Ide-orb-ology

Monday & I greet ye, mortals. Last night I undertook a perplexing quest—stirred by the disturbing slurrings of my ancient foe, JAY LENO, I sought to finally comprehend his dark powers. How could a mortal who spent his life upholding norms & systems, suddenly claim to hold no political agenda? What trick allowed his mind to bend so? Off I went, in search of clarity…

I found him in his natural environment—a vast, lonely garage, full of old cars & gray memories. He seemed unsurprised to see me—oft we clashed in the past, & I think he longed for any familiar face at all. I flung him against a wall, howling, demanding to know how he could claim that he never “gave his opinion” because he thought it would alienate people. He merely snickered, & barked that I would be “unprepared for the truth.” Already in a foul mood, I would tolerate no mockery from this money-grubbing egomaniac. I tore his immortal head from its clockwork body, & secured him with Gamistyn’s Orb of Resolve.

I then further inscribed the orb with runes, evoking Oðinn’s foe Mímir; Oðinn slew him, but kept the head, & thereafter employed the head for secrets & counsel. The villain Leno would reveal his secrets, whether he wished or no, & in one night. He agreed—perhaps it amused him, perhaps he felt he had little choice—& began chanting directions to an ancient temple where he learned his mischief.

At first, I refused extraneous parlay; should I allow him extra speech, I would risk falling into some trap or another. But, his dishonesty burned me to my core, & I could not resist prodding at him for his calumny. He claimed to “love political humor,” yet also claimed that offering opinions would leave a host with “half an audience.” How would that make sense? How could he possibly claim it possible to make political statements, but also, not express any points of view?

He chuckled, in his squawking falsetto, offering no answer. I knew it foolish to continue, but could scarcely help myself. Did he not spend his career attacking the vulnerable? Whether slandering Monica Lewisnky, or hurling savagely unoriginal racist attacks at Asian-Americans, or engaging in the laziest homophobia possible, had the wretched Leno not worked overtime to enforce rigid social norms? Had he not used his platform to alienate audience members, by dehumanizing them? All in service of a most insidious political agenda—Upholding the Status Quo?

Again he giggled, his foul laughter resounding distorted through the Orb of Resolve. Hotter burned my rage with each non-answer. How could he deny these charges? How in the omniverse could he, with a straight face, be interviewed by David Trulio, president and CEO of the Ronald Reagan Presidential Foundation and Institute, while claiming neutrality?

After an endless night under unsettled skies, we approached our destination. The Leno cast a beam from one of his star-speckled eyes, pointing me to the alcove which he promised held the truth. I crept forth, evading the gaze of the watch-wights. A wand’ring Slavoj Žižegator passed idly by, curious at these strange intruders to his domain.

Closer & closer we stepped, both in reverent silence. Finally, I might know how a man who brags about his Zionism could possibly believe he has no politics…

…I peered into the shadows of a stone column, worn & weathered by time. “I see nothing, Leno,” I whispered, to my foe & guide. No reply came. I leaned closer, & risked a bit of light upon my fingers—empty. Fuming, I shook the Orb of Resolve.

“By the runes that bind ye, by the Moon above ye, explain this misadventure,” I seethed. His starry eyes whirled in their sockets, & his voice dropped to an unearthly rasp. “Can a fish,” he croaked, “see the sea?”

I bashed my fists against the Orb, its runes flaring with every blow. “A riddle! All this ruse, a riddle! Vile noggin, distended chin-man, dragging me across this plane in search of nothing!”

“Cannot see, I cannot see…can ye?,” he cackled, provoking me—but from my anger, epiphany. ‘Twas not mine eyes that failed, but his. He swam in that choppy, rotting sea—ideology. Upholding it is no political choice, for him. A creature devoted to saying only that which is permitted, & to chastising any who might dare challenge his precious Status Quo.

I understood, finally, though it brought no satisfaction, no resolve nor relief. This horrid being spent his life expressing political opinions, night after night, without e’er understanding that he did so. An establishment homunculus, conditioned to obey, befuddled by any beings who feel no such loyalty to his masters—for to him, loyalty to the Status Quo is life itself. He cannot see his sea, & surface-dwellers frighten him, for they live in a manner beyond his imagination.

I pitied him, then; I retraced my steps, to return him to his lonely garage. I passed the Slavoj Žižegator, feeding him a hot dog from my belt-pouch, as a gratias gift for not alerting the watch-wight to our presence.

As we crossed this plane again, under a night slowly warning of a coming dawn, we kept a peace. I asked no more questions, & he ceased his mockeries. Once inside the grim garage, I released him from the Orb, & restored him to his clockwork body. He returned to tinkering with a car, one that cost enough to relieve a famine, & I stepped out into the brightening daybreak. As I passed the threshold, he called to me one last time—

“Did ye see it?,” he asked. “Did ye hear about it?,” he pleaded.

I thought a moment, then nodded. I finally did see it.

Thank ye for reading, mortals! I hope ye found this adventure a delightful diversion from the horrors of the week. & We thank also the growing faction of generous mortals, who can & do support our works here with coin!

Below, find a bit of bonus art from back in 2021—part of an extended caper, which saw the return of the dastard Martin Luther, aided by the demon Jayzmoleno! I shall write ye Wednesday with news of this week’s episode, plus the August forecast in written & pod-cast forms! ‘Til then—be safe, be well, & FUCK JAY LENO.

Cheers,
Amœnus Franco
Wizard, Writer, Wearer of Spectacles of Ideological Truesight