Uncle Caesar of Petticoat Junction.
The political world has turned on is axis many, many times, but GOP Base has remained a constant and true-North beacon of crazy, and it is they who will decide who the next Republican Presidential Candidate.
In fact, if anything, they have grown even more delusional since they chose the half-bright, Bible-slingin’ waterhead Son of a Bush as their party’s standard-bearer.
To the utter mystification of the rest of the sentient beings in the space-time continuum, the Base flocked to a shallow, sniveling, sadistic frat-rat. A transparently fake vet, fake mogul, figurehead-governor-turned-fake-cowboy who sat on the prop porch of his fake ranch basking in the bogus light of his sham faith while the pig people sopped it up with a fucking biscuit.
So when I read things like this…
August 16, 2007
Fred Has Waited Too Long
By Reid Wilson
Fred Thompson's window of opportunity could hardly have been wider. His opponents were fatally flawed in the eyes of the socially conservative Republican base; he's well-known, can raise money, and speaks language that both Republicans and independents leaning right can embrace. Even thinking of entering the race put him above double digits in polls.
But, thanks to a number of missteps and opportunities his pseudo-campaign has failed to capitalize on, Thompson's window is now closed, making him more likely to go the way of Tommy Thompson than win the nomination.
The Law & Order star, running a "testing the waters" committee, raised approximately $3.46 million in June after launching June 4th. The campaign's goal was $5 million raised in the same period. Missed expectations are not enough to doom a campaign, but Thompson's media team did little to dampen expectations when they released the report on the last day of July, even though they had to know for weeks that the numbers were lower than expected.
Then there is the question of those conservative credentials. Recent reports have suggested Thompson lobbied for a pro-choice group before he served in the Senate. And his record on campaign finance reform isn't exactly what conservatives are looking for: We heard a rival campaign refer to the "McCain-Feingold-Thompson" bill recently. Those two strikes seemingly only need one more to make Thompson as unacceptable to the base as the other top candidates.
Finally, other campaigns aren't waiting around to hear whether Thompson is in or out. Mitt Romney is beginning to act like a front-runner, while Rudy Giuliani barely mentions Thompson. And the second tier may be creeping up on him: After a strong showing at the Iowa Straw Poll, it is former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee at whom conservatives are taking another look. While Huckabee has a smaller chance than Thompson of winning, Thompson can't afford to have others basking in what was supposed to be his spotlight. Had Thompson competed at the Straw Poll and finished second, Huckabee may have been at home in Little Rock, out of the race by now.
Fred Thompson had his chance to make a splashy entrance into the race. In fact, he has had many chances to do something to impress political watchers and his fans on the right. Time and again, though, he has missed those opportunities.
…I have my doubts.
I remember how Dubya’s whole campaign during the run-up to the wide-open 2000 race was to sit in Crawford, whittle, mutter platitudes about humility, Small Gumint and Sweet Baby Jebus until the last possible moment.
To give every appearance to being reluctantly forced into the race because this Quiet Man of Action-Figure finally concluded that Party and Nation were in such desperate shape that he just had to run.
And the Base went for this ridiculous okey doke in their millions. And then went for the vastly more dangerous but equally transparently ludicrous Commander Codpiece narrative four years later.
Now my sofa cushion money’s on Mitt, but not my rent money, because at no point in the last seven…or ten…or 15…or 30 years has the Base of the GOP shown any signs of, as I once said elsewhere, growing opposable thumbs and climbing down out of the Stupid Tree.
Instead, after seven years of the utter, bloody and predictable (and predicted) collapse of every one of the tenets of their bullshit creed, they are arguably more fanatical and bunker-mad than ever.
They have become the impacted fecal matter in the colon of our Body Politic, starved not for a genuine leader to help guide them out of the mine-studded-rubble they have made of everything they've touched, but for a Sooper Dooper Dubya to lead them even deeper into the witchbag of their own nightmares. For the next Strong Man on a White Pickup with a Confederate Accent to lead their ignorant army in glorious Christian jihad against the monsters under their bed.
Dying of the toxins they have belligerently swallowed for the last generation, the Base now kneel in a deepening pool of their own vomit and their own children's blood and demand "More Poison Please!"
And seeing this (and having read his shakespeares) Fred Thompson appears to be quite deliberately retreading this time-tested strategy…
(from “Julius Caesar”)
You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me?
Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced to-day,
That Caesar looks so sad.
Why, you were with him, were you not?
I should not then ask Casca what had chanced.
Why, there was a crown offered him: and being
offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand,
thus; and then the people fell a-shouting.
What was the second noise for?
Why, for that too.
They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?
Why, for that too.
Was the crown offered him thrice?
Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every
time gentler than other, and at every putting-by
mine honest neighbours shouted.
Who offered him the crown?
Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.
I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it:
it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark
Antony offer him a crown;--yet 'twas not a crown
neither, 'twas one of these coronets;--and, as I told
you, he put it by once: but, for all that, to my
thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he
offered it to him again; then he put it by again:
but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his
fingers off it. And then he offered it the third
time; he put it the third time by: and still as he
refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their
chapped hands and threw up their sweaty night-caps
and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because
Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked
Caesar; for he swounded and fell down at it: and
for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of
opening my lips and receiving the bad air.
and moseying and slouching it ever so slowly towards Bethlehem to be born.