Tags
Arizona, Barbara Bush, Dick Cheney, John Cornyn, Karl Rove, Latinos, Newt Gingrich, SCOTUS, Sonia Sotomayor, Texas
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want in any way shape or form to return to the days of George (The “Decider”) Bush. They were all too often painful days, resulting in a lot of loss of life for dubious reasons. (Some would say, no reason at all.)
However, there was a certain amount of predictability in George’s world, things we could count on. We knew and understood the players, knew what to expect from them and what not to.
I often imagine the following happening on a weekly basis. Bring down the lights, quiet the audience, and we open at the White House switchboard.
“One ringy dingy, two ringy dingy…..yes, is this the party to whom I am speaking?”
“What the hell? Who is this? Is this the White House? Put on the flat head!”
“Excuse me? This is the White House, to whom are you asking? (snort, snort)
“The flat head–and make it quick. I haven’t got all day.”
“And who is this may I ask? Are you the person to whom I am speaking?”
“I’m his mother, Barbara Bush, now get him.”
“Oh, I’m sorry Mrs. Bush, (snort, snort), but the President is unavailable. Can I take a message for the party whom I am not speaking to?”
“Listen sister, put my SON on the phone or I’ll show you a trick I can do with these pearls!”
(after a slight delay)
” (sigh) Yes, mama?”
“George! What in the hell are you doing now? You’re father was watching the TV and now is trying to hide under leaves in the back yard. I told you a hundred times, don’t do anything without checking with Jeb first. You didn’t push any buttons did ya? Just tell me you didn’t push any buttons, big red ones?
“Yes, mama, I remember, and no I haven’t pushed any red buttons.”
(and then the rest of what George did would unfold)
Those were the days were they not? With Hastert and DeLay running the House and the rest of the Rethugs claiming that any word against the Prez and his plans was “unpatriotic” and Democrats were forever dead. God was coming to Washington!
As the years progressed of course, Rethugs got quieter and more and more when asked what they thought of George’s latest policy, they were heard to reply: 
“I KNOW NUZZZING!”
Of course in the end, George learned that his input was no longer required. He was not invited to campaign for hardly anyone, and a convenient excuse was worked up to keep him away from the Convention.
We should have known. The die had been cast, there was worse to come. No longer in charge of anything much, the Rethugs much as a giant brain without anything to think about, began to deteriorate.
It turned to it’s old favorites Rush and Sean, Bill, and the new kid Glenn. They even got themselves that token thingamajig, and made him their head company man. They talked some jive, they talked a lot of God, and they talked about the joys and benefits of waterboarding. They warned of them spendin’ crazy DemocRAT socialists, and finally dropped all pretense and screamed “FASCISTS!!!”
Now a few in the party looked askance at all this rightwing nuttery and pleaded for sanity. But no, the actual Rethugs themselves had now been infected with the crazy bug. Out popped in stunning technicolor the likes of Steve King and Michele Bachmann slavering about the impending demise of “Merika.” Where but here would we turn the good old CCC of the Roosevelt days into “indoctrination” camps?
Meanwhile, the three Repooplicans, otherwise known as the “Three Amigos” (Karl, Newt, and Dick) have determined that the best way to save the Grand Old Party, is to destroy it.
And busy as bees they are, doing just that. Dick, “The Dick,” is running cross country crying at the top of his lungs, “The sky is falling,” or “The wolf, the wolf,” depending on the time of day.
Newt, is running for something, and finds everything that the President does as simply awful. By the way, Newt wants everyone to admire his new found piousness, spanking new soul, all clean and such. Having the the Church of Rome spiffy him all up he thinks makes him fit for office. “Pelosi should resign! Imagine saying that the CIA lies! Why it’s unMerikan!”
Karl, the “Dough Boy” just swells up as dough is wont to do, and spews out all the venomous clap trap that they other two have shoveled into his empty cranium. He smiles, “Going to Yale, doesn’t mean she’s smart you know!” I guess that means perhaps boy wonder there Georgie might not be either? But who knows, Karl certainly doesn’t, he’s just a human hose, fill him up, and turn him on.
Which all leaves me, loyal reader, feeling that it is just too too easy to attack these walking dead. But then, here’s where it gets strange. I mean strange indeed.
Sonia Sotomayor is appointed to be a new Justice on the SCOTUS. You can expect the usual rhetoric from the limping soggy old crew of regulars. They are “wait and see,” cuz they haven’t “read her opinions,” or “heard her testimony” yet. The usual nonsense, which means, I’m voting agin her but I can’t say that yet.
Along comes the usual crew of Wingnut pundits saying “she’s a racist, she’s a racist” and guess who takes up that refrain? Oh none other than Karl and Newt blasting it all over the Foxy Newsless forum. “She’s a racist! My God, she should resign right this very minute! What a terrible choice. If a white dude had said that, why mercy me, they’d be hanging him at high noon!”
Whereupon, John McCain rushed out and got himself an unlisted number, mumbling, . . . . “must say that we have to wait, see what she says, must look senatorial. . . . thoughtful, intellectual, honest and fair. That’s the ticket.” Go to the bunker John, stay out of touch. “God forbid, what are they trying to do? My freakin’ state is crawling with brown skins, I can’t be caught up in calling a Latina a racist for God’s sake!”
John Cornyn finds the whole thing a disaster. “God, I can barely justify visiting the Alamo here in Texas, I can’t afford to piss off the Mexicans!” He scurries and rounds up a Sunday talk show gig just to scream, “Karl and Newt have gone too far!”
Imagine, John Cornyn being the voice of reason in the house of Elephant? Who would have thunk it?
Existential Ennui 