The Secret Jail for Democrats

Mack Hall

To read that Denver has built a secret jail for the detention of Democrats (activists say so; it must be true) is a thought so heart-warming, so touching that it would bring a tear to Colonel Klink’s monocled eye. One imagines jack-booted goon-squads of blonde Russian supermen employing electric cattle prods – or at least Super-Soakers filled with tap water – to herd masses of bleating liberals, liberals shuffling along on their all-natural hemp sandals and clutching their meagre possessions in tattered Starbuck’s gift bags, into cold, dripping dungeons secured by clanging iron doors. O, be still, my heart.

Alas, it is not so.

The city of Denver, under siege by foreigners with bags of deadly poisons and by domestic crazies with bags of feces to fling at the Party worthies, has converted a warehouse into a processing area for citizens alleged by police officers to have committed criminal acts. Flinging poison or feces, for instance.

The center is on Steele Street, and Steele is homonymic with steel, and the Russian for steel is Stalin, if you get my meaning. Lift high the barbed wire, comrades!

Just why there should be protestors in a society with an almost universal franchise (Do you have a pulse? Hey, you can vote!) that can change its government every two years eludes the thinking person. What are the protestors protesting? The vote? Freedom? Democracy?

According to the city, the center is simply for the post-arrest processing of peace-lovers who fling poison and doo-doo, not for long-term detention.

But according to the protestors, the center is a Putinesque Gulag with whips and chains and waterboarding and posters of Ronald Reagan in every cell.

Sigh. If only.

The city says the facility has been expensively remodeled, certified by the fire marshal, and air-conditioned, and offers water, restrooms, and medical care, which is a much better deal than Denver’s homeless ever get.

What? No coffee shop? No Evian water? No religious services? No widescreen telly? No quiche for breakfast? No direct line to Rick Warren or the Dalai Lama? The horror! The horror!

Rumor has it that the speaker system will play the theme from The Great Escape as the prisoners are fingerprinted, photographed, and interviewed by Rolling Stone.

One anticipates that being arrested at the Democratic Party Convention will be a badge of honor among the bags of feces…I mean the carriers of bags of feces. Years from now aging leftists will brag at Old Comrades’ meetings about the brutality they suffered at the blood-stained hands of Officer Jennifer of the Denver Police: “She offered me a cup of house coffee – in a global-warming plastic cup!”

“I know where you’re coming from, comrade. When I asked for something to eat after ten long minutes of incarceration and starvation, Officer Stan gave me a sandwich on…sniff…white bread! Clearly that was racist code! Sob! And the sandwich contained meat from one of our animal comrades! Did they think I was a cannibal!?”

“You comrades are weak! You should have acted! I, in the name of the Revolution and of The Red Dawn of Aromatherapy, torched the twenty-year old car of a single-mother housekeeper at the Hilton! That taught her what it meant to cooperate with the oppressors!”

The Denver facility is supposed to be able to process sixty vegetarians an hour, but of course delays can happen, and Comrade Feces and Comrade Rycin may have to wait in holding areas. How will this be handled? Will roving, tattooed gangs of Hillaryites fight with roving, tattooed gangs of Obamistas in this Andersonville-in-the-Rockies?

Will sullen prisoners stare bleakly through the barbed wire at passing convoys of limousines carrying in degenerate capitalist luxury the more-comrade-than-thou Party functionaries?

Will prisoners raising clenched fists – fists clenching their PDAs -- generate manifestos demonstrating solidarity with the Russian workers’ and peasants’ liberation of fascist, war-mongering Georgia under the benevolent, all-seeing, all-knowing eyes of Comrade Putin?

Sergeant Schultz says “I know nothing! NOTHING!”

Ready the lawyers and grief counselors, Denver; it’s going to be a bumpy week.

Don’t laugh, you rascally Republicans; you’re next. Bwahahahahahaha!