The Republicans, like all extremists, must limit themselves to emotion.
And as so many Americans are, simply put, limited, these limits are actually quite generous.
All of those old, odious hippopotamus women at the RNC convention, Maybelline-spackled and waving their arm fat, are all voting on gilded, garish nostalgia for a past that never happened. There is no reasoning with them. American rightwingers vote on “seems” and “feels” and are stubbornly skeptical of “is”.
They left reality-based existence a very long time ago and have grown fat and cozy in their junk houses eating their junk food and dreaming about their sticky-fingered masturbation years in the 1950’s when the side-effects of junk culture hadn’t yet eroded their beauty and intelligence.
They’ll snooze through nuance, in their XXL “athletic apparel” and drive their SUV to the Obama rally to unroll their JUST FUCKIN’ DRILL banner. There is no reasoning with them. We must accept that. You’d have better luck teaching Mandarin to a walrus.
It’s terrible to say but that whole RNC spectacle – the little Palin-Babe (I forget what Glade scent she’s named after) spit-slicking that pimped out slow baby’s forelock (to an ocean of sickening old-lady cooing! Gack!), to S Palin’s diction-coached middle American housewife gutturals – all of the ape-screaming and breast beating made me think of the emotion and vulgarity of Nazism. “The oceanic feeling” that Freud detected in the sublime and also in fascism. “YOU ESS AY!! -YOU ESS AY!!” And the three minute applause that Ms. Nobody got for shopping that Down’s baby around to all of the tabloids? Pure emotion.
The RNC has become that desperate friend everybody’s mother has who leaves messages on the answering machine saying, “Oh my God Sandra you have to call me I have STORIES!” They found the most obscure country heifer in the world, gussied her up with vaginal pink Babs Walters hot-lamps and a Lifetime-TV-for-Women story and, as they say in Tee-Vee, “they had a hit!”
They worked backwards from a punchline: “Ok, right, so we get some bumpkin with a cracked up family.. say, daughter’s a YouthGroup teen, knocked up on the schoolbus by a redneck, “differently abled” baby, husband to dumb to speak, etc etc… and we take them to Beverly Hills…nonono… to WASHINGTON!”
So they fly up to Methville, AK, take a sniff, and like what they find. They write a fancy speech for her, wind her up, and put her on stage and the charm machine starts grinding out Reader’s Digest-style boilerplate. And Maureen Dowd writes another one of those columns that sounds like it was written by some gin-breath barfly at three am in the Delta lounge at Newark Int’l. And in the irradiated gloom of TeeVee rooms all over the fly-over states fat, failed, depressed, fundamentalist women — women for whom the only title they will ever possess is “Mrs.” and they don’t intend on sharing that with some bagel munching coastal dykes and fags — (and anyway, little Madison or Emilee is already on her second child, though marrying the boy this time..very respectable…) and fine specimens of beer-bellied, jet-skiing, stag-party American Masculinity will tear themselves away from their internet pornography for long enough to give a hazy thumbs up and…
a star is born!
They’re all reassuring themselves that it’s ok to be irrational, that reality has been safely bottled and exiled and sealed up in a log of leaded glass and stored in Yucca mountain.
But Reality, the reaper, walked through the door instead of Jesus (that old so-and-so) and took many forms, none of them very pleasant (the void they displaced when they built their trash houses and has come back in the form of depreciation, the refined sugar diet has become all that arm fat proudly waving — imagine the time American embalmers must spend on all of that fat! — made-in-china petro-plastic flags, the guns that go to school (their destined destination, after all: guns are made to exterminate and effective extermination starts with groups of children cornered in rooms with one door and no fire escape), the JUST FUCKIN’ DRILL dumb-dumb mentality that believes that resources are infinite and if you don’t get what you want you simply shout louder and throw your fat around a bit more) and they’re scared.
They just want a few more years of something-for-nothing.
And it’s not coming.
And they’re scared.
Here’s a video of that classy, enchanting, all-American Palin family.
All of you haters out there saying Bristol Palin is a slut are going to be so very contrite.