The Republican horror show
So the original eight Republican candidates have been winnowed by half. Nein-nein-nein, the wicked witch, the sane guy, and the moron have quit. The remaining choices are a plastic financial vampire, a megalomaniac Elmer Gantry pit bullfrog with a short fuse, Christine O'Donnell in drag, and that doddering old Jim Crow relic who insists on coming down from the attic every four years to embarrass the rest of the family. Aren't you glad you're not a Republican primary voter?
Don't feel too sorry for those who are, though. Remember how they booed an American soldier, cheered for letting the uninsured die, and gave a standing ovation when the bullfrog put the only black guy in the room in his place for daring to bring up racism. We're not exactly talking the cream of the gene pool here. We've all known people like this -- the kind that lick their fingertips, leave the sound on during TV commercials, and think it's OK to be fat. Now they've stuck tea-bags on their hats and become a political movement. They probably couldn't spell "illiterate" (or even the N-word, apparently), but think they understand the Constitution better than the Supreme Court does. When the bullfrog vented outrage that his ex-wife would do to him what he did to Bill Clinton, these Morlocks drooled with adoration; in fact, they're poised to yank South Carolina out from under the vampire and present it to him as a token of their esteem. And the vampire's looking scared that his tax returns will prove to be the ray of sunlight that crumbles him to dust -- which may well be the case.
The Democrats have been granted the prayer of Voltaire. I'm starting to think this year just might bring us a landslide.