Hands Across the Aisle

Is now the time to reach across the aisle, to our fellow Democrat?

This was the subject of an e-mail I received today. The body of the mail included a admission of liberal intent, with the standard claim of personal hatred for the president. The banter of several individuals, in the exchange, went on to 'admit' that the American voter is an idiot, on both sides of the aisle. The rationalization continued. Since the overwhelming mass of voters are hopeless fools, beyond redemption, we should all work to see eye to eye on the issues, shouldn't we? Is this what passes for the hand of truce? An elitist statement of intellectual superiority, followed by an admission of powerlessness?

Nope. I am not buying it. I just haven't had enough satisfaction. I don't want the razing to stop; now that it's getting exciting.

And why should it?

There is nothing to be accomplished by adopting this attitude, except defeat.

I want Hillary to run. I want Michael Moore to manage her campaign. I want Howard Dean, Babs Streisand and George Clooney to write her speeches for her, whether she likes it or not. If all the people out there are just stupid idiots, let's see who has the ability to collect the largest bushel of idiots the public school system has to offer.

I want my ears to ring with the shotgun-inspired tinnitus of political demagoguery. I want it synchronized to the theme song of the Rush Limbaugh show. I want that political shotgun loaded up and fired repeatedly, until you can sizzle bacon and fry hen fruit on the barrel. I want no political carcass to be found, untainted by lead shot.

Hell. Give Dick Cheney and David Gregory a pair of dueling pistols, along with five off-the-record minutes during a press briefing.

I want the left to bring all the ammunition they can muster to the fight. Let’s see if they can effect change, using every four letter juvenile sound bite, crotch grab, naked gay parade, burning effigy, lawn swastika and slanderous Hitler comparison they can bring to the party.

Bring on all those ‘527s, paving the road to hell, with the intentions of shallow brained, walnut sacked moderates, who wouldn’t know enough to step off the train tracks with a 130db steam whistle heating their ears and a mega-candlepower headlight burning out their orbs. Let the train run them down, full speed, as they are checking their wet fingers for the breezy direction from all those ridiculous media opinion polls.

I love the divisive, rock-em-sock-em robots in Washington. Bring on Zell Miller. Give him that snake-killing shovel. Point him in the direction of Jim Carville and say:

"See that snake, Zell? It's threatening your grandchildren. Go kill it, brother!"

I want every dork that Borked Bork, get Borked themselves and dragged through the ideological streets of the capital, with a rope fashioned by their own rhetoric, behind the conservative chariot.

I also want to see Bush struck in his Achilles heel. I want the demons of overspending, border security, entitlement pork and port deals, displayed front and center. I want those sharpened spears, arrows and swords, poised and ready to draw the blood of every politician brandishing a weak excuse for national policy and security.

I want a fight that makes the Jefferson/Adams poison pen media campaign look like Valentine's day. The politics of today is not some brandy spankin' new age of poor sportsmanship. History is full of politics. It has always been ugly.

Let the libs keep pouring money and energy into the Bush bashing hate festival. It's beautiful.

I want every juicy, meaty scandal pulled out of the Clinton walk-in-freezer/master-bedroom. I want them thawed out and braised in a spicy Malkin and Drudge marinade. I want every shred of meat chewed off and masticated. I want the marrow sucked out of the bones. I want those bones bleached, dessicated, draped in fresh laundromat plastic and stuck right back in the Clinton closet, for display.

I want the forensic evidence to show deep canine grooves in those Clinton skeletons, matching Karl Rove's dental records. I want a picture of Rove, in a bib, buffalo sauce ringing his lips, slurping both thumb and forfinger. The caption should read:

Dems is good eatin'

Screw the hand-pumping, smile on the face, with a dagger under the toga, duplicitous, bipartisan, hypocritical Senate posturing. The Wellstone funeral, the King funeral, the SOTU speech antics and the SCOTUS hearings proved that we don't need no stinking decorum. Cast it away, I say. Take the padded boxing gloves off, and put on chain mail, and brass knuckles.

From a scene featuring the Governator:

Mongol General:

Rhino McCain, what is best in life?

Rhino McCain:

We need to reach across the aisle and find a way to bring Democrats and Republicans together to solve these grave issues before us.

Mongol General:

Wrong! Conan, what is best in life?

Conan the Republican:

To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women!

If I am going to have to pay for the Coliseum, regardless of the quality of the show, I might as well be entertained.


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