Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina
My prediction for the GOP nominee: Newt; and Huntsman will be his running mate. I will call them the Duke and the Dauphin (one must read Mark Twain in order understand the American geist or what the hell I’m talking about). But will the citizens realize they were gipped? Mugged by a medicine show? Soon enough to run them out on a rail in tar and feathers? But can I inure myself to the most shudderous smirk in political hiss-tory? Do I have health inurance (sic) for this viral onslaught? Are my stomach muscles up to the task of the onslaught of this horrification of human venality? Of the apotheosis of Narcissus, ascending skyeverward . . . oh that this would be ancient Thebes; damn Zeus woulda zapped that motherfucker years ago (this Theos was an honest, indeed, a frank zapper), done the hubris treatment just like he did on Creon.”Antagonize me?” saith our Zeus. “I don’t think so.” Our God ain’t like that; a wimpy lover of human grandeur who showed his true stripes in the Job deal: he puts the Newts in charge so that others won’t dare to imitate his unwavering narcissism. Was Warren Harding really as bad as everyone says? Is Warren Buffet as good as everyone says? Will we hear the word “dithpICable” daffied about in Warner Brothers Mel Blanc intonations for eight years of Gingrichian Elmerfuddation? He speaks like a caricature of all that could go morally wrong in the last surviving hominid species. And when I am so riled as I am now, I play Brahms – first, the most beautiful woman in the world, Helene Grimaud playing Brahms sonatas and late opus pieces on the piano, and now The German Requiem sung by, who else, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. In homage to the Mitt man, of course. I look forward to a platinum age in the anals (sic) of American History. I finish with the new American motto (to replace “in God we trust”) – Watch your butthole.
