Freaks in Toyland and a Transvestite Wails On

The political game dropped another few rungs in the ladder over the weekend, a gruesome clanging and screeching of raw steel being bent into pretzels - a terribly bad shreiking of metal against concrete that can't quite grip the edges or mesh with other steel beams, much less anything at all, as the Grand Pole of Deviance came crashing down in an oily pile of sludge. That is the one thing that most demogogues cling onto with a death grip as they reach frenetically for the surface, away from the long black pole leading down into the abyss - not like the shiny golden one around which most strippers swing purposefully for dollar tips from lunchtime degenerates.

But this metal shaft is different. It is flat black like a charred piece of metal and greasy from human remains, with deep and frantic scars and an assorted ballet of teeth marks holding on for dear life, leaving the observer with a heavy and nauseous feeling if left to gaze at them for very long. Many irrecoverable souls have fought gravity along this pole and slid off into nothingness, and only a few have ever made it back alive. It's like a drop into social purgatory with a long, dizzying ride off into the blackness.

The end. Instant closure. Where the freaks gather in sweatshop formation, blinded, and the damned moan and shout to no one in particular while enveloped by total darkness. Richard Nixon is down there greeting the contestants. So is Spiro Agnew and Roy Cohn, along with John and Martha Mitchell. Daddy Bush will join them soon enough ... There is also Wally George, Morton Downey Jr., Jim Bakker, Strom Thurmond and Joe McCarthy. And then there is the Hall of Fame wing, the hardcore purveyors of filth on a grand scale: Lee Atwater, Chairman Mao, Herman Goering, Boss Tweed, Lester Maddox, Vlad the Impaler and the Marquis De Sade, along with a sidecar cast of minions and incorporeal beings like Jesse Helms, Herbert Hoover and the unimaginable vileness of Josef Goebbels.

It is an abominable wasteland for the special freaks of nature. They are a discordant chorus of hypocrisy and shame sung at light speed - a freakish Circle of Doom, those singular and festering public figures who come along every once in a while to remind us what decency is not, the grotesque monstrosities of the day who can waddle for so long in the slime that not even a genius like Albert Einstein could explain their being.

There is little hope for the redeemable - never mind the Larry Flynts and Hugh Hefners and Howard Sterns of the world - who will be invoked by these dedicated morons as a reason for their existence, to admonish what they secretly hold as a matter of petty jealousy because they cannot ever be original in anything they do. Being outrageous doesn't translate to audacity with a noble purpose, and it is difficult for the oridinary American to accept that a truly evil person, a ruthless cretin with the sense of a dung beetle and the soul of a rock lizard, is about to be sworn in as preznut for another four years ... And he will deliver another bizarre gang with him, a cruel network of attorneys and shucksters and pimps and fixers who will continue to loot the US Treasury, bend the rules, rewrite the laws in their own image, and pop enough Vivarin and jolt soda to stay awake for days at a time in the hopes of finding another reason to declare war, officially, on some new collection of brown people who don't buy into the American purpose or God's destructive plan.

To The People Of Islam: Just think: If we'd invaded your countries, killed your leaders and converted you to Christianity YOU'D ALL BE OPENING CHRISTMAS PRESENTS RIGHT ABOUT NOW!
Merry Christmas

Happy Giving Tree Festival To All, And To All A Good Night!

There are two Halloweens in America these days - the real one in October and every time Ann Coulter speaks, and a Hallmark moment for the beastly ice princess usually involves razor blades in apples served to inner city kids who could someday sell crack to addicted suburbanites. But the confirmation - with the sordid and grandiose thought process of an enraptured serial rapist at the park on Sunday - waged on from the tangle of stretch marks she calls a mouth, insisting that since the attacks of September 11, "we've won two wars, liberated millions of people from monstrous regimes, presided over one election in Afghanistan and are about to see elections in Iraq and among the Palestinian people. Focusing like a laser beam on the big picture, liberals are upset that, during this period, the Secretary of Defense used an autopen."

Indeed. Coulter deliberately added fuel to the fire, for no other reason to earn more rethug talking points time for being outrageous and loyal. Imagine Leni Riefenstahl without the Wagner soundtrack and a transvestite's flamboyant wardrobe - and with a protruding Adam's Apple in stereo - and you are left with the decrepit moral shell and rack of pestilence that is Ann Coulter on a good day. Spray her with a flat-black can of Rustoleum - the Dom Perignon of spraypaint cans - and the vapor would transform into chunks instantly. Ann Coulter and her ilk have become the classic example of what many reality based political thinkers are calling these days: The Golden Age of Treachery ... It is a terrible conceptual event, a miserable form of reality someplace between Donald "Redrum" Rumsfeld and Alberto "Little Il Duce" Gonzales.

No human being between Calexico, Washington and Wall Street has been accused of more fraud, outright lies and shameful legal proceedings than Redrum and Little Il Duce - but they are like folk heros for a new age of deranged politics: The Faith-based and Fraudulent 21st Century, The Golden Age of Treachery.

Both of these fools would be heavy favorites to win the Dunce of the Week award in any normal news week. They would rank right up there with Dubya, formerly of the Texas Governor Mansion and the rigged election or two, who is a firm enduring candidate for King of the Treacherous just for breathing.

But neither of these scumbags will walk off with the Dunce of the Week hardware this time ... That wondrous honor belongs to Ann Coulter, who waltzed off for the holiday season with one more gutter utterance for the damned, then probably retreated back to the same South Beach transvestite revue for a round of Una Paloma Blanca with the rest of the closeted rethug freaks still clutching their J. Edgar Hoover memoirs.

Until the electorate gets fed up with this cycle of stupidity and punishment, the Freaks in Toyland will rule the roost.