Like Saki's least palatable breakfast cereal in the history of unpalatable breakfast cereals, several of our leading Republican contenders for Puppet-in-Chief continue to find purchase in the hearts and minds of the leadership-starved masses despite their foul smell, gritty texture and undefinable chemical aftertaste. Still, the ever credulous public stands around like a vast collection of spindly hatchlings, waiting with open beaks to be filled with regurgitated worms. Why? It's a mystery on a par with Stonehenge but not nearly as erotically charged.
"Mitt in '08" has become my punchline of choice, lobbed in at the end of conversations and never failing to get a guffaw. Looking like he placed third in a Ronald Reagan Drag-a-thon, and shivving several judges to get even that far, his genetically strapping sons each a slightly more defective generation further down the DNA helix from the original and all fitting into each other like segments of a Russian doll, the Mittster grins, furrows, squints and otherwise dances faster than a clogger with a hotfoot. He's a Front Runner®! Buy one, get the Tabernacle Choir to perform at a posthumous baptism for free!
Huckabee is the amiable "Angel On My Shoulder" chap, avuncular even as he herds gays, illegal immigrants and hairy armpitted pro-choicers into their razor wire enclosures, earnestly regaling the prisoners with rambling excerpts from "Of Pandas and People" and pausing occasionally to slip in a rudimentary base lick. I Heart Huckabee!
Rudy -- virtually indistinguishable from Max Shreck in Nosferatu (as opposed to Klaus Kinski in the Herzog version. Way too likeable) -- ladles his Islamo-fascist-bashisht credentials to his too-petrified-to-move audiences, flashing a lipless rictus and casting no reflections, figurative or literal. Strangely, he has the full endorsement of the Squeegee Guild.
McCain? Tough as a petrified wood coffee table, flinty as a civil war era barber strop, no one can deny this man has had his mettle tested in battle. The only time he caved was when the religious right put the screws to him, and he embraced his tormentors with as much brio as Patty Hearst wearing a "Stockholm or Bust" t-shirt. Not saying I wouldn't immediately fold if my pinky was threatened with being hyper-extended by a freckled schoolyard bully. I just like my bonafide war heroes to keep on keepin' on. Or something.
Fred "Huh? Wazzat...?" Thompson? Laid back as an old basset hound and I'll bet just as salivary when no one's looking, Fred's been centrally cast for the remake of Advise and Consent, ambling along the corridors of power with a soporific drawl, filling spittoon after spittoon with generous Red Man loogies. Eight years of FS will have the country in perpetual REM.
Ron Paul? Plain speaking. Trend bucking. Race baiting? "Oy", as those pesky Jews say. Such promise dashed and derailed by...himself? He was the articulate throwback to more ethical times, the hope of the Republican party for all those fed up with the pod people wearing flags on their lapels. But is he the Hope? Or the White Hope in Hope's clothing? Hell, he's reminiscent of Ross Perot, who was nuts, too, but he sure would have cleaned house. And afterward he would have had his cadre of Haitian houseboys put up red, white and blue bunting adorned with adorable Illuminati symbols tatted into the hems. Anybody know what the hell I'm talking about? I'm not even sure I do.
But it doesn't matter because it's all about brinksmanship and salesmanship, about scaring us silly then pulling back at the last moment and saying "Jeez, you okay, fella?" And we, hyperventilating and woozy, accept the drink of water from his/her outstretched claw, too weary to inquire about the toxins floating in the water or if the person offering the succor actually thinks we're just plain suckers.
It's Filboid Studge folks! Line up, lift your spoons high and say "Ahhhh!"