Around lunch time today in Washington the faint smell of urine could be detected wafting from Republican Party headquarters. The entire Party leadership had just peed its pants on hearing the news that Pennsylvania Sen. Arlen Specter had switched caucuses and joined the Democrats.
Oh, my! That means several things, of course, to the Death Party - formerly known as the Limbot Party and before that, the Republican Party. First, the Death Party’s persistent attempts to continue its destruction of America will now abate a bit. (Not completely. Not as long as the Pigman, Hannity, Scarborough, Beck and the rest of the Media Brown Shirts continue to shred and mock whatever is left of the truly patriotic cohesion that at one time identified this society.) Second, The Death Party now comes even closer to being what its leaders want it to be: A regional ( i.e. the States of the Old Confederacy) collection of Yahoos and gun freaks, Christers, racists, women-haters and half-wits. Third, the impending collapse of the Death Party as the obstructionist, violently anti-Constitution, war-loving, torture obsessed, freak show now moves one giant step closer to oblivion.
Can I get an amen on that?
Thank you.
The most fun part of Specter’s switcheroo was the reaction from the Death Party’s leadership - especially the pretend head of the Republican Party, the chairman his own Limbaugh shufflin’ self, “Uncle” Michael Steele. It was almost embarrassing watching Uncle Mike jivin’ and dissin’ ol’ Arlen, talkin’ ’bout how when the next primary season comes around the Pennsylvania Death Party is gonna “take former Republican Senator Specter out.” Uh-hunh. Take him “out.” “Out.” Like what, Uncle Mike? Kill him? ‘Zat what you mean by “take him out?” Or are you just trying to be all manly and tough and talk like NRA dude Wayne (”The Peter”) LaPierre? C’mon, Uncle Mike. Shuckin’ and jivin’ for a living is one thing, but, really, do you have to pretend you enjoy it??? The white folks are laughing, you know.
After the warm-up act of “Uncle” Michael Steele, the headliners all lined up in what appeared to be the hallway outside the nearest Senate urinal (See first sentence above.) There they were, standing in expressionless silence like a bunch of 19th century Southern plantation owners waiting for the auction to begin. Ol’ Mitch McConnell spoke first, lamenting (or hoping for?) the apparent political death of Specter The Traitor. Half swallowing - as he always does when he talks - his epiglottis, he gurped and slobbered his profound shock at Specter’s audacity, Specter’s betrayal, and probably in his mint julep-y mind, Specter’s cancer remission. It was a deeply disturbing performance, all the more so for those who know of McConnell’s, um, history. (Don’t even go there. It’s way weird.)
Standing behind McConnell was ol’ Wyatt Earp his own damn self, Texas (soon to be “Republic of . . .”?) Senator John Cornyn. His demeanor while Mitch slobbered and gurped was that of a Field Boss who’s just found out his prize breeding slave has run off. Also in the frame one could make out Arizona Senator John Kyl, another sour-looking member of the Death Party whose whole life appeared to be flashing before his darting eyes.
What a collection of ghouls.
Hey, boys, here’s a news flash for you. America hates your phony Party and your phony politics of destruction. Seriously. After decades of so-called “Reaganomics” and the racist, divisive megalomania of Dick Nixon, and the country-club Republican disdain of normal Americans so aptly tossed off by GHW Bush, and the idiot-son warmongering of, well, his idiot son, and all the various and sundry politicians and advisors and counselors and corrupt attorneys your smelly Party has pushed off onto this country, and your fascist policies and your lies and wars and fraud and corruption, and on and on and on, you know what? Most of America really doesn’t like any of you. The only region left that is still willing to be spiritually and economically beaten and pillaged by you thugs is . . . the Olde Confederacy, that section of the country being eaten alive by misogyny, racism, violence, and that Old Time Religion. Honestly, boys, you’re all zombies at this point; the walking dead. Led on by wired-up torture fetishists like Dick Cheney. Your own mamas have kicked you out. If you can’t hear the clock ticking down on your diminishing existence, can you at least stop pretending you give a sh*t about what happens to your once great country? Once great, that is, until you miscreants polluted it with your lies, your greed, and your absolute disrespect . . .
Maybe it is time for you boys to take another stab at secession. And, maybe this time the rest of the country would consider it a blessing and slam the goddam door in your faces as you left.
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