Frank Gallagher, ever the unlikely prophet, delivers a drunken yet poignant critique of subtle authoritarianism, reminding us all to stay vigilant and question the systems that seek to control us.
Frank Gallagher’s Rant at the Alibi Room: “Flimsy Fascism and the American Dream”
Scene: The Alibi Room, dimly lit and filled with the usual crowd. Frank Gallagher stumbles in, a bottle in hand, and climbs onto a table to address the patrons.
Frank:
Alright, listen up, you magnificent degenerates! I just watched this little video clip—some political bigwig blabbering about “flimsy fascism.” Made me think, and that’s dangerous, I know. But bear with me.
He takes a swig from his bottle.
Now, this guy’s talking about how fascism doesn’t always come jackbooted and screaming. Sometimes, it’s soft, subtle—like a whisper in your ear telling you to comply, to conform, to consume. Sound familiar?
He gestures around the bar.
We’re living it, folks. Every time you’re told to keep your head down, not make waves, accept the scraps you’re given—that’s the soft squeeze of control. They don’t need to beat you into submission when they can lull you into complacency.
Frank paces atop the table.
They dress it up nice, call it “order” or “patriotism.” But it’s the same old song: keep the rich rich, keep the poor in their place. And we, the Gallaghers of the world, we dance to their tune because we’re too tired, too beaten down to fight back.
He raises his bottle.
But here’s the thing—they’re scared. Scared of what happens when we stop playing along. When we see the strings and decide to cut them. So, they feed us lies, distractions, cheap booze, and reality TV.
Frank looks around, eyes blazing.
But not me. Not today. Today, I see the game for what it is. And I’m telling you, it’s rigged. But if we stand up, even stumble up like I am now, we can tip the scales.
He stumbles, nearly falling off the table, then regains his balance.
So, here’s to flimsy fascism—may we recognize it, call it out, and, with any luck, piss all over it.
He raises his bottle high, and the bar erupts in cheers.
End Scene.