My Saturday with Glenn Beck

CL has published several pieces over the past couple of days on Glenn Beck's appearance in Tampa.

Here's another one, written by activist and former Tampa City Council candidate Kelly Benjamin.

My Saturday with Glenn Beck – by Kelly Benjamin

I knew attending an event that subjects one to being surrounded by hundreds of half-witted, hate-filled, raving lunatics would be an exercise in masochism. That's why I mentally prepared myself for the abuse before leaving the house. And picking up the cream pie. Because, if I was going to smush a cream pie into the face of the leader of a batshit crazy angry mob in the middle of that batshit crazy angry mob, I needed to meditate. And put on padding. Especially when faced with the reality that whenever a rabid cult's idiotic hero, their savior from such scourges as health care for the poor, mysterious "czars", and intelligent dialogue gets a cream pie to the face, someone was most certainly going to get their ass kicked.

But it was worth it I kept telling myself. Because if there is any son of a bitch in this country that deserves to get a pie tossed in his ugly, racist, fear mongering, hate-spewing mug, it's Glenn Beck. I was shocked no one had done it sooner. This is a guy whose made a career out of scaring the hell out of people, lying to them, and playing on their lowest emotions. A guy who feeds on the bigotry, ignorance, and xenophobia of poor American couch potatoes and whips it into a reactionary blood lust. A guy who occasionally has to remind his followers NOT to go out and kill people (just yet) out of misplaced rage. Why had no one pied this guy sooner?

I've been a fan of the whole pie throwing movement for a awhile. I'd followed the adventures of the Biotic Baking Brigade in California who transformed the pie toss from a slapstick gag into a new form of political activism. They had successfully pied such right wing jerks as William F. Buckley, Ann Coulter, and Monsanto CEO Robert Shapiro under the philosophy of "in your face politics" and "having a laugh in the face of people who are destroying us."Jim Hightower called them the Boston Tea Party of our modern day and Jello Biafra called their good natured approach "one of the best protest tactics there is." I was totally sold on it until I read about the jail time some pranksters received after the pieing of San Francisco mayor Willie Brown and Alberta Premier Ralph Klein (Banana Creme). Some people can't take a joke.

And those were exactly the kind of people I found myself surrounded by as my wingwoman and I pulled into the Borders parking lot on Dale Mabry Highway where Glenn Beck was doing a book signing for his latest sniveling, pea-brained, bitchfest against the liberal conspiracy: "Arguing With Idiots." Hundreds of angry white people, many dressed in some combination of red, white, and blue, stretched out onto the sidewalk of the six lane highway wrapping around the strip mall next door. Many were holding misspelled signs with crude phrases degrading Pelosi, Obama, Acorn, and anyone else they've been conditioned to hate: .

I got out of the car with my delicious projectile well concealed in a plastic bag and walked the length of the line of brainwashed fanatics, stopping and chatting occasionally with anyone who had a sign that said something particularly insane like "Obama is the Anti-Christ" or "Beware the coming Socialist Dictatorship." These folks were good for an uneasy laugh, but there was something deeply disturbing about the way they regurgitated the same tired rhetoric that Beck reads them from the script ad nauseum every week on tv. "America is being destroyed by the Democrats." "The mainstream media are maggots." "Healthcare for poor people is evil," etc. Riveting stuff if you're into insipid, reactionary propaganda but absolutely horrifying if you look these people in the eyes and take note of their underlying fascistic tendencies. I was front row to the ravings of a cult of ferocious maniacs. It was both fascinating and bone chilling.

The most stunning thing about this collection of nincompoops, was the sheer number of them that not only take this buffoon seriously, but actually hang on his every word like he's some sort of divine prophet sent to save humanity from the twin plagues of reason and logic. Nothing is quite as spooky as a herd of nationalistic blockheads with a collective IQ of 35 that have been whipped into a frenzy by the chance of seeing their king in person and maybe even shake his chubby little hand.

I navigated the mob scene carefully to keep my cream-topped weapon concealed from the throngs. Once inside with my pie, i wandered up to the press line and ran into Mitch Perry, former WMNF News anchor and current Creative Loafing something or other. I was obviously on edge from the the negative energy these Glenn Beck goons exuded and asked Mitch if he felt it too. "No, I come here all the time." he said oddly. Before I had a chance to clarify, Mitch continued, "Gotta hand it to these conservatives, they're getting more people out with their grassroots organizing than the liberals are." I was confused. Mitch always seemed like a pretty grounded guy. Maybe he was being sarcastic or maybe by "grassroots" he meant funded by a national cable news network that spends millions manipulating dingbats with absurd fanatical propaganda repeated over and over until their brains turn to mush and beamed into millions of homes across America. Yes Mitch, delivery systems like Clear Channel and Fox News are real grassrootsy.

It was around this time that the giant Beck tour bus pulled up out front emblazoned with the  Beck as Soviet Officer photo (irony?)from the book cover. But as his flock of confused simpletons encircled his arriving tour bus out front, cameras flashing, the pied piper of the moron class made his stealth entrance through the back door. It was a telling maneuver that shed light on the whole Beck phenomenon: Dummies are easy to fool.

Glenn pulled out his bullhorn right away. He had an important announcement. Something was going to go down real soon. Something big that would help lead us towards the next great phase of America. Something that would shake things up and take our country back in the right direction. Something that would get these boneheads totally pumped up. "So make sure you tune in next week and I'll tell you all about it!" The cattle line erupted into applause. Gotta hand it to the guy, he can talk some bullshit right up there with the best snake oil salesmen in history.

So there I was standing ten feet from one of the most disgusting men in America holding a plastic bag with a melting cream pie. I watched the true-believers wait patiently in line as Beck began signing books and shaking hands. His security crew herded the masses through the velvet ropes with machine like precision. Beck was in his element; the adoration of stupid people undoubtedly a life long dream. "Look, honey! I got my picture with him!" a beaming woman gushed to her husband." I felt nauseous.

The time ticked by. I sized up the security. There was the requisite fat bald guy with sunglasses. A skinny guy with beady eyes who appeared to be on oxycontin. I knew I could get passed these two no problem. I envisioned a infuriated Glenn, face covered with pie cream. Crying. Only maybe this time it wasn't a staged cry, it would be a real sob. Maybe I hurt the poor guy's feelings. Maybe the cream burned his eyes.

I snapped out of it. The crowd was getting restless. A black man was in the corner yelling at Beck. He was holding up a copy of "The Audacity of Hope" by Barack Obama. Some shoving ensued and the mob began chanting: "USA! USA! USA!" A police officer escorted the enraged man to safety amidst the shouts and slurs of the throng.

The pie felt heavy in my hand. I stared at Beck and watched his eyes dart from person to person. "You're our hero!" someone shouted! "Thank You Glenn!" said someone else. I imagined myself being mauled by the angry crowd. Battered to a bloody pulp with copies of "Arguing with Idiots." I looked down at my pie. It began to drip. I looked around to see if anyone noticed. A guy with a crew cut made eye contact with me. His face was stern. I looked away at my wingwoman and she was shaking her head. "These people will tear you apart" she whispered. "And they'll take you to jail." I looked back at crew cut. He was undoubtedly staring me down. But he was 20 feet away. No way he could stop me if I sprinted up to Beck to give him his dessert. "Do it now!" the little voice said in my head. And then I looked up. "That's it folks" said one of Beck's handlers. "See you next time!" And with a whirl of bodyguards, and a round of applause. Beck was gone. Out the back door. And I was alone with my pie. And it was dripping.

So, I did the only thing I could do. I went home and ate my pie.

Next time Glenn, Next time.

This article appears in Nov 25 – Dec 1, 2009.