Malcom's Journal Entry 3: "Save us!"... and I'll look down and whisper...

Day 1,721, 00:07 • Published in USA USA • by Jon Malcom

Dear America,

Today we stand at another precipice. A place we meet every month. We constantly must go through the media like it's a pile of junk mail.
Quite sad I say, in fact downright treacherous.


But tonight we have decided we chose Glove.
To be honest if you listened to me doing radio you would've heard me say I don't trust any of them.
Perhaps politics has done that to me, made me see more and more how many lies get spouted around the 5th of month than the usual pile of lies that get thrown around all month.

Like I said earlier as long as hope remains we are going to make it. I won't even use the phrase "I won't lie" because you've been lied to enough haven't you?
The country is messed up, politicians run wild, the economy sucks, (it's a like a tornado you just have to let it pass and do it's thing and then pick up the pieces) and moral is quite low.
Perhaps this is our moment, the moment in which you are needed the most. You the average citizen, young or old are needed the most. I ask you to write your heart, to speak your mind, and question your party and it's leaders.

Bia Pandora was on the radio talking with me, I asked who she wanted to see as president of these divided states and she told me she thought I would make a good president.
Now you know we're either damn desperate or we are dreaming big time if you want a Malcom presidency.

You wouldn't want me as president. I'd tell the truth, admit my mistakes, and fire incompetent political slugs.
It's not what you're used to. Like I said, you wouldn't like it.
I'm not the wine you've been sipping, I'm the Jack Daniels you pull out when you reminisce over your past and you need something that burns like fire but warms your soul.

When we get that bad I'll think about running.

I'll end the Watchmen series and leave you with this quote from the character Rorschach.

"This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save us!"... and I'll look down and whisper "No." They had a choice, all of them."


You have a choice.