"Mother, should I run for President?"
...instead of "Hail to the Chief."
Can any one of us here in the Left Blogosphere honestly say with a straight face that they haven't laughed or had the urge to let loose with a button-popping, Tim Allen laugh at all the Republicans who fought tooth and nail to keep Dubya in his high chair in the Oval Office?
Sure, we're selling bigger and bigger chunks of our once-great nation to the Saudis and Red China, we're shipping out blue- and white-collar jobs faster than Iran, Syria and Jordan are shipping terrorists into Iraq (which is saying something), our troop level in Iraq is at an alltime high of 152,000, we've just lost a major metropolitan city, soulless, clueless cronies are running our bureaucracies but, hey, if you can't laugh when the Final Darkness descends on our bloodied heads, when
can you laugh, right?
Republicans from the moderate enablers who whistle Dixie and pick the lint from Jack Abramoff's pocket off Tom DeLay's suit while President Junior is doing all he can to outdo Haiti to the goose stepping Stepford Republicans who thought that 43 would walk on the water that's flooded NOLA twice are now publicly as well as privately having reservations about the man whom they have been championing since he was a directionally-challenged, coke-snorting, over-the-hill frat boy who may not quite get it, after all.
Chew on this: "The story of Hitopadesha revolves around the king, named Sudarshana of Pataliputra, now known as Patna, and his unintelligent and inconvenient sons. The king was very much fed up with his idiot sons who had no inclination to learn and gain wisdom. He felt sorry and was ashamed of his sons who had no knowledge of the scriptures and were quite directionless. He pondered over their sad plight said to himself:
"The parents who fail to educate their son are his worst enemies as he does not figure anywhere in the gathering of learned men like a crane among swans".
Now imagine being a follower of King Sudarshana, supporting one of those sons who then inherits the throne only to find out five years later that that promising son was nothing more than a weak, spineless, intellectual Stephen Hawking whose mental wheelchair was, well, themselves.
Yeah, it's kinda like that.
And fucktard conservative blogs whose webmasters, I swear, must've been mass-Svengalied by some incalculably sadistic Republican hypnotist who never snapped them out of stormtrooper mode are almost literally in flames over this Miers nomination that's more George Orwell than the George Bush they've come to know and love like that Down syndrome child down the street who'll obligingly get their paper out of the rose bushes just because he's been asked to. Their great Republican is actually a baby elephant.
They don't like Miers because she hasn't been proven to be the kind of "Kill `em while they're young but let's ensure that they get to be born, first", Roe v. Wade-bashing, caveat emptor Big Business is Big Business sort of Priscilla Owen/Antonin Scalia conservative in their own funhouse mirror psychological likeness.
We here on the smarter side of the tracks are simply pointing out that Miers is scarcely more qualified for this job than Yahoo Serious and that the cronyism has to stop because it's not only hurting us, it's killing us. Literally.
So forgive us for the sin of darkly and bitterly chuckling when we see the neocons foaming at their collective maw more than a Maytag loaded with a gallon jug of Tide. Yes, Tim Allen, belly-shaking laughter, Curly Howard Nyuk Nyuk Nyuks and a finger-pointing Nelson Muntz, "Ha haaaa!" at all of you stupid conservative cocksuckers and fuck you if you can't take a joke whose punchline is Harriet Miers.
It's not as if you weren't warned, Mr. and Mrs. Middle America. We'd been warning you about this pointy-headed, tin-plated Sauron ever since he announced that he was tired of running Texas and that God told him to run for Preznit in 1999.
You were warned by those in the know, by those who'd already done autopsies on the bodies in the Prescott/Bush closet and hidden in the crawlspaces under the freshly-painted porch, warned with billboards printed in 100,000 point bold and festooned with speakers blaring those warnings at 500 decibles.
Caveat emptor, indeed: Let the fucktard conservative voter beware.
Can you American Gothic conservatives on Capitol Hill tell me that you believed with all your hearts that the day would never come when that shiftless, easily-bored drifter whom you "elected" would alienate his base, that your Brooks Brothers-clad Viking would eventually grow tired of fighting charges of partisan bias and turn his back on you and your suddenly leaderless ideology?
As with al Qaeda, the ideology is self-sustaining, a hydra that grows ten heads when one is lopped off.
Could it be that George W. Bush was merely a figurehead all this time, that perhaps we do not live in a nation of 45,000,000 enablers but merely one?
Greg Brady was chosen to be a rock star only because he fit the gilded matador suit. This is the psychotic, single-minded reverse-engineering that gets people like George Bush in the Oval Office.
In aphrael's diary on Daily Kos notes, the conservative faction out of three that's creepier and scariest is the die-hard bunker-followers who still cannot get it through their reptilian, titanium-reinforced skulls that perhaps Dear Leader has slipped a gear and is nominating people to high, important posts because their names in the Republican Who's Who were the ones hit by the dart thrown over-the-shoulder during a Jim Beam bender or an all-night coke jag using a tightly rolled-up Constitution in the Lincoln bedroom.
These scariest of the scarier half of our alleged two-party system are the ones baking the chocolate cakes in the bunker's kitchen, the ones who merrily take the measurements of twelve- and thirteen-year-old boys so they can be outfitted with Nazi Youth League uniforms and the ones who still say until Der Fuhrer's breath starts to stink of cyanide, "Ah, the Russians are infiltrating Berlin; We have them right where we want them!"
They also pull the dog-eared race and sexism card out from their frayed cuffs before the first Alan Colmes-like whisper of protest can rise up from the left side of Congress like a self-conscious, embarrassed little fart. Pre-emption is the word of the day, after all.
Which leads me to that selfsame left side of the aisle...
Guys and gals, it's been a barrel of laughs, it's been almost real but I'm afraid that it's time that we started seeing other Democrats. I know that you tried to appeal to the widest possible demographic in order to retain your seats and keeping an eye to regaining your majority in Congress and the other on George Bush and his GOP thugs.
But that tactic didn't work in al Qaqaa and it won't work on Capitol Hill.
And that's where we have a problem.
I want, no, I need to know that my so-called liberal, progressive lawmakers are going to stand up for us, the American voter, when they are in the minority as well as in the majority. I need to believe again in the validity and efficacy of the Mayan ruins of our two-party system.
I need to know that you, Hillary and you, Lieberman and you, Feingold and you, Leahy and you, Joe Biden are as dedicated to a liberal, progressive ideology as the GOP was when they fought Clinton tooth and nail, with hammers and tongs when they were the minority in both houses of Congress.
You have to give them that, at least.
They were just as concerned as you are now about regaining their majority but for the most part, they never abandoned their scorch and burn the earth for oil, Fuck everyone but the GOP ideology. You know, the same one that they've been cultivating since metastasizing across Congress over the last decade on the jiggling back of Rush "The Majority Maker" Limbaugh.
The same ideology from which their Dear Leader is tiring of and walking away.
Like he did with the Texas Air National Guard.
Like he did with Arbusto after bankrupting it.
Like he did with the Texas Rangers.
Like he did with Texas itself.
Like he's doing now.
The only good news is, if Patrick Fitzgerald is more interested in his job than Georgie, Karl Rove will be too busy keeping his fat tender ass from being sold for a carton of Lucky Strikes to cast about in the badlands of East Texas to put a fresh warm body to fit that damnable Johnny Bravo matador suit of his dysfunctional, self-destructive ideology.
JP
http://jurassicpork.blogspot.com