Reconsider if you will
an earlier post
of Father Smiff's.
In it, the reverend father pastes up
passages from an article in The Nation
some eager ambitious elf.
I point it out
because I think it answers
an important musical question:
"how is the donk party
for the day half power is restored?"
with one nice phrase turn,
I suggest you
notice it with care:
"the Democratic Party's renewal."
I claim that sez all --
renewal as in not reformation,
not even quest,
Back a while ago I read somewhere
a soc sci piece
that divided midnight America
into two very distinct Weberian types --
those who salivated to the cry
and those who did the same
to the call
I'm sure I needn't bore you all
by explicating the fairly obvious
implied content of this distinction -- not for you lot.
lets call 'em
blue-lighters vs. red-lighters.
Now, we may have the two lights and two types
out there among the people,
but we got only one kinda party --
and it's not a blend; it's not purple party politics. We got
a pair of me-too
grapplers trying to square the circle, or
at least circle the square.
Nope, the big two have drifted so far right,
red-lighters now -- social renew-ers, and
social justice be damned.
So if your a renew-er
you got nothin' to do
but look like a fresher breath of renewal.
the TV makeover show treatment,
as applied to the look of the party.
Yes, the war mules and the mommy dearests,
but also the goose-up of the old guard too,
an all-surfaces rejuvenation.
Boytox and girltox too.
This is really all there is to today's donkery-do.
And then of course comes The Nation.
Is it too turning into
nothing other then
a renew-er outlet,
a Kosnik senior citizin circuit?
of rebottled old wine
ought to be poisoning Katrina's pert head.
How can she
endorse this beggars' opera... and with teared eye too?
The Nation! Nursery of I.F. Stone and Alex Cockburn. Oh, as
Fr. Smiff would say, quomodo ceciderunt potestates in proelio --
how are the mighty fallen.
But I'm sure the Nationistas are convinced they're
being very courageous, and in a way it is.
I mean, think a moment --
it courageous to face the electorate
like an aging gladiator facing a trio of hungry lions,
and act spry and ready to rumble?
Sacrifices have been made!
Faces have gone under the knife!
No more Teddy trusswork --
fat cells, real live fat cells
have been vacuumed away,
and by the tons.
What we are witnessing here
is the major minor
party of public repute
under the care of
doctors without mercy --
tough love doctors --
those crazed and sadistic
surgeons of cosmetic politics,
doctors Rhambo and Mushschooom.
"Let's get the look of victory
added to this chin --
the look of frontier vigor --
nurse, get me the Tank Mcnamara implant!
"Dutch, for fuck sake,
you're Lardass Incorporated --
how is this gonna look?
Get the blubber sucker, Ms Pinch --
the industrial strength blubber sucker.
"What, she only has one limb gone?
Jesus, do I have to do everything around here?
Okay, it's way too late to find a three-off now.
We'll just have to harvest the other leg.
What are you waitin' for? Now, soldier, now!
"I said pimp pouch,
asshole, not mouse pouch!
Look at the decrepit old fucker --
shit, he looks like a tumbleweed.
We gotta give him some soul-on-ice fury here.
We need an Eldridge Cleaver body here,
with a 65 year old white head on it.
Make him mean and horny.
Yes, the royal extra large pimp pouch."
No matter what they take off or add on,
its the same old same-old under the hood.
But no more
the defeatist look!
No more Tom Daschle and the castrato chorus,
no more old college try.
"Listen up, you duffers. If we donks are coming back,
it's gotta look like
a hard charge.
We can't stumble up the hill.
We can't play it for nostalgia.
This is not an oldtimers' game.
It's gotta look like we're new, we're mad,
and we're takin' no prisoners."
Imagine the Herculean task that must be,
trying to pass off these retreads,
these sour-patch kids,
as a stem-to-stern
A single look
at the lineup of faces
shows they're just a juiced-up,
pack of casino clowns.
But hey, they're ready to... ahh --
ready to what?
Hobble, that's what -- hobble and heehaw.
Put this string
swaybacks (albeit with arrow-straight
fiberglass spinal implants)
under a full pack of legislation and they'll... founder.
imagine how just that one charge up the Capitol steps
those old flaccid muscles.
Ah the pain of the aging glamour girl.
Ronnie Reagan knew about it --
all about it.
potbellied, brew-breathed Tip O'Neill never did --
that the story of the early 80's?
when you plan on putting the country
look smart and gustoized
while you're doing it.
And give 'em a lot of twinkle,
and snort some, too --
make fierce faces,
fierce but kindhearted,
like Ferdinand the Bull.
So we await the curtain rise this November,
and do we dare hope
Tip's party will now know
the pain of looking good outside,
you're a senile fucking wreck?
"Paging Doctor Rahm...Doctor Rahm.
Mr. Rangel is ready for his white soak."