There are few things I enjoy more than the hue and cry of
anguished republicans complaining that the democrats are being meanies. It really does my heart good. After watching successive republican Romney
surrogates and presidential wanna-be’s bitch-slap Obama for months with no real
response in kind, watching them fulminate over some semi-hard hitting campaign
ads is deeply satisfying.
I think the reason it took so long for any kind of
systematic democratic reply to the hallucinating fantasies being kicked around
the right-wing, nut-case blog-a-sphere is Obama’s people were out of breath
from laughing so hard they couldn’t catch their collective breath. When you go back and look at the sorry-ass
collection of delusional knuckleheads trying to win the nomination it’s plain
to see the difficulty in taking them seriously. Michelle Bachman…? Really…?
But Romney – the fair-haired prince regent-in-waiting who
managed to emerge from the sucking mud hole of the primaries – is now right
there, walking around spewing whatever fabricated nonsense he’s told to spew so
there is finally someone they can take seriously. And as an extra happy circumstance, he is
only slightly less of an amiable dunce than republican Zeus, Ronald
Reagan.
Now we have the patrician Romney complete with Swiss
bank accounts, bags of money stashed in The Caymans and Bermuda, and a history
of mercilessly managing companies with a slash & burn style that General
Sherman would have admired, rolling up the sleeves on his $150 dollar dress
shirts so he looks like a regular guy and yammering about Obama being out of
touch with ordinary Americans. I think
the silver spoon that he has had in his mouth his whole life has finally
pierced his medulla oblongata.
The howling shouts of “Hey, that’s not fair…” are only the
least offensive of the noxious smoke cloud being generated on Mitt’s behalf as
he tries in vain to come up with some plausible reason for defying years of
tradition and not releasing his personal tax returns. His wife, Ann – you know; the one driving
Mitt around on a wave runner recently – has as much as said, screw tradition –
we’re not giving you anything else.
This is the same woman who tried to portray her life as a stay-at-home-
mom, living in luxury at one of the several Romney family compounds as being
equivalent to the lives of working mothers across America – the same working
mothers who would lose access to health care services like birth control, pap smears and safe, legal abortion, and would be denied the
opportunity for equal pay for equal work and have to scramble to find child
care if her husband is elected, all in the name of self reliance and personal
responsibility. Yeah, Ann; that really
resonates.
Worse – and, frankly, funnier – are the defenders of Romney’s
obfuscation and dissembling over his finances and proposed budgetary
priorities; Dick, “The Iguana” Cheney, staunch defender of the constitutional prerogative
to torture suspects and send them off blindfolded to the kind of dank and
stinking dungeons that probably haunt his dreams, is prominently featured. It’s a pretty sure bet he won’t be joining
that bible study group trip to Israel any time soon. Every terrorist within 500 miles would be
strapping on the C-4 and booking a plane ticket. John Sununu is another distinguished criminal
emeritus of the glory years who piped up with some steaming horse shit this
week in a stunningly idiotic rant that made the news, if only for being bizarre.
And Tim Pawlenty, bitter first-loser in the primaries who is
still apparently ambitious enough to be hoping for a position in the Romney
cabinet, came to the defense of Romney’s fucking horse. Really, Tim…? The one for which they claim some kind of
cockamamie tax deduction while looking down their nose at “those people” who
happen to need government services for something legit – like eating.
Of course we’ve come to expect people like Rush Blowhard to
pontificate loudly to his audience of shut-ins and people wearing tin foil hats
– “Why, Obama hates America…unequivocally”, as if the audience knows what that
word even means. And my personal
favorite, only because I want to see him cry – is John Boner, Speaker of the House,
in a spittle-flecked screed that was priceless, proclaiming that voters don’t
want to know about Mitt’s tax returns, they want to know about jobs. His sudden concern for the jobless would be
touching if he and his treasonous cronies hadn’t spent the last three and a
half years doing everything in their power to make sure we ended up in just
this place at this time – four months to go before the election and the economy
is still sputtering. He contemptuously
asked the rhetorical question, why isn’t the president more worried about the
jobs of ordinary Americans, and I threw up in my mouth a little bit. Hey John, in case you forgot, he proposed a
job plan – unlike you and McConnell and rest of the Benedict Arnold Society up
there on the hill – and you wouldn’t even vote on it. Where is your proposal, by the way? (Again, a rhetorical question since it has
long been clear you don’t have one.)
No, the only way Obama is going to get anything done, including
adding jobs, is if he wins and you and your buddies – young donation-slut Eric
Cantor, tea party poster boy, Paul Ryan – all of you, get voted out of the
majority and get the hell out of the way.
Then Obama can fail or succeed on the merits of the programs he implements,
not because you pink-tie-wearing freaks won’t let him.
And by the way, Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi, it’s time for
you to go too. I have never been witness
to such utterly incompetent party leaders as the two of you. Pack up your JFK posters and get the hell out
of there with them.
Anyway, where was
I? Ah yes – Romney and his taxes or lack
thereof; I say if he doesn’t want to release them he shouldn’t have to – it will
provide the big stick to use to make him into a piñata all summer long and
provide a lot of laughs to anyone who appreciates irony at its best.
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