"...it's not the training to be mean but the training to be kind that is used to keep us leashed best." ~ Black Dog Red

"In case you haven't recognized the trend: it proceeds action, dissent, speech." ~ davidly, on how wars get done

"...What sort of meager, unerotic existence must a man live to find himself moved to such ecstatic heights by the mundane sniping of a congressional budget fight. The fate of human existence does not hang in the balance. The gods are not arrayed on either side. Poseiden, earth-shaker, has regrettably set his sights on the poor fishermen of northern Japan and not on Washington, D.C. where his ire might do some good--I can think of no better spot for a little wetland reclamation project, if you know what I mean. The fight is neither revolution nor apocalypse; it is hardly even a fight. A lot of apparatchiks are moving a lot of phony numbers with more zeros than a century of soccer scores around, weaving a brittle chrysalis around a gross worm that, some time hence, will emerge, untransformed, still a worm." ~ IOZ

Mar 25, 2010

Scapegoats, Part Two

In a different key, with tonal modifications:

Of course the Republicans played along as the OCP* sold off another swath of the commons, under the banner of future hope, of promised rewards delayed, with promises. It comes quite easy to them, this part of awful evildoer. They would like to commit any number of future assaults on the commons. No stretch to scape the goat, these conservatronics. Like Brad Pitt playing any role requiring Brad Pitt to act like Brad Pitt, these Republicans.

So, here we have it:

The OCP enacts legislation which the Republicans would've offered, but with lots and lots of bloviating about the common good and historicky historicality and saving Hopey Changey from - alas! Oh Noes! geewillikers! - political defeat that might cripple his political agenda and dent his Lincolnroosevelkennedyesquian gravitas.

The eleven dimensional chess master, Mr. Cool Aplomb, needed keyboard pwogs to save him from the...

...scapegoats, y'know. And from firebrands and other assholes who won't eat shit without complaining. He needed disciples, to explain his brilliant, pragmatic thrust towards the mean, towards the status quo ante, towards more of the same.

He moved those pieces with such supralapsarian foreknowledge, with the wisdom of the Divine chess player Hisself, just so the evil Republicans could find themselves stymied, stopped in their tracks, defeated and treated to a - oh, the horror! -  political setback.

Oh, how we shudder at it, how we scrape the floor in wonder and awe, we grateful denizens of post-Reaganific Amurrica.

But, remember!

Remember it well: it took the highdomey pwogs - those lords of flickering key strokes - to make it known. To show us the power and the glory. Oh, Shrill Paul, Apostle of the Moral Dollar, Matthew the Bright, Reb Ezra and Mr. Numbers About Baseball - without you how would we have known that you knew better than us? That you knew, that you know, the best possible world so suddenly available to us? That we need saving from ourselves. And, oh, from the evil Republicans.

We needed you to tell it. To sneer and lecture, to scold and deride. Lest we forget. Lest we forget.

How would we have known that Hopey Changey verged on victory, historic and mighty, clutched everlasting in the last moments from the claws of the scapegoats.

Who got a bill they've promoted for the better part of fifteen years. And with a pretty little door prize, a consolation bauble, the uterus in chains.

* - Other Corporate Party

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