I don't normally post diaries, but learning that Joe the Plumber advises GOP-ers on Capital Hill to help chart republican strategy, I, for almost a distinguishable moment, nearly felt what I think was a fleeting and minute tinge of sorrow for the republican party.
Perhaps it was the combination of bean dip and Doritos I ate during the Superbowl. I don't know. It was really weird. Strangely weird.
If it wasn't the bean dip, then what was it? I started to question my sanity. Did my mind play a dirty trick on me? Did I just feel actual remorse for the same party that gleefully unleashed Karl Rove, Dick Cheney, Don Rumsfeld, and George Bush on to our unsuspecting citizenry? Why would my instinctive psychie remove all defense barriers, even for an instant, to allow unwarranted sorrow for a political party that worships a bimbo as their next great hope and an unlicensed plumber as a pillar of geopolitical knowledge?
What in the hell is wrong with me !? What in the hell is wrong with the GOP. These guys need an intervention right away. No wait, I need the intervention. We both need an intervention.
It's like feeling sorry for Jack Abramoff because Madoff is stealing his thunder. It's like shedding tears for Exxon executives because of their heavy burden of managing world-record profits. It's like feeling sorry for the rapist because his penis hurts. How could I? Am I one sick dude, or what?
Jebus *@#$ing Christ!!! JOE THE PLUMBER!!!! GOP "Strategist"?
OMFG, the party that I love to hate has reach new lows. Are they using self humiliation as a political strategy to garner sympathy from the public? It's like watching a poor tattered man in a wheelchair, holding on to a small puppy, his only friend, on the edge of the Golden Gate bridge threatening to jump as a crowd gathers. Only, it's Dick Cheney and you're yelling JUMP!
Have you ever wanted to go kick the bully's ass who years earlier stole your girlfriend, kicked sand in your face, and spit in your plate. You finally track the S.O.B. down only to find out he's now a neutered quadriplegic begging someone to unplug his oxygen tank?
It's like watching Captain Kirk, a proud man who could "Go where no man has gone before" morph in to a sleazy Price Negotiator in the back of a van selling hotel rooms. Sad, very sad.
It's like the emotional paradox of watching Charles Manson or Jeff Dalmar catch on fire.
That's the kind of sorry I felt for the GOP. For an instant. Almost.