Late Night: Wingnut Crap o’ the Week
One of the many joys of daily life in Bush’s America is that it’s pretty much impossible to taste all the many delicious flavors of utter and absolute crap the administration and its various lackeys, toadies, sycophants, lickspittles, and enablers keep dishing out. It’s like living in an especially stinky Baskin-Robbins that’s always open and only serves poop.
The question it is therefore incumbent upon ourselves to address, with all due solemnity and pomp, is this: which specific recent half-truth or no-truth is the most egregious? Which particular Fecal Sundae of Mendacity must we duly top with The Yummy Cherry of Righteous Contempt? Snark-minded, Deeply Un-Serious Liberal Bloggers we may be, but nevertheless, inexorably, we face the stern, invidious task once faced by Paris, son of Priam — the only real difference is, that Trojan guy with the Frenchy name only had to give a damn piece of fruit to a goddess, while we’re examining horrible right-wing bullshit.
Inexact (and perhaps even stupid) classical allusions aside, what I’m getting at is I’m here introducing your new regular Saturday night thing: Wingnut Crap o’ the Week! In this space we will identify three particularly choice steaming piles of waste products deposited into the public sphere by some representative of contemporary American Conservatism, or else by an alleged opponent of same who insists upon demonstrating the moral and intellectual fiber of your Wormtongue or Wormtail, whichever nerd referent you prefer personally. (I have in mind for this last bit the astonishing Michael O’Hanlon, who is, I understand, missing a finger but would still quite like to bang Eowyn, Shieldmaid of the Rohirrim.)
Here are the Rules, which are both ancient and just. First, we are not merely considering outright lies, but also misdirection, catachresis, distortion, nonsense, hyperbole, evasion, hypocrisy, mendacity… In other words, we’re looking at bullshit. Second, this bullshit has to be so asinine that to believe it you would have to be a drunken preschooler, a brain-damaged squirrel, or David Broder. Third, it has to have the same quality of ebullient, vaguely hateful, yet strangely entertaining nonsense that characterizes the dialogue in a Patrick Swayze movie of the caliber of Road House or Red Dawn.
And, uh, that’s it. Leave your votes in comments.
—This article by Karl Rove, the one that made Eli whimper like like a sad little puppy (and understandably so). In the film version of The Bush Years, Rove clearly would cast a muffiny-chested Pat Swayze, circa 1990, as the Decider: He would Dance Against Islamofascism in a dramatic final night at some foreign policy summer resort, and then nobody would put Rovey in a corner! Karl Rove is a dick.
–Harry Reid’s unwillingness to even give ’em heck.
All the Senator Craig stuff gets an Honorable Mention and perhaps a reacharound. Vote for your faves in comments, or add your own. I’m off to get a drink…