You know how, after you get a certain model of car for the first time, suddenly you start seeing it everywhere? That’s what it’s like with the fandumentalists. They’re EVERYWHERE. It’s creepy. It’s a symptom of the emptiness of a media-saturated, politicized, philosophically inert life. Not mine, of course; I mean theirs.
In this case, I mean the feminist targets of Vox’s post, of course! You didn’t think I meant…no, no, I’m not copping Zapata King‘s game. The Voxologisti really can’t be described as fandumentalists. Fandumentalists whine because their idols are just clay and can’t really effect miracles. That isn’t quite the dynamic among the Voxologisti. Vox Popoli is like a meeting of Republicans Anonymous led by a snake handler in a Tijuana bar.
Here is the meaning of the parable: The Voxologisti are like recovering Republicans. They are anonymous because they are still working on Step Two of the Twelve-Step Plan. They are hostile to interlopers who appear to be Democrats, their codependent enablers. The snake handler has a secret name and speaks with vox dei, the voice of God. The snakes are apparently lethal creatures, such as feminists, rendered harmless by the snake handler. The Tijuana bar is an exotic gathering place frequented mostly by men, consisting of drifters, dockworkers, cowboys, expatriates, mercenaries, alcoholics, street preachers, failed writers, rowdies, tourists, and undercover cops. Sometimes a brawl erupts and bottles get smashed. The federales are bribed to stay away…OK, maybe the metaphor doesn’t go that far.