IS THIS THE PRICE FOR HAVING LEARNED HOW NOT TO CRY?

Life has a funny sort of way to keep us from doing the things we want to do; and it has an even funnier way of keeping us from doing the things we’re kind of dreading, which is why this entry in the continuing saga of fisking Liberality for All took so many long weeks. I mean, if this is the sort of thing you had to sit down and actually engage with, you’d probably be pretty reluctant, too.

Previously: in the waning hours of 10 September, 2021, a crowd of either righteous American patriots or psychotic isolationist wingnuts (we’re never really told) storms the UNity Tower to protest the award of the Cheese-Eating Dhimmipeans Favoritest Muslem EVAR plaque to Osama bin Laden, or whatever the hell he’s doing there. I forget these things. Meanwhile, Blind Ollie North is getting his mind-meld on with Freedom the eagle and flashing back to the halcyon days when the Right had the economic power to send kids to college with the express goal of making them sleeper agents fighting against liberals. The word “war” is used approvingly. God bless us, every one.

We slam back into the high-pitched fever action of Blind Ollie lying on a hospital bed. CyberSean and Norscar are yelling at each other about “unplug” this and “that will kill him” that, with a dollop of Mike Mackey’s favorite “see, it’s the future, SEE?!?!?!” frippery, nanotech. I’d like to recount some dialogue directly, to see if you can make any more sense of it than I could:

Sean: “Disconnect it…stop this now!
Norscar: “If I do, it will kill Ollie for sure. We have to hope the nanites repair the damage that they themselves are causing.
Sean: “His face?”

His face indeed, CyberSean. Meanwhile, Diana, the Amazing Catsuit Catholic, preps the defibrillator paddles as she prays, “Lord, you can fix this.” Ollie, or the defibrillator? Or just life in general? I’m in the middle of War and Peace at the moment, so I hope it’s the last of these.

An actually well-drawn panel, with depth an’ everything, follows: Diana praying over Ollie in the back, G. Gordon Liddy in the middle, shocked that Ollie looks younger (because Liddy, being a nanomutant, takes a cynical view of technological advance), and Norscar in the foreground worries about Ollie’s heart rate.

A triptych then occurs, which dashes all of that “well-drawn” shit right to the ground:

From the text, I would certainly assume that we’re meant to see his arm getting “younger and younger,” but if you can make that out, you’re better than I am. Anyay, the EKG goes “eeeee” and Ollie dies, but not. Because on the next page, he’s still alive and well in his flashback. He sends Reagan off to join those goddam pinkos at university, when Reagan suddenly transforms into a giant eagle silhouette that addresses him as Colonel North, and tells hims that “all eyes are open here.” I’m very confused: is Ollie dreaming, or what? Because we’ve already seen that he can remember seeing things, so if he’s still stuck in his subconscious, he shouldn’t be amazed that he can see. But he is. So he must be bodily wherever the eagle is, but the grainy grey wash tends to belie that, grain being the LFA shorthand for “hallucination. Anyway, I’d feel bad about depriving everybody of one swell image.

Back in reality, Diana is going to town with the defib paddles until CyberSean grabs her arm and informs her that Ollie’s aorta ruptured. You know, it just occurred to me, I don’t remember ever being told what was causing Ollie’s problems. Or being told that he was having problems, before we saw him hooked up to the damn bird. Contrivance, I declare!

Anyway, Sean sadly covers up Ollie’s dead corpse with the words “semper fi, my friend.” Norscar starts moaning about how it was all his fault, and Sean sternly reminds him that Ollie was a Marine. Yeah, we got that. “Semper Fi,” and that.

Thus passeth Oliver North, a liar and a lackey for traitors. I mean, a conservative hero. Remember everybody, it’s not a crime if the President asks you to do it. Meanwhile, the ever-sensitive author shows us his incredible grasp of how human beings act in moments of stress and grief:

Ollie’s death forgotten, the four remaining members of Kill the Libs F.O.I.L. joke about their crappy intelligence network, and Liddy playfully reminds us how he NAILED A FUCKING PIG SKIN TO A MUSLIM MAN. Reagan takes Freedom the eagle, also apparently dead, and weeps over its body, in front of what appears to be a metal woman’s leg covered in a cloth. I have a bad feeling about this.

Also, the woman is nowhere to be seen in the wider angle on the same space.

In Ollie’s dream/peyote-induced spirit quest, the giant eagle is making all with the godly: “You have fought a good fight. You have finished his course. You have kept the faith.” And so on. Then the eagle sweeps into the light and informs Ollie that his day has not yet come, and apparently claws his face off with its talons. It’s a little hard to figure out.

Freedom rises on Reagan’s lap, and soars away. “Hey!” shouts Reagan to the others, “Freedom isn’t dead…he’s alive.” Really? That wasn’t just you throwing the eagle in the air? Good to know. Mike Mackey has some problems with “show, don’t tell.” Anyway, Freedom flies over to a man (obviously Ollie), of whom we see only his feet. Ooh, Christlike! The bird perches on the man’s tautly muscled arm, and in the full-page panel that ends the issue, the bird’s comically serious face and Sighted Ollie North’s lovingly rendered abs carry us out as the risen hero proclaims, “We have only seven hours left. Let’s roll.”

So really, is every male on the right a closeted homosexual?