It’s Like, Total Fascism, Dude!

When it comes to gettin’ her 80s on, nobody thinks she’s gnarlier than Alana Goodman at the Daily Mail.  Somewhere between sneaky photos of Amal Clooney’s baby bump and Mariah Carey’s cleavage, Goodman managed to squeeze in this blockbuster bit of skinny from the Reagan Decade:

Supreme Court Justice nominee Neil Gorsuch founded and led a student group called the ‘Fascism Forever Club’ at his elite high school, can reveal.  The club was set up to rally against the ‘left-wing tendencies’ of his professors while attending a Jesuit all-boys preparatory high school near Washington D.C.


Gorsuch founded the ‘Fascism Forever Club’ during his freshman year at Georgetown Preparatory, a now-$30,000-a-year private Jesuit school that is one of the most selective in the United States.  He served as president until he graduated in 1985, according to his senior yearbook.

That’s right!  Goodman actually got a hold a copy of of Neil Gorsuch’s high school yearbook and pried the awful truth from the pages within:

The 80s, ladies and gentlemen.  It wasn’t just mullets and parachute pants.  There was also the dark, black, beating heart of fascism lurking just beneath the glittering surface.

Gag me with a spoon.  Fascism was, like so five minutes ago even back in those days.  Personally, I was more intrigued by Gorsuch’s work on the Committee to Reform the Beast–especially in light of the epidemic of back-masked lyrics hidden in popular music at the time.  Hot lead in hand, I reached out to one of the ringmasters of 80s era Satanic panic, Ozzy Osbourne, to get his take on this nefarious discovery.

“Beast. . .beast,” he mused, getting that even-more-confused-than-usual look.  “Could you be more specific about which beast?”

“The one Neil Gorsuch tried to reform,” I replied, handing Ozzy a Nutter Butter cookie.

“Oh, that beast!” Ozzy said, a dim twinkle of recognition in his eyes.  “Yeah, he was a right git, that one.  Neil got ‘im under control good.  Sold ‘im his soul, he did, right there on the spot.”

I raised an eyebrow.  “Neil really sold his soul to the Beast?”

“No, mate!” Ozzy chuckled.  “The Beast sold his soul to Neil.  Now be a doll and give us another cookie.”

I was so excited I gave Ozzy the whole package.  Seriously, I couldn’t believe my luck.  Not only was Neil Gorsuch a closet fascist, he was a full-blown reaper as well!  He-loo, Pulitzer!

Still, was the story too good to be true?  Granted, Ozzy was a pretty solid source–but holding up the highest standards of journalism meant that I needed at least a little more hearsay.  I took a spin through my old paper Rolodex (culled from back issues of Tiger Beat), stopping at Limahl, who’d had a hit back in ’83 with “Too Shy.”  Pickings had been slim for Limahl since he slugged Boy George at the last Live Aid show, so I figured he’d take my call.

“Limahl, baby!” I said.  “How are things?”

“A never ending story,” Limahl snapped.  “This isn’t about playing another class reunion, is it?”

“No, I’m looking into this Gorsuch thing.  You know anything about him and some Beast?”

“That scene wasn’t really my bag,” Limahl said.  “Not good for my image.  I will tell you one thing, though–that bastard Neil broke up my band, he did.”

I was incredulous.  “Seriously?”

“God’s truth, mate.”

“Neil Gorsuch. . .broke up Kajagoogoo?”

“Bloody saboteur,” Limahl spat.  “I passed out before a show one night, and what does he do?  Steals my bloody wig and sings the whole bleedin’ set.  My mates said they couldn’t tell the difference.  Well, it was all over after that.  Ruined my career, he did.”

I forgot all about the Pulitzer.  This was full-blown screenplay material.  I don’t remember if I thanked Limahl before hanging up, because my fingers were already on my keyboard, writing up the story of a lifetime.  I couldn’t wait to throw it all in Alana Goodman’s face.  Not only was Neil Gorsuch a disciple of Satan (or one of his lower minions–either one worked), he was also the Yoko Ono that broke up one of the signature one-hit wonder New Romantic bands of the 80s.

Oh, and a fascist.  Or something.

“Too good,” I said to myself as I typed away.  “Too good to check.”

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Marc Giller

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