Chapter 10: “CON” (from BRONX NIGHTS 🌃🍎)

This is the story about a boy named Jaime.

He’ll tell you. He grew up on a dirt floor in Orangeburg, South Carolina. That’s where his story begins. Sorry, he has impaled himself on this origin.

Yes, it’s sad. But some of us got ass-raped at the age of five, and, you know, that kind of trumps dirt.

Also, I’ve been to Haiti about a dozen times. Dirt don’t hold nothing against that. That’s suffering. And what America (the U.S.) has done to those people, doesn’t compare.

And if you’re one of the most powerful people in the United States, and you haven’t solved Haiti, well, motherfucker, that’s on you.

Let’s start over. The Democratic Party, the DNC, has yanked the chains of millions upon millions of voters for a long time, going back to Clinton No. 1. Bill.

James Clyburn, Don Fowler and the DNC have rigged elections for a long time. And I’m about to prove it.

Don’t worry. I’ve already given all the evidence to a very righteous national reporter. He has the juice, the stats, the data.

Let’s proceed.

Originally, this chapter was going to be about all the women who conned me out of my life savings. A whole bunch of sugar babies who just took advantage of a man, suffering, with Long COVID, Autism, who just handed the car keys and everything else over to anyone willing to give him presence.

It was abuse at its largest scale. Mentally disabled abuse. Elder abuse. Whatever you want to call it. They drained my accounts, my credit cards, and they ran into the night with the cash.

Whatever.

That ain’t NOTHING compared to what the Democratic Party has done to American Voters.

And now you’re about to see.

And, Thomas Dixon, your soul is about to be weighed. You’re in the thick of it. They finally accepted you. But you know what’s what. Jaime assaulted your existence when you first decided to run. He called out your past. But we accepted you. The SC Blue Brothers.

Here we go.

It was 2016. Donald Trump was on the ticket.

I had already called him out nationally. MONTHS before the first Republican state primary, I told the world everything that would happen. And it HAS happened.

The receipts are there. The articles are on record. People mocked me, laughed at me, told me I was a fool. Who’s fooling who now? I not only told you he would win, I predicted the Godwin Line.

I KNEW he would win.

Call it Autistic Cognition. Whatever. It’s history. Stamped.

So here we are. Next page.

So I ran for U.S. Congress. 2016. Against Joe “You Lie!” Wilson. An alcoholic crank candidate whose wife controls everything.

He voted AGAINST the Violence Against Women Act, and I called it on him not once, but twice, during debates. After he lied about his vote. Trust me, it’s on record. Go look it up. Thank you, Bierbauer.

Here’s a memory: Don Fowler, former head of the DNC, screamed at me in his home that I was stupid enough to run for federal office without bringing X dollars to the table.

Motherfucker had the balls to call me out in front of numerous multimillion-dollar donors in his own home. So much for Southern hospitality.

I lived just down the street from the asshole. I was on the wrong sides of the Kilbourne Road tracks. A meth lab on my corner. Gunshots every night.

And this dipshit had the gall to call me out. A public librarian, single parent, caretaking a disabled parent. Who was willing to run for federal office because HIS personal hometown ballot was blank. And this is a Democrat?!

Hell no. Fuck this shit.

I put my own life savings on the table, plus the money of someone else who believed in me.

I signed up to run. Just hours before the deadline.

And then Wilson & Co. got wind of it, and asked a total fogey named Phil Black, right of Trump, to challenge me. Welcome to South Carolina. Where politics is a true jail cell death match.

But I beat him—closest federal (primary) race in U.S. history, or so I’m told. Won by less than 50 votes. On the night that a woman, Amanda, my mentee, committed suicide. She had extreme anxiety. Stock up the tragedies, folks. It took me a year just to process.

You think I’m suffering? Spend one day in my shoes. Nick Tosches, Charles Bukowski, and a Cloud of Literary Witnesses, would approve.

So here’s the tale. Long ago, Jim Clyburn and Don Fowler cut up a scheme.

We’ll make South Carolina First in the South. What it will mean: plain and simple: the Party itself will get to pick the Presidential candidate.

Started out with Bill Clinton. Clinton 2 was obvious. But then Obama came along and fucked it up.

He bucked the scheme. He won. Good for him. I still have an original Obama poster, unfurled, in my archive. But he beat Hillary. And I’m glad for it. But then Biden won the scheme again.

But Hillary won over Bernie.

And there’s the rub.

Pause.

I put on a HUGE Bernie event in Columbia, South Carolia. Thousands showed up. But his campaign manager was a Hillary plant. That woman is now the present SC Democratic Chair.

And there we go.

It’s all a fix. Yes, Ms. Christale Spain, you were a spy.

And I’m calling you out.

So sue me. Prove you weren’t. Because I can prove you were.

She was a Hillary plant. And her reward was becoming the SC Democratic Party Chair.

Do you think it’s going to be different in the next Presidential race?

Representative James E. Clyburn is the history of all this rot.

Jaime Harrison is his sycophantic heir.

And then there’s Trav Roberston, Christale Spain, and all the other disgusting figures.

It all comes down to Black Churches. That’s how they fix this mess.

Altas Church. Jackson. Actually, Jacksons. Ivory Thigpen. Black ministers who have created fiefdoms of power. They used religion and politics to create monetary kingdoms. These guys are medieval lords.

They USED you, South Carolina. They are using you. You are indeed the Kingmaker State, and once again, you don’t even know how much you are used.

How do I know? Because I stood there. I ran a $2B program called the SmartState Program for a decade. I listened to all the power brokers, when they didn’t realize I was within earshot.

And then I ran for office. I chose complicity to prove it.

I was invited to the churches. I was told to stand up when I was supposed to stand up. They couldn’t endorse me. But what these dirty ministers could say was, “Go up to Brother Bjorn, after the service, shake his hand, tell him you’ll support him. And then spread the word.”

They didn’t say “vote for him”—they were very careful—what they said was, “Support him, and tell everyone.”

Something smells rotten in the Palmetto State.

But when Bernie Sanders showed up at the Baptist Church, uninvited, he threw the whole goddamn thing off.

I tried to warn his campaign, but there were too many layers to get through. Plus, they had Spain as a plant.

Believe me, don’t believe me. I don’t care.

Jaime Harrison lost his first bid as DNC Chair, because I orchestrated a smear campaign against him.

Well, it wasn’t really a smear campaign.

I just told the DNC voters

what he had done.

Then, he won the next round.

Because James Clyburn is really at the bottom of it all.

My daughter sat in your desk, sir, in your Capitol office. She pretended to sign a bill to protect others.

But you have been orchestrating a conspiracy against Voters for many years. You are a deceitful man. A liar. Manufacturing a hoax against the American people.

And there are reporters now willing to bring you down.

And you will fall down.

You can manufacture anything against me that you want.

But guess what? I’ve been honest about it all.

I’m ill. I have Long COVID. I have Autism. I’m sick.

Ain’t nothing you can bring against me that I haven’t been honest about. All my faults are authentic. And I stand with them, in hand.

I’m still honest.

The Truth comes out now. Clyburn, now you fall.