Date: circa 1891
1 soldiers regarded or treated as expendable in every battle
2 an expendable or exploitable person, group, or thing
So today, late in the work day my boss says ‘Hey Brunemeyer, lets go. We’re off to Monmouth County to push up a 30’. This translated into driving to one of the wealthiest towns in the country to push ups a $2,000 flagpole, on a guys front lawn, in front of his brand new anitque looking 4000 sq ft summer home, a block from the ocean.
On the way back south to our humble base camp we got to discussing the state of affairs we face today. Things like the, largest environmental disaster ever seen, the riots in Greece and Ice Land, Wall St. bailouts and ‘to big to fail’.
I mentioned that I’d been listening to the Lord Ramage novels and the Richard Sharpe series on my blinky book reader and how the idea of Cannon Fodder hadn’t changed since the beginning of time. We, and I’ll be liberal in thinking of anyone not of the ‘mover and shaker’ cast are nothing but cannon fodder. 1% give or take of humanity is and has always controlled the game. The 99% remaining are nothing but Cannon Fodder. We the ‘enlisted, drafted, enslaved, pressed’ are of no concern beyond our use as prostitutes consumers, borrowers, laborers, clarks willing of necessity to sell our minds bodies and souls to survive swindled and defrauded with the scam we call the American Dream. “yep, you too can live the life of luxury and hedonistic over indulgence if ya work hard and do as we say”
Now you may say ‘not me, I have a degree, a good job, great future and who knows what all else but think about it. Loose your job, get sick or have any sort of setback and see how fast all that secure future is real and how much is so much hype.
It’s the same old tune, cyclical and unending, I’d hoped we’d evolved to something better than our brutish past proved. I’d thought maybe just maybe we’d learned at least in some small way that we’re all in it together but no I was delusional, drunk or stoned. We are still a brutish species. The revolutionary war in the U.S., the French Revolution, Russia, India, Iran, Cuba et al are but blips in the great theater of history. The little men behind the curtain still play Svengali and we still march, bayonets at the ready, stocks on, hopes and patriotism swirling in our minds into the breach to die. To play our parts, no more valuable than chits, or playing cards in the great game of life.