Whores Keep Good Company

Posted on August 10, 2010 by

Not since the Valanginian Age has a creature so vile and crooked clawed its way up through the mud and scum to wage war on human intelligence quite like Pat Toomey. He is evil in a way that only a crustacean can truly understand. He is a crawler. He eats shit and piss and his hands are bigger than his brain.

A whore, even at her best, is only as good as her shoes. The same is true of popes and senators…or, in this case, potential senators. Pat Toomey stands tall nowhere. He is a high-heeled loafer with no appreciation for anything that could pass as decent. He is small and weak and his collar is entirely too tight.

“Es ist ein triump des willens,” the Tea Party people chanted at maximum volume in a frenzied state of anger as they grinned and applauded in between Toomey’s talking points at a campaign stop in northeastern Pennsylvania.

“Pat Toomey eats pieces of shit,” a woman in the back said to her friend.

It was almost inaudible amongst the raucous crowd, but I heard it and immediately afterward the words that were coming out of his mouth had transmigrated into regurgitated pieces of shit. The entire crowd, save for me and the two women in the back began crawling around on all fours like wild beasts and began feasting on the shit that had fallen from Pat Toomey’s mouth. I looked to the women to help make sense of what was going on. They looked to me to save them from this horrifying situation. We all three were paralyzed and the beasts had begun their second transmigration. It had become a shit-show for all ages and soon it would infiltrate the already contaminated water supply.

I awoke in a cold sweat and scanned the room for wild beasts covered in feces. When the situation seemed safe enough, I immediately logged on to my computer and went directly for the news sites…any one of them that could confirm that this was, in fact, only a nightmare.

As it turns out, the shit-show was only the personification of a different nightmare. Toomey is now leading over Sestak in the polls by 40 percent to 31 percent.

Toomey also (and at long last) weighed in on the Mosque-at-Ground-Zero Debate, as we all hoped he would. He is all for the First Amendment right of the freedom to practice religion…so long as it isn’t Islam being practiced within an indeterminate radius from a complex of buildings that no longer exist in a state he has never lived in many miles from his home.

I had hoped, though not believed, that the events of 9/11 as they relate to nonsensical, opportunistic, irrelevant, and politically charged rhetorical weaponry would have died with Giuliani’s failed presidential campaign in 2008. My idealism failed, but my intuition prevailed. Sooner or later the cockroaches would dig up that old corpse and parade it around the country once more and with the same kind of hypocrisy. The flag-waving god-fearing good white Christian people who have a two-handed white-knuckled grasp on the ironclad principles of the 2nd Amendment feel the 1st should be loosely applicable within the confines of a racist and bigoted ideology.

Even Giuliani spoke out against the building of the mosque, although he too is a whore that will take any trick that will get him into a headline…and 9/11 is the one baby he had that he didn’t abandon after it had come of age. He knew from the start that it was ready for show business and in a way that would appeal to a massive national audience. Even now, he makes his bread and butter by it. One could argue, at least Giuliani was there…what right does Toomey have to make these judgments? A very important one: the 1st Amendment.

Of course with freedom, we would hope that responsibility would follow. It is an infantile hope and Toomey’s viewpoint only fans the flame of a fire that has burned for a thousand years and is burning more brightly these days. Placing the word “but” at the end of the phrase “I support freedom of religion” isn’t entirely unlike placing the word “except” after the phrase “All men are created equal.” Even if it weren’t fact that many Muslims were also killed in those attacks, it would remain fact that not all Muslims are terrorists.

Some bigots and hypocrites attempt to circumvent the rights issue with moral judgment. Toomey agrees that the backers of the mosque have a legal right to build it, he just feels “that doesn’t make it the right thing to do.” Toomey, Palin, Giuliani, and every other Democrat or Republican politician seeking to win or retain office is entitled to espouse this position; however, that doesn’t make it any less bigoted, cynical, or opportunistic.

Toomey also backed the Iraq war, though I doubt he felt it was indecent to build craters on top of innocent peoples’ homes during the wonderfully entertaining television program “Operation Shock and Awe.” After all, not all Americans are errant cruise missiles dispatched from air sorties during the unprovoked invasion of a country halfway across the world. Thankfully, however, the people in power understood that it was the necessary sacrifice to make and a good bet to hedge in order to gain more control over the flow of oil in the Middle East. More importantly, the real God was on our side.

Maybe Toomey really is genuinely against the building of the mosque in a way that affects him emotionally; however, like most opponents of the mosque, there is little doubt that this emotion has anything to do with an intellectual sympathy or empathy for the families of the victims. If his interest is not entirely disingenuous, then it is purely visceral: the product of a simple-minded and shortsighted hatred of anything that lies beyond the scope of his knowledge and understanding.

All of this, though, is the trick of a whore—a slight of hand to make you look the other way or to gain the approval of other whores—and I am ashamed that I have followed the distraction as far as I already have.

The second story I latched onto was one from the Philidelphia Inquirer, and it appears Toomey has moved on (for the time being) to the economy. He and his band of carnies loaded into an RV covered in campaign posters last Tuesday and launched a four-day tour through 21 counties in Pennsylvania. There was no mention, literal or figurative, of oral defecation in the Inquirer article, but I remain unconvinced.

“Where is the recovery?” Toomey asked.

He provided no answers, only the same tired talking points. Bush tax cuts for the top 1 percent…good. Federal stimulus…bad. Healthcare…bad. After reading this gibberish for the hundred-thousandth time, I have begun to grow tired of the words and voices and pictures and commercials.

I am going back to bed now, and with any bit of luck I will once again find myself in that sweet dream where I am standing in a field full of tall grass and watching these terrible beasts thrust about in the mud while eating one another’s shit.

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The Amazing Toomey and His Band of Carnies Cry “Hey, Rube!” in Moose Lodges Across the Land

Posted on August 3, 2010 by

After having allegedly read David Carlyon’s biography of Dan Rice (Dan Rice: The Most Famous Man You’ve Never Heard Of), Pat Toomey decided that he too could run for the US Senate.  “Shit,” he must have thought, “Rice ran for Senate, Congress, and even President of the United States.  If he can do it, why can’t I?” 

Rice is widely regarded as the first truly great American clown and certainly the first to be the star of the circus.  Although he was born in New York City, he lived in Pennsylvania for more than two decades and held it very close to his heart.  The similarities must have seemed uncanny to Toomey.  It is also worth noting that Dan Rice is perhaps best known as the political cartoonist Thomas Nast’s model for Uncle Sam.  Rice was a clown who was very active in politics, but he was also an esteemed animal trainer.  Like Toomey, he specialized in pigs and mules.  Not entirely worth going unsaid, he also presented to the world the first and last tightrope walking elephant.  Dan Rice was big.

In his biography, Carlyon writes of the politics of conflict in circus life:

Mockery, at which Rice excelled, would provoke more anger.  After “a Red Headed theife” of a constable gave him trouble, Rice re-enacted the squabble in the ring.  He could boast that people became incensed against the constable as a result, but that man and his friends would be angry themselves.  People were cheated as well.  A skilled ticket seller could shortchange, unnoticed.  Like birds in the wake of a boat, rigged games of chance abounded.  Then there were pickpockets, who popped up wherever crowds gathered.  A Baltimore paper told of one at a church, and a Philadelphia paper reported a jolly tale of a policeman, stationed at the theater to watch out for the light-fingered gentry, who had his own pocket picked.  Pickpockets were a major problem for circuses.  Because some shows harbored the thieves for a share of the booty, all were blamed.

 

Wherever fault lay, the “Hey Rube” exploded regularly.  That is circus slang memorializing the good old days of violence.  When a circus worker was attacked, he yelled “Hey, Rube!” and the troupe rushed to join the fight.  Biting, gouging, kicking–no holds were barred, for who could have barred them in the melee?  Rice called it “a terrible cry, [meaning] as no other expression in the language does, that a fierce deadly fight is on, that men who are far away from home must band together in a struggle that means life or death to them.”  The rallying cry of “Hey, Rube”–later transformed into a noun–seems likely to have been a challenge flung at a local Reuben, but circus stories say otherwise.  Glenroy provided the first attribution, recalling that in 1848, a member of Rice’s troupe was attacked at a New Orleans dance house.  That man yelled to his friend, Reuben, and the whole company rushed to help.

 

It is appropriate that Rice was part of this first “Hey, Rube” tale.  If he had not become famous for his clowning, circus history would have to include him for his fighting.  He fought to protect his circus: he fought in contentious pride; sometimes, he fought just for fun. 

At this point, the hook was in on Toomey.  His fate was decided.  It was time to set the book down on Rice, roll up the sleeves of his starched white shirt, and set to task.  Start small, but think big.  The traveling carnie becomes the clown king of the big top.  The groundwork had already been laid.  The Tea-Baggers had set up makeshift Three-Ring Circuses all across the country–it was just a matter of charting out the circle within the circle.  He knew how people could be cheated, how to pick their pockets without them noticing, and he was also ready for the fight.

Today, Pat Toomey is the ringmaster of an angry traveling circus that doesn’t believe in fun.  His last big top appearance was three days ago in Doylestown, Pennsylvania, where he spoke to a teeth-grinding audience of 200 at the local Moose Lodge.  “We are going to take America back,” Toomey proclaimed.  With the fervor necessary to gain the attention and fellowship of an angry mob, he launched into meaningless inaccurate rhetoric in order to establish that there were two sides in an impending brawl–and that one of them must be crushed.

In terms of substance, the grandson of white immigrants noted that he was an advocate of legal immigration, but that it “must be controlled.”  He did not choose to elaborate in Doylestown earlier this week on the system of controls he believes in and supports.  On Toomey’s own Official Campaign Website, he writes:  “The second principle is securing our border.  It is crucial to the country’s security that we know who is entering our country; as long as the border is not secure, we will not be able to achieve this goal.  For years, politicians have discussed the importance of securing America’s border, but it’s amounted only to talk and not enough action.”

That it is possible for a potential U.S. Senator who is leading in the polls to be unaware that America has more than one border is too absurd to be capable of being believed, and so there is only the alternative.  The counterclaim to this blatant racism and xenophobia would most likely be that it was an accidental semantic inaccuracy if anyone from the Toomey campaign were willing to respond to my questions.  At best, we can hope that it was some kind of subconscious psychological oversight in creating the illusion that the opponents of immigration are racist by using the plural “borders” to instill comfort in the hearts and minds of those Southern and Mid-Western worry-heads that the evil Canadians would be forever held at the gates.

In May of 2004, Toomey voted “Yes” on reporting illegal aliens who receive hospital treatment.  The unconscionable outcome fairly speaks for itself.  Why deport the fuckers when we can kill them.  It is a more drastic and all encompassing version of the hanger trick.  You uphold the sanctity of life and the integrity of abortion laws and you have a better than fair shake at killing the evil young women who are willing to commit the sin of abortion. 

The end result of this law is barbaric.  The sick will go untreated and die or they will seek out untrained black-market doctors to perform procedures that could only safely be conducted by trained and certified medical professionals in sterile, safe environments.  On the Statute of Liberty is a plaque upon which is inscribed: “Give us your poor, your tired, your huddled masses longing to be free…” To what end, Mr. Toomey?  So that we might create basement death camps for human beings with treatable and preventable conditions simply by waiving the card of greater fears?  

Toomey said on Tuesday that the government under the Obama Administration is “the most liberal in the history of our country,” and that “they are making an attempt to turn America into a European welfare state.”  His response:  “I got news for them – France is probably a nice place to visit, but I don’t want to be France.”

I would ask Mr. Toomey if he wants to be Arizona, but I already know the answer:  more than Arizona itself.

Toomey is bad for Pennsylvania and I doubt he has much skill at training pigs and mules to do anything other than spit and drool on their own hate and anger.

But if it’s a Hey Rube he wants, let the good times roll.

Sic Transit Gloria!

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Thunderstorms, Fond Memories, & “Ivy Day in the Committee Room”

Posted on August 19, 2009 by

I got caught in the storm last night.  It seemed important, for safety’s sake, to stop in to the nearest well and have a pint.  The nearest acceptable establishment happened to be a very familiar one…just one and a half blocks from my old apartment. 

I have always held a profound respect for that apartment.  I would never claim publicly that I enjoyed the fistfights in the kitchen with my good friend, but there are other things I am willing to put on the record.  It was a place for all seasons and at any hour of the day friends and associates felt welcome to stop in for conversation and drinks, which were often served with olives and almost always in total abundance.  It was rare, particularly on weekends, that one or more of these friends and advisors wouldn’t wake up in the windowless living room wondering what time of the morning or afternoon it was, and some evenings lasted for days.  My apprentice and I built the kitchen table in that apartment and you could always tell how long and deep the evening or early morning had gotten by the number of books that had been pulled from the bookshelf for reference and then placed on that table.  It wasn’t rare to find 10 or 15 books scattered across the wooden planks and you knew things had gotten serious.  There was the glorious Evil Slut Dance Party, which unfortunately ended with police officers demanding at 4am that I turn off the music and get rid of my guests as they looked through the thick fog and red and blue lights to the slide-projected image of a girl in her bikini taking out the trash in Staten Island.  There are far too many important events to mention, but among the most memorable were those long intense conversations that took place in the kitchen over drinks and cigarettes, and occasionally in the Robes, but ready at all times to retake Akaba if necessary.  The kitchen functioned as the War Room and almost all important business was conducted there.  My inner office was in my bedroom, near the window just above Arecibo Car Service.  I still giggle like a schoolboy when I think of those nights spent contributing to the noble effort to destroy that Senator whose sinister hypocrisy filled my heart with hate.  The ideas would generally be conceived in the War Room, but the real work had to be done alone, in my inner chamber by the window.  Except of course, the phone work.  Important calls were always conducted on speaker-phone and with a reliable witness present.  It was this last recollection that came to mind last night and then led to the others previously mentioned.

The gentlemen to my left were speaking of the 2012 Presidential Election and whether or not Barack Obama could possibly win a reelection if he failed on both the healthcare and economy issues.  Naturally, the conversation led to who he could possibly be running against in 2012 and imcomprehensible immediate suggestion was Sarah Palin.  And then I thought again with glee about a recent news article I’d read about my old friend, Rick Santorum.  Rick will be spending time in Iowa in the coming months discussing the state of the Republican party and it is being suggested that this is all leading up to a bid for the presidency.  It seems entirely possible that my country might need me again.  And since this evil bastard (or Jesus-Infused Hillbilly Barbie) could drive any reasonable person to drink, I’ve decided in the spirit of rememberance to post a few memos of what it felt like the first time around.  Those recollections are soon to follow.

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The Rudy Schema: National Disasters Play Well in Florida

Posted on January 13, 2008 by

Rudy Giuliani showed very little concern for the Iowa caucus and all but ran to his southbound plane with 9% of the vote in New Hampshire Tuesday night. Giuliani is placing his eggs in the Florida-and-beyond basket and we will have to wait until January 29th to see if his campaign strategy has any merit. If voter interest matches his convictions in Florida, it will likely be because he was the mayor of New York on September 11, 2001, and he will not let us forget it. During Saturday’s debate, Guiliani sounded more like a record skipping on the turntable of the GOP’s Lower East Side: “9/11…9/11…Ronald Reagan…9/11,” etc. September 11 was paradoxically the best thing to ever happen to Rudolph Giuliani. I say paradoxically not because it was a day of mass and horrifying murder, but because of the events that transpired in these interesting years that followed. His campaign ideology could be described as some kind of twisted pragmatism, if we are feeling generous. If, however, we are willing to be less diplomatic, we can call it what it is—pathological opportunism. I say it because of the inherent irony that Giuliani has been able to capitalize on a tragedy and the mistakes that followed it. Until now, that is. It will be interesting to see if the people in Florida and beyond collectively agree to buy in to this line of thinking. It won’t be long until the former mayor of New York hires morphologists and phraseologists to invent new ways of using 9/11 in order to avoid ruining its meaning and impact by virtue of overuse. Soon, it will be a verb. Perhaps Rudy Giuliani can “9/11 his way to the presidency.” Perhaps, if he and his team of linguists are exceedingly prolific, it will become a gerund: “9/11ing is no laughing matter.” Although, I doubt it. Giuliani probably won’t get the stomping he deserves in Florida, but he will definitely get it and for all the wrong reasons. He will be beaten so badly on February 5th he will have to move through the rest of the month on all bruised fours and by the end of March he will have to roll himself Westward like a baby who has not yet learned to walk, trying to move from one end of a crib full of crumbs to the other. That is, of course, if he doesn’t drop out altogether. The Southern and Midwestern heart does not easily warm to a non-Anglo New Yorker with liberal social values and an expensive mistress. Giuliani’s running for the presidency on the basis of 9/11 isn’t entirely unlike a prostitute running for Head Madam in a whorehouse on account of having contracted the worst case of the clap in modern history. It is generally odd, but we are living in odd times. It seems far more logical for him to run on his successful efforts to reduce crime in New York City and his hiring of innovative criminologists, but everyone seems to remember that Giuliani as the parent who crashed into the party and ruined fun for everyone and we are not living in logical times. It was under Giuliani’s watchdog eyes that the World Trade Center was bombed in 1993 and it was Giuliani who subsequently placed his state-of-the-art emergency command center in Building 7, rendering it useless during the attacks of September 11, 2001. It is unfair to blame Rudolph Giuliani for either of these events, but is it necessarily fair to applaud him? And if so, what exactly is it that we are applauding? He was there, of course, and he didn’t take a twenty-minute break to read a few passages from “The Pet Goat,” but have these really become the qualifications for the presidency? I, too, was downtown on that day, covered in ash and concrete dust and far from any children’s books, but I didn’t feel it qualified me for anything more than 45 minutes a week with a therapist and a tall glass of whiskey. Maybe that’s one difference between us, but it’s not the one that keeps him from my kitchen. More importantly, however, and for other reasons entirely, it will not be enough to win him the nomination, much less the general election. Giuliani’s political days are numbered and when he rolls his way back home to the city he exploited it will be a very small inner-circle of lawyers, accountants and thugs that are waiting there to welcome him.

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Election 2008: Finding a Worth Adversary

Posted on May 24, 2007 by

“I have to laugh, because I’ve outsmarted even myself. My enemy, my foe, is an animal. In order to conquer the animal, I have to learn to think like an animal. And, whenever possible, to look like one. I’ve gotta get inside this guy’s pelt and crawl around for a few days. “

 

Bill Murray said that to a gopher 27 years ago and I knew, to a certain degree during the campaign season of 2006, when I played a very dirty game of chess with another animal, exactly what he was referring to. With a bit of hopeful personification, they called it Rick Santorum and it was truly something else. Santorum was my nemesis for some time before that day in November of last year, but the campaign days were truly amazing. Running an anti-campaign is an ugly business and I can justify it only by saying that my emotions run high in the political season. After all, he was an evil, greedy, hateful liar, commonly referred to in the Philadelphia Inquirer as “one of the finest minds of the 13th Century.” He accepted defeat with more grace than he’d done in any aspect of his life, as his children wept on the stage beside him. It was a sad day for Santorum Youth and even I felt an irritating hint of sympathy after the game was over and it had become clear that I won. My final act had not been brought to fruition; chiefly because I could not find enough sponsors willing to fund it. The idea had been simple: to rent a luxury tour bus, fill it with beer, snacks, loud music and 50 New York City bums that would undergo a rigorous interview process, and then drive it down to the Santorum estate in Penn Hills, Pennsylvania. Upon arrival, each homeless person would be given a megaphone, a bullhorn and $1,000. What they did not know, however, was that it was a one-way trip – at least on that bus. Once the legion of homeless heroes had descended upon the lawn of the monster in his quiet suburban community, the bus would pull away very quickly and stop for nothing.

 

I think of this many months later, partly from nostalgia, partly from the total inundation of premature presidential aspirations, and partly in admiration of the campaign poster that still hangs in my war room (which my lovely girlfriend had so lovingly stolen from a lawn in Eastern Pennsylvania).

 

I drank a handful of beers tonight and I am pondering continuing my involvement in this nonsense. It is difficult to find a worthy adversary, admittedly on either side of the battlefield…but if the animals are willing to play political games in order to portray Barack Obama as a terrorist, I think it’s equally fair to throw mud from the other side of the fence…and call a republican a Nazi. Why, not, after all…it seems to be the rhetoric of our day. Lies. Winston Churchill once said that the first casualty of war is the truth and this has never been more relevant. And so, here is my formal dis-endorsement of Mittler Rommel.

 

Things are going to get interesting, to be sure, but we all know that at least 3 of the potential candidates for what we refer to as “the leader of the free world,” do not believe in science. Sen. Sam Brownback, Gov. Mike Huckabee, and Rep. Tom Tancredo all believe evolution is a myth…a nuisance.

 

I have become immediately unable to take these men seriously; however, they reminded me of the Santorum insanity. To that end, I have included one of many articles that I’d written in my contribution to the dark side of the Santorum legacy, if there can be any other kind. Unlike Santorum, however, these men will fade very quickly into obscurity and they should pray to their gods that Darwin (and every legitimate scientist since) was onto something, or they will otherwise be worms for ever.

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God Hates Monkeys, Then and Now

Posted on August 19, 2006 by

My impression is that Tennessee vastly underestimating incredibly that a farmer who read the Bible knew more than any scientist in the world. Such dreadful bilge, heard of far away, may seem only ridiculous. But it takes on a different smack, I assure you, when one hears it discharged formally in a court of law and sees it accepted as wisdom by judge and jury. Darrow has lost this case. It was lost long before he came to Dayton. But it seems to me that he has nevertheless performed a great public service by fighting it to a finish and in a perfectly serious way. Let no one mistake it for comedy, farcical though it may be in all its details. It serves notice on the country that Neanderthal man is organizing in these forlorn backwaters of the land, led by a fanatic, rid sense and devoid of conscience. Tennessee, challenging him too timorously and too late, now sees its courts converted into camp meetings and its Bill of Rights made a mock of by its sworn officers of the law. There are other States that had better look to their arsenals before the Hun is at their gates.

 

-H.L. Mencken, July 18, 1925, on the Scopes Trial

 

Dear gods where are we? What terrible nightmare have we become. 80 years and we are still swimming up river. Could this dreadful bastard possibly be gaining in the polls? It seems so…but why? Have I swum too far out to sea? I felt like an amphibian when I crawled back on shore. Being alone, half drunk, half mad, 50 yards out to sea, just beyond the break at 3am does strange things to the mind, but when you finally resurface and realize that nearly a century’s worth of knowledge is being pulled back over your head you start to breath differently. This is not new and it was barely ever news.

 

It seemed incredibly cumbersome and tedious at the time and it seems even more insane now…but this is what it looked like when it was presented in front of congress on that terrible day in June of 2001 when it very nearly piggybacked that cockeyed bit of lunacy they called the No Child Left Behind Act. The madness was penned by Santorum itself…it was called The Santorum Amendment, and it went exactly like this…

 

The Conferees recognize that a quality science education should prepare students to distinguish the data and testable theories of science from religious or philosophical claims that are made in the name of science. Where topics are taught that may generate controversy (such as biological evolution), the curriculum should help students to understand the full range of scientific views that exist, why such topics may generate controversy, and how scientific discoveries can profoundly affect society.

 

-A proposed Amendment by Senator Rick Santorum (Rep. – Pennsylvania)

 

One must read this several times to understand the complete insanity and twisted logic employed by the US Senator from Pennsylvania. It is, without any argument to the contrary, an attempt to take us back to that courtroom in Dayton, Tennessee, 1925, and undermine 80 years of the most impressive era of scientific achievement. It is the most aggressive attempt to sabotage intelligence since the world began…6,000 years ago.

 

That’s your #2.

 

He’s gaining in the polls and I am losing my goddamn mind.

 

The bad guys are winning.

 

I. Buffalo

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There and Back Again…

Posted on July 26, 2006 by

I left New York 12 days ago with very specific instructions from some of my top advisors: don’t rock the boat any further…if you push too far, your luck will run out. There were several variations, but they followed the same theme…shut up or you will be put on The List or worse yet, the storm troopers will break down your door in the middle of the night and haul you down to Gitmo, strip you naked, rig up a ball gag and thrash you with bull whips while chuckling about that Geneva Convention nonsense. Maybe they are right…maybe one late summer night I will disappear with no trial and no explanation. Hansel without the breadcrumbs….a Grimm tale indeed. If that is the case, you’ll know where I am. I am beginning to understand how Ed Murrow felt that moment before he let the heavy shit fall on Joe McCarthy. Sure, Ed would never conjure up the image of a Nazi Pope raping a US Senator…or maybe he would, but times were different then – or were they – even still, I am confident that with a tall glass of scotch and a cigarette he would have found the humor, even if he had too much class to make the connection publicly.

 

But I got out of the class business 2 years ago on that terrible night and early morning in November of 2004 when that rotten pig got elected for a second term. It was a painful day and I did not take the news gracefully. I had worked myself into a vicious frenzy by the time the final results started rolling in and by the time Colorado broke I destroyed my wall and door with a 5 foot long 2×4 I’d been pacing around with for most of the evening while the rest of the people in the room trembled in fear. I had snapped…I was following the election campaigns very closely for nearly a year and the disappointment was unbearable. It wasn’t because John Kerry lost…it was because Bush could and actually did win. That was the tragedy…that day when we finally realized that the ship really was sinking.

 

So why then…why continue with this nonsense? “Or if you do,” I’ve been asked, “why not talk about why you hate Santorum so much?” Perhaps this is a valid point. After all, if history is at all relevant then it’s horrifically evident that I am taking too much for granted. He is, after all, one of the most powerful and prominent Senators in the Republican party. My original assumption – that we could all know intuitively why I would call the man harsh names and invoke obscene insults – was clearly misguided.

 

Rick Santorum is a terrible cockroach that has crawled across my kitchen table far too many times. I am no longer a constituent, so my only line of defense is offence – he is swine and it is time to roll the dirty pig in the mud of his own ugly politics. It’s time to ham the pig. Schinken das Schwein. It’s gibberish even in German…only a monster can unravel the conundrum – or its people can – and this cockroach is no different. He aspires to be evil…and let us all hope he really is too stupid to accomplish his goal.

 

The Senator has been marching around the state, goose stepping from county to county, city to city, distributing pamphlets titled “Fifty Things You May Not Know About Rick Santorum.” To that end, we will switch gears once in a while from our name calling and deal in Hard facts.

 

And so… Fifty Things You May Not Know About Rick Santorum

(Stay tuned for nos. 2-50…Digesting this cruel reality will take multiple sittings)

 

#1. The bastard has voted 13 times against raising the minimum wage from $5.15/hour and has, in this same period, voted to raise his own salary 3 times (successfully) and is currently earning $16,000 more per year than he was just 6 years ago.

 

He would rape your mother at any hour. He is a wild animal whose political career must be put to sleep. If he loses Pennsylvania, he’ll no doubt be found dry humping the long dollar of a wealthy lobbyist for the next 30 or 40 years…or drooling on Bill Frist’s cockhole, still browned by the feces of the king. He will grow far more wealthy and begin calling that land in Virginia a plantation if he has his way.

 

Bob Casey is a far cry from our dreams…but he may at least awaken us from this nightmare. Chuck Pennacchio seemed to be a good man, but we’ve spoiled that opportunity and must once again deal in terms of The Least Objectionable Alternative, and at this point that seems to be Bob Casey. That being said, the only thing I can feel comfortable advocating is voting against Santorum.

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