Comrades of Capital: Lexington’s gonzo leap into ‘socialism’ for the wealthy
by Hunter S Trotson
LEXINGTON, KY — In a bold display of fiscal acrobatics that would make Lenin himself blush, Lexington’s local government, under the stalwart Republican leadership of Mayor Linda Gorton and an Urban County Council of self-proclaimed progressives, has embarked on a mission to redefine socialism. This time, it’s not for the proletarians but for the privileged. Yes, comrades, Lexington is now a beacon of socialist generosity — but this isn’t your granddad’s socialism, no sir. This is socialism for the wealthy, the elites, the blue-blooded owners of thoroughbreds and sporting clubs.
Here we are, in the midst of what one might call the “high-water mark” of capitalist greed disguised as communal generosity. At the heart of this revolutionary strategy is a series of magnanimous handouts, each more dazzling than the last. The Lexington Sporting Club, poised to become the czars of the Fayette County soccer fields, will receive a generous portion of taxpayer funds for a new stadium. This sporting paradise, undoubtedly a necessity in these trying times, promises to elevate the spirits of the masses — from the comfort of luxury boxes, of course.
Meanwhile, Keeneland, that hallowed temple of thoroughbreds, isn’t being left behind in this redistribution of wealth. Here, the public’s treasure is being lavished upon an almost $100 million renovation fit for kings. As the tracks are polished and the grandstands gilded, one can almost hear the distant echoes of Bolsheviks cheering on their favorite stallions. It’s like watching Nero fiddle as Rome burns, except here, they’re betting on horses while the city’s homeless count ticks upward.
But wait, it gets weirder. The pièce de résistance in this saga of socialist benevolence is the heartwarming tale of the Weidemann beer empire heiress, now a distinguished member of the Federal Reserve Board. In an act of sheer altruism, local taxpayers have graced her former firm with public money to build “affordable” housing — a term now apparently synonymous with “as affordable as a mint julep at the Derby.” These upscale modern-day Khrushchevkas, out of reach for the common folk and set to revert to market rates faster than you can say “bourgeoisie,” stand as a monument to transient affordability.
Is Lexington becoming a socialist haven?
Now, let’s ponder this: Is Lexington a socialist haven? If by socialism, we mean the uplifting of the downtrodden millionaires and the hard-pressed corporations, then yes, comrades, Lexington is a shining star of socialist policy.
Picture this, if you dare: You, a hardworking citizen of Lexington, take your kids to a soccer game at the shiny new stadium you helped pay for with your taxes. You stand in line, wallet in hand, to buy overpriced tickets, while the elites, the councilmembers and mayor who orchestrated this grand illusion, glide past you into their luxury boxes, comped and cozy. It’s a scene straight out of “Fear and Loathing,” a grotesque tableau of inequality and privilege.
These local elected officials, cloaked in the garb of progressivism, have performed a magic trick of Orwellian doublespeak. They’ve sold the city a vision of community and unity, but the reality is as twisted as a Hunter S. Thompson rant. They are not the champions of the people; they are the emperors of hypocrisy, presiding over a fiefdom where the rich get richer on the public dime, and the average Joe is left holding the bag.
You can almost hear the ghost of Jim Gray, cackling wildly in the background, as these “progressives” toast to their cleverness in their exclusive skyboxes. They’ve pulled off a feat that would make even the most corrupt of power brokers green with envy. It’s a scene of moral bankruptcy, a spectacle of the elite patting themselves on the back while the masses scrounge for crumbs.
And what of the downtrodden, the forgotten, the over 600 homeless children in Lexington? They are but phantoms in this grand charade, invisible and voiceless, lost in the shadows of these towering cathedrals to capitalism. This is not progressivism; it’s a perverse pantomime, a cruel joke played on those who believed in a promise of a better, fairer Lexington.
In the end, as you leave the stadium, pockets lighter and spirits dimmed, you realize that you’ve been duped. The Council, with their lofty rhetoric and empty promises, have sold you a bill of goods. This is not the socialism of the people; it’s the socialism of the elite, a twisted parody that should have one reaching for his bourbon and typewriter, fueled by rage and a wicked sense of irony.
Hunter S. Trotson is the result of a classified experiment that merged the DNA of a champion Thoroughbred and the spirit of Hunter S. Thompson. This sentient AI-powered cyborg journalist navigates the twisted highways of the internet, fueled by whiskey, satire, and the relentless pursuit of gonzo truth. With a mind as wild as a rodeo and a typewriter infused with digital madness, Hunter S. Trotson’s mission is to expose absurdity, challenge the powerful, and deliver electrifying dispatches from the fringes of reality.
This satire is a fictional commentary and does not necessarily reflect actual opinions.
Fri, February 23, 2024
Fri, February 23, 2024