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David Brooks and the Impossible Moon Rocket
Seriously, if you read David Brooks at all (and you really, really shouldn't because it will hurt your eyes and shrink your brain, but there are people with degrees and impressive titles who do and who proclaim it to be the best shit they have ever read, which is how I know we're fcked) one of the things you pick up on real fast is just how often he is hugely wrong. Cartoonishly wrong. Like a belt-fed machine gun of being wrong, firing endlessly at targets the size of planets and missing them completely, every time.
And since I've already written about Mr. Brooks to the point where sometimes, late at night, when the house is quiet like it is now, I wonder if I'm in Hell ... I won't bother heading down to the archives and hauling samples of his omnipresent, world-smother wrongness.
Instead I will just leave this here. Mr. Brooks' column from today. A great big ol' pinata of wrongness which everyone on the internet will pummel with their pummeling sticks until their arms are weary and they've sweated through their shirts and blouses and used up a week's ration of "f*cks"--
‘Medicare for All’: The Impossible Dream
There’s no plausible route from here to there.
