Republican Primary Tavern Ammo For Progressives

By Lance Hendrickson
Contributing Writer

I wouldn’t normally connect anything appearing on Fixed News with decently-written fiction, let alone actual facts or science, and nobody should. But one recent item on Al Republizeera did make me think back to eighth-grade science class.

Our teacher, Dave, was silly (or mischievous) enough to demonstrate some milk-jug gasoline rockets one Friday afternoon, thus inadvertently creating several backyard Goddards. By Saturday evening, none of our folks’ Cordobas’ and El Caminos’ gas tanks were safe from my buddy Rich’s newfound siphoning talent (Rich having lost “rock, scissors, paper” for who had to go first), and candles & matches were disappearing from junk drawers all over town. Our fuzzy volumetric algebra cost us some newly-arrived forearm hair and a few eyelashes (and I’m still convinced that attempted-blastoff #3 actually launched my intermittent tinnitus), but by noon Sunday we were slapping high-fives and quoting Werner Von Braun: “Heilige sheibe, funktionert!”

Anyway, assuming Foxed-up’s polling data isn’t as fake as half of its film footage, over these last couple months Michele Bachmann (R-Stepford) has rocketed from four percent to eleven among likely Clownservative primary voters. The others, save new arrival Rick Perry, are capsizing like Delta Zetas on dollar-shot night, and I’ve never laid a glove on him. So, much as any self-respecting rooster takes credit for the dawn, I hereby crown myself (with a tip of said crown to my gin-swilling readers) the single most influential progressive columnist in print today. Or, at least the most single columnist. Whichever. Bottom line is, holy shit, everybody – it’s working. At this rate (assuming our livers hold out), Obama’s ’12 opponent will be the verruck-est Loonpublican this side of Sun Myung Moon. That’s what I call a job well done.

That said, instead of taking a victory lap, I believe I’ll take just a moment to replace the crown on my scheisskopf for a tin-foil hat. And while I doubt very much that the black helicopters are coming over the horizon for me next (inasmuch as they don’t have any gas money after that last beard-run to Pakistan), I pretty much expect another IRS audit for the following prognostication: Bachmann’s gonna beat Obama like a rented mule.

Why? Because I ain’t getting’ off my barstool again to go vote for the one famous Hawaiian besides Don Ho, and nobody else will, either. And everybody reading this knows I’m right.
I mean, seriously, who’s voting for Barry next time? The only people with enough $4.50-a-gallon unleaded to get to the polls are the McCain-voting fatcats (and my buddy Rich, but that’s because to him, the term “hoser” isn’t just for Canadians anymore).

In ’08, the gays, for example, threw campaign money at B.O. like he was a post-op Gypsy Rose Lee, and they’re still waiting for him to “evolve” (read: not remain a caveman) vis-à-vis their rights.

The environmentalists walked miles knocking doors for him (no inconsiderable feat in Birkenstocks), but to this day, you’ll find more milk-jug rockets on the White House roof than you’ll find solar panels, despite Steven Chu’s obviously-unauthorized promise to put ‘em back up there.

More importantly, here’s a guy who promised all those kids and working stiffs in Iowa the moon and stars (the approximate dollar value of which those folks still owe in student loans and plastic debt) … and then went to DC and promptly flipped them the bird. He let Citigroup’s Michael Froman and Jamie Rubin (protégé and son of Bob “I Got Paid Sultanesque Coin to Drive Citigroup and the World’s Largest Economy Straight Into the Goddamned Ditch” Rubin, respectively) pick his economic team, including former Rubin staffers Tim Geithner and Larry Summers, plus Diana Farrell, who worked under Rubin at, uh, er … Goldman Sachs.
(Oh, and not for nothin’, but if there’s anybody in Washington who resembles Billy Bibbit from “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” more than Geithner does, I dunno who that would be.) Jesus. That’s like letting Dick Cheney pick who’s in charge of the ATF, isn’t it?  I mean, sure, he knows plenty about whiskey, smokes and guns, but he shot a guy in the face on a hooch-tinged hunting trip!

Pretty much any way you look at Obama (and there are many creative ways, what with so few people left with vision coverage on their insurance plans), he’s either ignored or screwed everybody who backed him in ’08.  In short, we know we’ve been jobbed, and we’re … well, done.

And it sure doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.

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