Eunuchpalooza!

As yet another symbolic referendum is thrown to the president like a paper plane tossed in math class, it is official: America has become a bitchocracy. The Democratic controlled congress (even though they never seem to have enough votes to assert any control that would derail the Iraq War juggernaut, for instance), in spite of its growls and gurgles is a virtual Eunuch-palooza, only sans t-shirt concession and adolescent-crammed mosh pit (although Mark Foley might disagree on that one. Gee. It was fun saying "Mark Foley" again after so long. Let's not let that paragon of Republican bi-polarity slip away. Agreed?).

So impotent is this assemblage of duly elected representatives that it still cannot stand up to Big Bully Bush, big business's bumptious emissary, despite the backing of the vast majority of Americans. So submissive to the ruling interests are the Republicans, so docile and cur-like, they are perpetually brought to heel by the commands of their corporate masters, unaware that they themselves will soon become obsolete in the way the national business is done. With the huddled masses transmogrified into knuckle dragging grunts by years of being smashed in the face by relentless commercialism (see: "The Singing Bee") and therefore effectively out of the way, why endure meddling middle men in suits and ties spouting preposterously pious pomposity at all? Why bother when the magnificent machine of government has been razed and rebuilt as a theme park attraction?

Chairman Chertoff's gut tells him that Al Qaeda will be rumbling very soon, assembling in their ragged phalanx, box cutters glinting, keffiyeh's rippling in the arid wind. That makes perfect sense as we are entering (insert ominous sting here) The Election Season. Chertoff's draw-dropping assertion gives credibility to substantial (albeit circumstantial) evidence suggesting that the Neo-Con machine uses Al Qaeda in the same way it sends forth pimply election volunteers holding clipboards and wearing pocket protectors to knock on doors. For the time is near, the time when we are told to expect the coming of Them. We don't know where or when exactly. Or how. But we sure know why: we will be electing a president soon. And They hate that. And the desiccated old pols dare not admit the truth about their crooked fealty. Even those Republicans who still retain a vestige of a conscience, who clearly are sleeping less and less as their numbered days progress, are too far gone and in too deep with their loan shark overlords. But they can never pay the vig. The only solution is the one Tom Hagen offhandedly suggsted to Frankie Pantangelo. (Yes, yes. It's a "Godfather 2" reference. I confess to having a weakness for celluloid.villainy as opposed to the three dimensional sort): have a glass of wine, get in a warm bath and open a vein. It will be gentle, effective and they won't lose what little face they have left. It would preserve the nostalgia of "this thing of ours". And it would let the rest of us free to reassemble, restate our principles and restart the sytem. Every day we fail to refute Bush's assertions of certain victory in the face of perpetual fear and perpetual threat, his cynical, tragic dictum that Democracy-is-bad-for-business-so-get-rid-of-it! is proven. As long as intellect is taken hostage by ideology, as long as we stand by while our precious natural resources of trust and hope are highjacked by vile wolves in sheep's clothing shouting about tax cuts and cut-n'-run, we will become less a "nation" and more a "clump", malleable to the touch, brainless and quivering. And if you still need a convincer, see a little thing called "History."