Tales From the Crypt

Last week, it seemed like mining the RNC for ridiculousness and snark would be like shooting fish in a barrel, or finding stray clumps of popcorn chicken in Jonah Goldberg's footie jammies. But since it was a house-payment week, and I couldn't swing the Costco bottle of Jameson's, I just couldn't stomach the prospect of actually sitting through that mess sober. Life, as they say, really is too short.

But I did manage to sit through enough potent bite-size chunks so far to get the gist of it. A few observations:

• The more gallons in your hat, and the more buttons and/or bumper stickers it is festooned with, the more patriotic you are.



• I sure hope the Minnesota Wild has better luck filling this thing than the Republicans are having. You could put the living half of Milli Vanilli on stage with a karaoke machine and get this many people.



• Is there anybody at this fucking thing under 60 years old? Aren't they missing an oatmeal-and-Matlock marathon somewhere?



• I keep hearing that Republican chicks are hot. I've seen a lot of crowd shots the last few nights -- more than I care to think about. I have yet to see a single one I would fuck with Ann Coulter's cock.



• So being pregnant every few years and moose-hunting are now sterling quals for higher national office. Perhaps Sarah Palin can impress the neighbors by field-dressing Fred Thompson on stage.



• Seriously, this is the oldest fucking audience I have ever seen for anything. Is there an early-bird special and a live taping of Murder, She Wrote or something?



• Joe Lieberman is so far up John McCain's ass, it is technically a violation of the Geneva Convention. Which this crowd has never heard of, even though most of their Social Security numbers are in double digits.



• Loved Fredo's aphasic reference to his "resolute desk". That's where he keeps his "action pen" for signin' "freedom documints". There's also the collection of post-its he keeps in his "idea drawer". When the finally build that factory in Crawford, the one that makes cheese-filled hot dogs, they'll know who to thank.



• Just when I thought Ol' Fred and Holy Joe were runnin' neck-wattle-to-neck-wattle for the coveted Asshole of the Week award (which for this crowd is a pretty fuckin' deep bench to choose from), along comes Rudy. Breslin's line on Giuliani cannot be quoted too often: a small man in search of a balcony. The guy's such a flaming asshole, he's not Tony Soprano, he's Phil Leotardo. Five pounds of cousin-fucking shit in a ten-pound bag.



• Finally it's Marian the Librarian's turn. The thing about following Rudy G, even when he runs over into your segment, is that you could read aloud from Mein Kampf and still come off as more rational and contemplative. The expectations have been so severely lowered already for Palin, all she has to do is not sound like a complete moron. Or Joe Lieberman.



• The only thing remotely resembling a coherent policy statement is some vague thoughts here and there about "energy independence" and investment in "alternative energy", which for this crowd means nuclear plants and "clean coal". Does anyone really believe for a moment that any of them would be willing to live either next to a nuke plant or a mountain that is being blasted and melted?



• This may be the only major event in recorded history where they have to take a milk-of-magnesia break every 45 minutes. I would not be surprised to hear that this greasy monkeyfuck was sponsored by Metamucil and the estate of Lawrence Welk.



• There are several levels of grating intellectual offense. Obviously the professional grifters and propagandists scuttling to the microphone are the first level. Then you have the commentators, each trying to be the one that susses correctly the zeitgeist of a brainless, deadened husk of a failed ideology. So far, Campbell Brown of all people has grilled some fat trout, though Nooners' hot-mike slip-up tells you all you need to know about what the GOP insiders really think about their own circle-jerk.
  
  But the final, most irritating level is that of the drones on the floor, the delegates, the nameless morons from hither and yon (mostly, it would appear, yon) who, when asked what they think and why they think it, burble the most incoherent streams of nonsense imaginable. Why do they like Sarah Palin? Because she validates their own personal reproductive choices; because she seems like she'd be a good neighbor; because they feel like they can hang out at her house on weekdays and watch All My Children and get sloshed on gin fizzes.
  
  Who the fuck can tell? None of them make a goddamned lick of sense. You want to slap these fucktards and tell them that there are better ways to find friends than, you know, voting. It's like they're all in third grade -- which, hell, maybe they are. Bored with their own lives, they have aught to look forward to but sticking their wrinkled beaks into everyone else's, while keeping them off their lawn, I guess.
  
  I mean, I get the first two sets of insufferable assholes -- they're getting paid. Ol' Fred and Rudy G make bank to catapult the propaganda. Ditto Olbermann and Tweety for their orotund furbelows. But to get all these suckers to drive and fly hundreds of miles and not only listen to this bullshit, but repeat it? My friends, that is some stupidity you can believe in.