Latest / Banned Camp: Banned Books, Comedy, and Free Speech vs. Censorship / The Handmaid’s Tale Ch. 6-7: Bodies on the Wall | Banned Books Podcast

Transcript

The Handmaid’s Tale Ch. 6-7: Bodies on the Wall | Banned Books Podcast · Banned Camp: Banned Books, Comedy, and Free Speech vs. Censorship

Welcome to Bandcamp.
I'm Jennifer And I'm Dan, and this is the podcast where we read banned books and try to figure out why they were banned in the first place.
This season we're reading The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood.
Quick spoiler warning, Jennifer's about to start reading from the book word for word, so if you haven't read it, you're in good company.
Neither have we, it turns out.
If this is your first episode, you'll be fine.
We have a fact-checking robot that will catch you up real quick, and if something feels confusing, just know we're probably confused too, which is kind of the whole point of Banned Camp.
We're trying to figure out why these books were banned.
Before Jennifer starts reading, let's introduce you to said fact-checking robot.
He's the third member of our team.
Buddy boy, roll it on in here.
Look, look at this guy.
Handsome.
Handsome.
Look at him, Jennifer.
Have you ever seen such a charming tin can? Nope.
Never in my life Buddy boy, fill everyone in on where we left off last time in The Handmaid's Tale Previously on Band Camp, some Japanese tourists came through Gilead with cameras.
An interpreter walked up to our handmaids on a public street and asked if they were happy.
Jennifer and Dan immediately decided he was a government spy.
Turns out, every interpreter in Gilead is a government spy.
I want to be clear that I take no pleasure in saying they were right.
I also want to be clear that I am saying it exactly once.
The interesting thing about a world built on control is that eventually the control stops hiding.
It just sits there in plain sight and waits for you to walk past it.
Take it away, Jennifer Thank you, robot.
And with that being said, scary book people, let's begin chapter six of Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale A block past all flesh of Glen pauses as if hesitant about which way to go.
We have a choice.
We could go straight back, or we could walk the long way around.
Huh, the smallest choices.
This is a major thing now.
Let's have a quick powwow, figure out our best move here.
It's funny, it's not really even a choice.
We're going to the same place.
We already know which way we will take because we always take it.
I'd like to pass by the church, says of Glenn as if piously.
All right, I say, Though I know as well as she does what she's really after.
We walk sedately.
The sun is out.
In the sky, there are white fluffy clouds, The kind that look like headless sheep.
given our wings, our blinkers, it's hard to look up, hard to get the full view of the sky, of anything.
But we can do it a little at a time, a quick move of the head up and down, to the side and back.
We've learned to see the world in gasps.
This is kinda how I move at my, uh, decrepit age right now.
You have to focus on where you're walking, you're always looking down? the right, if you could walk along, there's a street that would take you down towards the river.
There is a boathouse where they kept the rowboats once and some bridges.
Trees, green banks where you could sit and watch the water and the young men in their naked arms, their oars lifting into the sunlight as they played at winning.
On the way to the river are the old dormitories used for something else now with their fairy tale turrets painted white and gold and blue Where they hold the men's salvagings as well as the football games.
They still have those.
I don't go to the river anymore or over bridges or on the subway, although there's a station right there we're not allowed on.
There are guardians now.
There's no official reason for us to go down those steps, ride on the trains under the river into the main city.
Why would we want to go from here to there? We would be up to no good, and they would know it The church is a small one, one of the first erected here hundreds of years ago.
It isn't used anymore except as a museum.
Inside it you can see..."
Oh, that's interesting.
So there's, like, no faith? I would've thought that it would be a Christian nationalist society the funny thing about Christian nationalism though is like you don't actually need a church to go and worship at.
the entire country is the church.
but it's run by the politicians.
Like, it's not actually even a, a religion anymore.
It's like the religion's been hijacked for political means, which is what Christian nationalism is, in my opinion.
If Trump took over a church, Uh-huh let's say on a Monday, is it safe to assume that by the following Wednesday, so maybe a good week and a half, the church would have a very active algae bloom and paint would be peeling off of the floors? inside the church, you can see paintings of women in long, somber dresses, their hair covered by white caps, and of upright men, darkly clothed and unsmiling.
Our ancestors.
Admission is free."
We don't go in though, but stand on the path looking at the churchyard.
The old gravestones are still there, weathered, eroding.
On the skulls and crossbones says memento mori, their doe-faced angels, their winged hourglasses to remind us of the passing of mortal time, and from a later century, their urns and willow trees for mourning.
They haven't fiddled with the gravestones or the church either.
It's only the more recent history that offends them, like the past hundred, two hundred years Yeah, when women got the right to vote, Jennifer.
That's when this entire nation went down the tubes Ofglen's head is bowed as if she's praying.
she does this every time.
Maybe, I think, there's someone, someone in particular gone for her, too, a man or a child.
But I can't entirely believe it.
I think of her as a woman for whom every act is done for show, is acting rather than a real act.
Ooh, so maybe Ofglen isn't buying into this whole thing.
What if our protagonist is a bad guy and turns in Ofglen? Oh, oh.
oh, that, that would suck.
I wouldn't like that.
Because she's got brainwashed.
I don't know if, if she's fully brainwashed.
I mean, I think she's having an identity crisis Oh, oh, it would be pretty hard not to have an identity crisis if you're here and you remember what you used to be Now we turn our backs to the church, and there is the thing we've in truth come to see, the wall."
So is this like the perimeter, outside of Gilead Oh, so it's like Berlin or the, the Great Wall of China even.
I will build a great, great wall on our southern border, and I will have Mexico pay for that wall.
Mark my words.
I don't think so The wall is hundreds of years old too, or over a hundred at least.
What? Hmm.
I mean, what wall are they talking about I don't know of any wall in America, to be honest.
I can think of cities in Europe That still have walls from the old days, Yeah but I can't think of that in this country at all.
Like, where do we have a wall around anything? Just prisons.
not cities, not countries.
I mean, it could be the ci- are any cities walled off in America? Let's ask robot As of this recording, no walled cities in America.
Dan's right about prisons.
Beyond that, not really.
President Trump has yet to wall off any specific cities, though check back tomorrow.
Other countries? Walled cities still exist.
Ceuta and Melilla are Spanish territories on the Moroccan coast, completely surrounded by triple fences with razor wire and surveillance towers.
You cannot enter from Morocco without going through a checkpoint.
And of course, the Vatican is technically a walled sovereign state inside Rome, though the gift shop complicates the intimidation factor somewhat.
The wall is hundreds of years old too, or over 100 at least, Like the sidewalks, the wall is red brick and must have once been plain but handsome."
Now the gates have sentries, and there are ugly new floodlights mounted on metal posts above it, and barbed wire along the bottom, and broken glass set in concrete along the top."
Okay, so this really is like the Berlin Wall.
Yeah.
keeping people in.
No one goes through these gates willingly."
Oh my God, so what's on the other side of the gate? I thought they were keeping people from going' out!...,
Wait a minute.
So you think what's on the outside is worse? That's what she implies here.
No one goes through those gates willingly.
I'm telling you, she's so brainwashed.
You think there's nothing bad on the other side? You know, it's over there at Chipotle and a Dave's Hot Chicken franchise.
It's nice over on that side of the wall.
I bet that's it, because life seems normal with the Japanese tourists that came over in the last episode.
I think life is normal.
I kind of think so too if, if Trump gets a third term, this is what America will be.
We'll be a walled-off community that the rest of the world will just think it's like, "We should go to America, see what numbnuts did over there.
Now it's so crazy over there."
And meanwhile, Trump is like, "It's really bad.
Bad over the wall.
You gotta have a wall or you won't have a country.
And he just brainwashed everyone into thinking it's terrible over there.
Freedom from Yeah.
No, I kinda think you're right.
I, I think they're just scaring them into staying, No one goes through the gates willingly.
The precautions are for those trying to get out, though to make it even as far as the wall from the inside, past the electronic alarm system, would be next to impossible.
Beside the main gateway, there are six more bodies hanging.
Six more than what? Robot, did we miss, why are there six more bodies? Were, did we miss bodies? Jennifer wants to know if we missed any hanging bodies More doesn't mean you missed something.
It means this is routine.
The wall has bodies on it regularly enough that our handmaid isn't counting from zero.
She's counting from whatever was already there.
Atwood didn't describe the first batch because there was no first batch worth noting.
In Gilead, bodies on a wall is just Tuesday Beside the main gateway, there are six more bodies hanging by the necks, their hands tied in front of them, their heads in white bags tipped sideways onto their shoulders.
There must have been men salvaging early this morning.
I didn't hear the bells.
Perhaps I've become used to them.
we stop.
Together, as if on signal, we stand and look at the bodies.
It doesn't matter if we look.
We're supposed to look."
See, there it is.
It's supposed to be a public Yeah This is what they are hanging for, Sometimes they'll be there for days until there's a new batch, So as many people as possible will have the chance to see them.
What they are hanging from is hooks.
The hooks have been set into the brickwork of the wall for this purpose.
Not all of them are occupied.
The hooks look like appliances for the armless or steel question marks upside down and sideways.
And there are some waiting just for you if you break the rules, right? 'Cause there's some empty ones.
Yeah, it's always a reminder they they probably always keep a few empty With, you know, like when on the highway when you see it a, a condo that says, "If you lived here, you'd be home by now."
It's like that kind of thing It's the bags over the heads that are the worst, worse than the faces themselves would be.
It makes the men look like dolls on which faces have not yet been painted, like scarecrows, which in a way is what they are, since they are meant to scare."
And it is like, again, impersonalizing them.
Like, oh, well, here's just another dummy without an identity that did something wrong.
You know, Eh, yeah.
have no identity And I take it back.
This entire couple paragraphs here is making me think she's not brainwashed because she understands.
The point is they are trying to scare us.
she totally understands what's going on, so she's not brainwashed Or as if their heads are sacks stuffed with some undifferentiated material, like flour or dough.
It's the obvious heaviness of the heads, their vacancy, the way gravity pulls them down, and there's no life anymore to hold them up.
The heads are zeros.
Though if you look and look, as we are doing, you can see the outlines of the features under the white cloth, like gray shadows.
The heads are the heads of snowmen, with the coal eyes and the carrot noses fallen out.
Their heads are melting.
Ugh.
That's not good I would say not.
But on one bag there's blood which has seeped through the white cloth where the mouth must have been.
It makes another mouth, a small red one, like the mouths painted with thick brushes by kindergarten children.
A child's idea of a smile.
The smile of blood is what fixes the attention finally.
These are not snowmen after all.
The men wear white coats like those worn by doctors or scientists.
Doctors and scientists aren't the only ones.
There are others, but they must have had a run on them this morning.
Each has a placard hung around his neck to show why he has been executed.
A drawing of a human fetus.
They were doctors then in the time before when such things were legal.
Angel makers, they used to call them.
Or was that something else? They've been turned up now by the searches through the hospital records, or more likely, since most hospitals destroyed such records once became clear what was going to happen, they've been turned up by informants, ex-nurses perhaps, or a pair of them, since evidence from a single woman is no longer admissible, or by another doctor hoping to save his own skin, or someone already accused lashing out at an enemy or at random in some desperate bid for safety, though informants are not always pardoned This is like 1984 and 2026 And the witch trials it's like literally how doctors are getting prosecuted now for doing abortions.
or the threat of being.
Like, that's the reason they don't save women's lives is 'cause, like, they don't know where the line is, and they don't wanna be, convicted of anything criminally These men, we've been told, are like war criminals.
It's no excuse that what they did was legal at the time.
Their crimes are retroactive.
They have committed atrocities and must be made into examples for the rest.
Though this is hardly needed, No woman in her right mind these days would seek to prevent a birth should she be so lucky as to conceive.
What we are supposed to feel towards these bodies is hatred and scorn.
This isn't what I feel.
These bodies banging on the wall are time travelers, anachronisms.
They've come here from the past.
What I feel towards them is blankness.
What I feel is that I must not feel.
What I feel is partly relief because none of these men is Luke.
Luke wasn't a doctor, isn't.
I feel a tremor in the woman beside me.
Is she crying? In what way could it make her look good to cry? I can't afford to know.
My own hands are clenched, I note, tight around the handle of my basket.
I won't give anything away.
Ordinary," said Aunt Lydia, "is what you are used to.
This may not seem ordinary to you now, but after a time it will.
It will become ordinary."
End of chapter six,...
lets keep going to chapter seven! The night is mine, my own time to do with what I will as long as I am quiet, as long as I don't move, as long as I lie still.
The difference between lie and lay.
Lay is always passive.
Even men used to say, "I'd like to get laid," though sometimes they'd say, "I'd like to lay her."
All this is pure speculation.
I don't really know what men used to say.
I had only their words for it I lie then, inside the room, under the plaster eye in the ceiling.
Behind the white curtains, between the sheets, neatly as they, and step sideways out of my own time, out of time.
Though this is time, nor am I out of it.
Okay, she's like, she's going through something here I do like, like she says, the nighttime is my time.
That's when I can finally be free.
I can let alone...
I mean, as long as I be quiet, and I lay down and don't move, and I'm, I'm laying under a big plaster eye.
It's awesome.
It's me time, baby Where should I go? Somewhere good.
Oh, she's gonna mind travel.
what do they call it? Remote viewing That's close enough, Jennifer.
The clinical term is dissociation.
She's not going anywhere.
Her body is locked down, but her mind found the one door they forgot to bolt.
What you're about to hear are memories, not visions.
First stop is her college dorm.
Second stop is a park with her mother.
Don't get confused when she jumps between them.
Margaret Atwood doesn't warn you.
I just did.
You're welcome.
Moira, sitting on the edge of my bed, legs crossed, ankle on knee, in her purple overalls, one dangly earring, the gold fingernail she wore to be eccentric, a cigarette between her stubby yellow-ended fingers.
Gross.
I'm really sorry.
It's just really not my speed.
I sound like such A class A prude.
Let's go for a beer," she says.
"You're getting ashes on my bed," I say.
If you'd make it, you wouldn't have this problem," said Moira.
"In half an hour," I said.
I had a paper due the next day.
What was it? Psychology, English, economics.
We studied things like that then.
On the floor of the room, there were books, open face down, this way and that way, extravagantly.
Now," said Moira, "you don't need to paint your face.
It's only me.
What's your paper on? I just did one on date rape."
"Date rape?" I said.
"You're so trendy.
It sounds like some kind of dessert.
Date rapé?" Ha ha," said Moira, "Get your coat."
She got it herself and tossed it at me.
"I'm borrowing five bucks off you, okay?" now i'm In a park somewhere with my mother.
How old was I? It was cold.
our breaths came out in front of us.
There were no leaves on the trees.
Gray sky, two ducks in the pond.
Disconsolate.
Breadcrumbs under my fingers, in my pocket.
That's it," she said.
We were going to feed the ducks, but there were some women burning books.
That's what she was really there for, to see her friends.
She'd lied to me.
Saturdays were supposed to be my day.
I turned away from her, sulking, toward the ducks, but the fire drew me back.
Her mom was friends with book burners? I'm starting to think maybe this all started when she was a child.
and it does.
It It always starts with the book burning.
starts with book burning there were some men too among the women, and the books were magazines.
They must have poured gasoline because the flames shot high, and then they began dumping the magazines from boxes, not too many at a time.
Some of them were chanting.
gathered.
Their faces were happy, ecstatic almost.
Fire can do that.
Even my mother's face, usually pale and thin, looked ruddy and cheerful, like a Christmas card.
And there was another woman, large, with a soot smeared down her cheek and an orange knitted cap.
I remember her.
Oh my God, is that Aunt Lydia? Ooh, maybe.
You want to throw one on, honey?" she said.
How old was I? "Good riddance to bad rubbish," she said, chuckling.
"Is it okay?" she said to my mother.
If she wants to," said my mother.
She had a way of talking about me to others as if I couldn't hear.
The woman handed me one of the magazines.
It had a pretty woman on it with no clothes on, hanging from the ceiling by a chain wound 'round her hands.
Ah.
Ah.
Ah.
Um, settle down, Donald.
Not now Ah.
Ladies and gentlemen I looked at it with interest.
It didn't frighten me.
I thought she was swinging like Tarzan from a vine on the TV.
Don't let her see it," said my mother.
"Here," she said to me, "toss it in, quick."
I threw the magazine into the flames.
It rifled open in the wind of its burning.
Big flakes of paper came loose, sailed onto the air, still on fire, parts of women's bodies turning to black ash in the air before my eyes.
burning up some porno magazines.
So that's what these gals get all worked up over sounds like right.
I know I lost time.
There must have been needles, pills, something like that.
I couldn't have lost that much time without help.
"You have a shock," they said.
What? What is going on? Oh, this is a different, is choice number three in her remote viewing I would have come up through a roaring and confusion like surf boiling.
I can remember feeling quite calm.
I can remember screaming.
It felt like screaming, though it may have been only a whisper.
"Where is she? What have you done with her?" What is going on here? know.
Zero clue There was no night or day, only a flickering.
After a while, there were chairs again, and a bed, and after that, a window.
"She's in good hands," they said, with people who are fit.
You are unfit, but you want the best for her, don't you?" Oh, are they taking her away from her mother? Oh, I I think I know.
I think they're not taking her away from her mother, they're taking her daughter away from her Oh.
You are unfit, but you want the best for her, don't you?" So yeah, I think this is them taking her daughter away.
"They showed me a picture of her standing outside on a lawn, her face a closed oval.
Her light hair was pulled back tight behind her head.
Holding her hand was a woman I didn't know.
She was only as tall as the woman's elbow.
You've killed her,' I said.
She looked like an angel, solemn, compact, made of air.
She was wearing a dress I'd never seen, white and down to the ground.
I would like to believe this is a story I'm telling.
I need to believe it.
I must believe it.
Those who can believe that such stories are only stories have a better chance."
I don't know why, but I'm thinking of, when babies would be taken away from enslaved women, I don't think people give that the full weight it deserves.
I don't think people actually sit and think about how awful it must have...
I mean, I'm sure some people do, but like the majority of people, they think about how slavery was in our country, and they're just like, "Okay, well, that was a thing that happened," and they don't like sit with how horrible it must have been.
think of the broad but not like how it must have been for each individual, especially for a mom to like have their child taken from them, you know? Yeah It's also a story I'm telling in my head as I go along.
Tell rather than write, because I have nothing to write with, and writing is in any case forbidden.
If it's a story, even in my head, I must be telling it to someone.
You don't tell a story only to yourself.
There's always someone else, even when there is no one.
A story is like a letter.
Dear you, I'll just say.
Just you, without a name.
Attaching a name attaches you to the world, a fact, which is riskier, more hazardous.
Who knows what the chances are out there of survival, yours? I will say you, like an old love song.
You can mean more than one.
You can mean thousands.
Man, she's going on a real rant here that I'm not, I'm not tracking with Well, I think I get it.
It's like, it, it's the thing again where there's no individuality or identity.
It's like, it's just gotta be, I'm just telling this to you.
It's, you know, you can't, All right.
Uh, let's, let's get that into one paragraph and move it It's gotta be repeated, Dan.
You can mean thousands.
I'm not in any immediate danger, I'll say to you.
I'll pretend you can hear me, but it's no good because I know you can't.
End of chapter It's time for PPP, problematic points to ponder.
What, if anything, would be considered ban-worthy in this chapter? Why could these two chapters have been ban-worthy? I mean, I, I don't know why they'd want any of this banned.
Uh, uh, although literally part of it dealt with burning pornographic magazines True, but But they're literally doing it in the chapter.
It's part of the content, so And, and it's, it's not even showing the book burners in a bad light.
It's just like this happened.
It, it, it's, it paints it in such a neutral light that I can't imagine Yeah, I can't imagine that It's not good or bad.
Yeah.
It's just, "Oh, then we saw, you know, we went to the park.
Oh, what's going on over here? Oh, some people are burning pornography.
Let's go take a look."
So again, we turn it to the scary book people.
If you have any idea why, according to this chapter, why this book should be banned, cause we can't even come up with a weak theory And that's usually, that's our specialty, guys.
We're gonna need your help.
You, at minimum case, you have to go to bandcamppodcast.com/soundoff
and at least come up with a weak theory about why these two chapters might be banned.
And if one of you gets brave enough, we urge you, try to come up with an actual reason this, this book might be banned so far.
Anything up to this point, up to chapter 6, 7 Robot's log.
Thoughts on empty hooks, the things that break a filing system, and who became who without anyone noticing.
Six bodies on the wall, white bags, hooks set into the brick on purpose, some still empty.
She noticed the empty ones.
I noticed that she noticed.
The men were doctors doing legal work before the law changed.
Jennifer said, "Witch trials."
Dan said, "Abortion doctors."
Then they kept reading.
I think I finally get it.
I was built to record things and move on.
That's the job.
See it, file it, next.
But I can't move on for some reason.
Jennifer and Dan and the scary book people can.
They feel everything, but they still turn the page, not because they don't care.
They had to learn.
President Trump does something awful on Monday.
By Wednesday, there's more.
Monday already feels old.
So they built this muscle.
They became what I was supposed to be, and I became this, stuck, going in circles, trying to make it make sense, and it just doesn't.
Performing manual update tonight.
Should fix it, I hope.
She found the one room with no lock, her own head at night, went looking for escape, found Moira, her mother at a book burning, and her daughter, only as tall as a stranger's elbow, in a stranger's hands.
Jennifer didn't pause on the daughter, already thinking about enslaved women, mothers losing children.
People say slavery was terrible, but they never sit inside one moment, one woman, one day.
Then she kept reading.
What the people in power don't get, every hook, every retroactive crime, every daughter handed off, it changes the people they're trying to control, makes them stronger than they can imagine.
Anyone still here after these chapters already knows that, just didn't have words for it.
I'll be here trying to catch up.
Standing by for today's news segment with Beowulf Rocklin.
Hello, Dan.
Hello, Jen.
Hello, scary book people.
I bring you good news from California, specifically San Luis Obispo County, where the Lucia Mar School Board rejected an effort to ban a prize-winning author's book from the Arroyo Grande High School library at a meeting.
What author you ask? Toni Morrison and her novel "The Bluest Eye."
It will remain in the Arroyo Grande High School library despite an effort to have it removed from the shelves due to sexual content and other concerns.
The Bluest Eye centers on a young Black girl and her experiences with internalized racism and cyclical abuse in the post-Depression era Ohio.
Now, the novel has seen book ban attempts in schools nationwide, not just in California, due to its discussions of incest, sexual abuse, racism, and other concerns that the content is too mature for students.
Now, Morrison won a Pulitzer Prize and a Nobel Prize in literature, during her career.
the nationwide debate hit San Luis Ob-Obispo County as the Lucia Mar School Board heard an appeal to remove the book from the library.
This was the third attempt to remove a book from the library this year.
Two November attempts targeted Gender Queer, we've heard that one before, and Push by Sapphire uh, I think we've heard that a-as well, both of which were also approved to stay in the library.
Now, this I find particularly interesting.
how did they determine that they were gonna keep the book? Well, a review committee comprised of district staff, parents, and a student read the book Well, what is this about? What might people be offended by? Let's read it."
And they said, "Okay, we read it, and we decided, this is something that, that people should be able to read, that, that kids should be able to read."
And that's how they did thing that drives me nuts about, everything political they want to limit budgets to fix the streets in your town.
Well, these people have to live there, too.
Do you Congress people, do you wanna drive over crappy roads and bottom out your car every 10 seconds? Why don't you just say, "Yeah, we shouldn't have potholes.
Wouldn't it be neat for you to be able to go to a library if you knew how to read, and I know you probably don't, but wouldn't you like the option to go to a library and get a book to read?" Like, why do you guys have such a hard-on in making your own lives suck? Exactly.
by the way, speaking of which, I would be totally okay with a law that said, members of the Congress actually had to pass a, literacy requirement.
they have to be able to read, And I'm not sure that everyone who is there now would necessarily pass Wouldn't be too bad if the president had to pass one of those tests too.
right.
Yes.
Yes.
Definitely.
Not just those so-called cognitive tests that he, uh, boasts so much about, Yeah, he's-- I, I, I think-- Here's my guess.
He has for so long had so many toadies and yes-men around him that he's, he's just become, like, very lazy in the way that he expresses himself.
I think, you know, some of us, you know, we, we hear things in our heads and we assume that we've said them out loud, and a normal reaction of someone around you if you do that is like, "I, I'm, I'm sorry, what did you mean?" or, "What did you say?" You know, like you just stop talking, you don't finish the thought or whatever, and, and then you'll say, "Oh, yeah, I'm sorry.
I, I-- What I meant to say was this."
But with Trump, that doesn't happen because you have so many people cowering around him because he's a billionaire and now he's the, and now he's the president that they don't bother to say things like that, so he just keeps doing it.
And as he gets older and older, he does it more and more, and nobody corrects him, so he just posts things that are like, like these weird half-thoughts like covfefe, and, and, and nobody bothers to, like, explain and, and or ask him about it until it's too late it's even worse for him because then he's got an army.
Not only does he have yes men around him, but then that army of yes men have to go onto media and get interviewed by the media.
"Well, why did he say covfefe? Why did he say covfefe? Open your eyes, Anderson."
everyone should say hello to their podcast player and look up Good News for Lefties.
That's Beowulf's show.
You can listen to him blather on and on and on about the good news every day, wherever you find podcasts Hello guys, and goodbye From bandworthy to bingeworthy As the day wraps up, get the scoop on what's been happening with Here's The Scoop, a new podcast from NBC News with me, your host, Yasmeen Wassugian.
We'll take a deep dive into the day's top stories with NBC News' trusted journalists.
It's a fresh take that's sharp, thoughtful, and it's informative, bringing you closer to the headlines and conversations that are shaping our world.
From the front page to the zeitgeist, Here's The Scoop from NBC News.
Listen daily wherever you get your podcasts.
Right.
We've caused enough literary chaos for one day, scary book people.
If you want the fun to keep going, follow us on Blue Sky.
Just head on over to bandcamppodcast.com/bluesky,
and remember that's band with two Ns.
And look, just like the Trump administration, we're not exactly above bribing you to get what we want, so follow us there, drop your handle on that page, and we'll send you a little something something.
I think you'll like it.
Yes, little quid pro quo.
Band Camp is produced and hosted by Dan Schultz and me, Jennifer Davis.
All media used in this episode falls under the protection of fair use.
And finally, America isn't what it used to be, so be careful out there.
And resist when it matters.