Velociworld

Requiem for a Lightweight; a Prologue

Not to beat a dead horse (unless one is tenderizing it for a traditional vagrants' repast with one's newfound acquaintances in the dark acres of the railyard. Times are tough indeed in Crackerboro, a topsy-turvy madhouse wherein the formerly oppressed minorities are stickin' it to the erstlords by grinning at them delightedly with fine white choppers), but I daresay we have not heard the last of Sarah Palin. The Hillbilly Harlequin will be back to take the measure of us.

I was aghast when I learned she was considering a Senate run. Why the fuck, Intrepids, would one want to be in a gangrenous club like the Senate when one could be chief executive and Grand Vizier of over 600,000 square miles of astonishingly awesome wilderness? Why, the orgasms from the "first shot" courtesies that accrue to the Boss on a Kodiak bear hunt alone would make this a dream job. Additionally, you get to hire and fire significant personages. Firing miscreants with six-figure salaries equals additional orgasms, with the occasional two-fingered fillip.

The Senate? A stodgy enclave of self-satisfied jobbers, whose famed collegiality is the precise cause of their inertia and circular jerkism. Do you know what a Senator can do? He can vote. Big fucking deal. Oh, he/she can also chair, and preside, and strut, and preen, and actually even have their cock-swapping lobbyists craft legislation for them. But at the end of Gaia's axel the only power they truly wield is the laughingly impotent vote. One vote of 100. Hell, I can garner more clout than that in a Daytona Beach Harley bar wearing bicycle pants.

This is why Senators make such horrid presidents. They have been so cloistered and pampered by their membership in this elite club that they are deluded into believing, despite all evidence to the contrary, that they are numinous übermen. They irrationally think they can fuck inappropriate people, saddle soap their wallets with ill-gotten gains, and still stand above reckoning. No Senator ever has to rise alone, naked but for his principles, and take a stand. (Well, the last Senator to do that was Joe McCarthy, and you see what that got him. And personally, I resent the implication that a drunkard is de facto incapable of making a meritorious decision. Why, some of my finest moments have ocurred whilst in the deepest of cups. Although I will admit that sliding down a half-scaled palm tree while buck-fucking-naked is not one of those moments. There are others, however, which I shall assay to recomember).

And so back to Palin. And, by reference, Mr. Obama. For the sheen will wear thin upon our new godhead directly, even as the flock is sheared. The soft bigotry of low expectations has been supplanted by the exuberance of irrational expectations. And as sand in the buttocks follows tide, Senator Obama will be found lacking by a multitude of former enamorati. (Of course, he will keep his hard-core loyal followers ad infinitum, who will forever insist that the idea of Obama is more important than the success of Obama, just as there are those who declaim to this day that Dr. King deserved some side pussy for all those good works, and Bill Clinton deserved those ejaculations into the maw of an emotionally stunted naïf).

Thus: I believe M. Obama will be found lacking in numerous areas eventually, including critical analysis and appropriate response mechanisms. At which point enter Palin.

In Palin I see not so much a diamond in the rough versus a hopelessly gauche muleskinner's daughter as a replay of Ronald Reagan, circa 1976. Reagan was of course anathema to the gin-blossomed Rockefeller Republicans that year. These Newport stickpins were disgusted by the temerity of the man, who deigned challenge the incumbent standard bearer Ford, he a Magic Bullet member of the praetorian Establishment. (And, no, I am not one of those. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I'm just curious why no one bothered to ask the Russians why one of their purposefully agitated agents assassinated our president. Or was the question unseemly?).

Reagan was an interloper, a second-tier hack with a disturbing knack for working up the masses. And who the fuck needs that shit? As if Gerald Ford represented anything ennobling or true to the cause. But tarred Reagan was, even as he came mightily close to stealing that nomination from the insipid incumbent.

Fast forward four years: 1980, and Reagan is still anathema to the cognoscenti, and the party in particular, until he begins to pound dirty delta silt up the collective arses of George Bush, Howard Baker, John Anderson, and John Connally (ask that feller about Magic Bullets). Even as Reagan eschews the "cattle call" GOP joint appearances designed to prop up the establishment Bush and hammer Reagan as a voodoo economics member of the Tontons Macoute.

The GOP has always been nearly as tone deaf as the Dissipating Media, and the RNC will likely throw massive amounts of monies against any national moves Sarah Palin takes in the next 18 months. Even as those monies flowed in mostly because of her candidacy.

If there is a moral, and I am no moralizer, it is to misunderestimate Palin at your peril. She's no Bush scion. And while she may not possess the intellectual chops of Reagan (ah, yes, he was a prolific thinker and writer, but you were not allowed to know that until he was safely interred), she does possess his innate instinct to impassion the indignant, to give voice to the electorally dispossessed, and the morally what-the-fucked. She is likewise intelligent enough to delegate roles properly, the mightiest skill any executive wields. And unlike the similarly talented but duplicitous Huey Long, she won't promise to give you anything, she'll merely promise not to take anything away.

In idiomatic parlance, Palin = Papillon, Obama = Louis Dega.