, “What does this all mean? I don’t know.” So, since Glenn himself isn’t helping us I will speculate that he’s saying he believes John Rockefeller, who commissioned the artwork, was a commie pinko rat who wanted to bring about the downfall of America by subversively hiding communist symbols in plain sight.

One problem with this evil scheme that Glenn fails to recognize as his brain unravels like yarn from a spool: no one looks at this artwork. Case in point, Glenn asks one of his behind-the-scenes people if they had ever seen these images. The man answers he’s worked at 30 Rock for 29 years and had never seen it.

Call me cynical, but it’s hard to warp people’s minds with meaningful symbols if they never look at them. John Rockefeller was smart and savvy enough to amass one of the world’s largest fortunes, but couldn’t come up with a better plan to seduce people to the dark side than cryptic symbology that not even Dan Brown ever noticed?

Clearly, Glenn has gone bye bye. Farewell, Glenn’s sanity, we hardly knew ye.