Guys, seriously, your baby is ugly.

And your dog smells like ass.

Look, somebody’s got to tell you, and Rummy never will.

Why?

Well...I have a theory.

Did you ever get a really awful lyric lodged in your head?

Maybe it’s the Summer Nights that leads me down this line of inquiry, but haven’t you noticed that people do seem more prone to a Kung Fu Fighting (if they can’t get no Afternoon Delight) during the Seasons in the Sun? And that it makes them Hungry Like the Wolf for a little tasty Muskrat Susie and Muskrat Sam?

(I promised no more Paper Lace, and I keep my promises.)

Years ago, the amazing Alfred Bester (...who was homaged several different ways in the brilliant teevee series, “Babylon Five”, most overtly by the casting of Walter Koenig as “Mr. Bester”; the reptilian head of the "Psi Corps". And why was giving that name to the head of Psi Corps a specific hat-tip to Alfie Bester? Because he...) wrote not one, but two of the seminal works of Speculative Fiction: “The Stars My Destination” and the lesser-but-still-dazzling “The Demolished Man.”

“Demolished” is a novel about a world where esper (telepathic) cops pre-empt crime. So Bester asks the question, “In a future where the law is enforced by esper police, how could a man of means and determination commit murder and get away with it?”

The answer?

Crappy jingles.

Those appalling, mindless tunes that get stuck in your head and will NOT leave. Bester knew what he was talking about: he worked in advertising for years and years. In "The Demolished Man" he calls them “pepsis” Here’s a snip:

"You louse. All my tunes are worth hearing."

"Once."

"That's a thousand extra on your tab."

Reich laughed. "Speaking of monotony..." he continued smoothly.

"Which we weren't."

"What's the most persistent tune you ever wrote?"

"Persistent?"

"You know what I mean. Like those advertising jingles you can't get out of your head."

"Oh. Pepsis, we call 'em."

"Why?"

"Dunno. They say because the first one was written centuries ago by a character named Pepsi. I don't buy that. I wrote one once..." Duffy winced in recollection. "Hate to think of it even now. Guaranteed to obsess you for a month. It haunted me for a year."

His villain – Reich – buys the most treacly, yammering, self-reiterating piece of ad-babble he can find and calls it to mind every time a cop scans his thoughts. (And if any, evil Republicans are monitoring my thoughts, all I can say it, "”My Bologna has a First Name, it’s O-S-C-A-R, bitches!)

Maybe it is this phenomenon that explains why the leadership of the Republican Party just can’t seem to stop blurting out lies – big, obvious, stinky old lies – even though they have long been completely discredited .

Maybe they have some kind of wretched “Tell Me Lies”-like 70's ballad jammed in their pointy heads so tongue-stuck-on-the-freezing-flagpole tight that they just can’t help themselves anymore.

Maybe it goes a little something like this...

I Will Swallow Him (A Paean to Dear Leader)

I will swallow Him, swallow Him whatever He may say,
Like ”Saddam is an al-Qaeda Chief”
And nothing will change my belief...

He is my Cha-la-bi.

I will swallow Him, and since His State of the Union Speech
There isn't bullshit too deep,
A pile of offal so high, it can keep,
Keep me away...

I am his drooling beetch.

I love Him, I love Him, I love Him,
And all the lies He tells, I'll swallow, I'll swallow, I'll swallow...

See? Sorts sticks in your head, doesn’t it?

What occasioned all of this?

This little bit of staticy radio from an interview with Don Rimsfeld found here, at the After Downing Street site.

(Note: As of this writing, something funky is going on over at this site: all links just point back to the home page, and the site search feature yields an error message.

Lucky for me I actually took the time to transcribed this bit of the interview as close to word-for-word as my chubby fingers and limited attention span would allow.)

INTERVIEWER: “President earlier today said that America will bring the leadership of al-Qaeda to Justice.

”The reality is, though, it’s nearly four years since 9/11.

“Al-Zahar (?) is sending out video tapes. Osama Bin Ladin is walking around in Pakistan with a stick someplace in the mountains. We can’t find either.

“Americans are anxious at this point."

RUMSFELD: “Well you know the reality is that we’ve captured or killed a large fraction (faction?)– well over a majority – of the senior al-Qaeda Leadership. We captured or killed Saddam Hussein and his two sons. The two sons are dead; Saddam will be tried...”

And then there is a pause, which I interpret as an “Oh Fuck, I can’t believe I just said what I just said” moment. The moment at which Rummy realizes that by liar-reflex-habit, he just asserted on the air that Hussein and his sons were senior AQ leaders.

So like any good mendacious con man caught mid-scam, Rummy starts waving shiny objects around hoping that no one will notice the Big Assed Lie (Or as they used to call it back in The Day – back in the Halcyon Era of the Nixon Administration -- a “No longer operative” Truth) that just passed his lips.

Yes, it is time to deploy Dumbass Chaff Decoy Number One.

RUMSFELD: “...we have to go back and remember 9/11!"

Yessss! The sweet, sweet thrum of the Universal Fucktard Distract-o-matic kicking into gear.

RUMSFELD: “3,000 Americans were killed! There were just attacks in London last month. There have been attacks in Bali. There have been attacks in Turkey. There have been attacks in Riyyad.

“Now you say its been “X” number of years and somebody’s not been caught. We’ve had people on the FBI Most Wanted List for decades. Now why is that? We’ll it’s very hard to catch a single individual. That’s just a fact.

“The important issue isn’t whether we’ve caught Osama Bin Laden...”

Imagine how Americans of any political persuasion would have reacted three-and-a-half years ago to an American Secretary of Defense making pussy excuses about why he hasn't caught the guy that actually attacked us yet, and going so far as to say that "The important issue isn’t whether we’ve caught..." the fucking bastard they promised to smoke out of his hole and catch dead or alive?

So why is Rummy and all the rest of Rummettes so confident that they can just lie like yellow caked curs 24/7 and get away with it?

We'll, at the risk of her own life, one of my many agents infiltrated a GOP recruiting tent-show and manager to slip away with this copy of the "Promise Breakers Chastity Pledge". It is apparently an blood-oath that Republicans are required to sign before they can be "Saved".

I’m a Republican.

When Democrats lie to me – even over something little – I explode with Righteous Republican Rage!

I want blood! I want Impeachment! I want his Little Dog Too!

I will spend seven years and untold millions of dollars hunting a Democratic President like a Godzilla stalking Bambi even if it’s just because basically I think he's too damned “slick” with his answers.

I don’t like “slick”... unless it’s slick Republican Shit I’m slaloming through, in which case I fucking wallow in it.

I will take Republican lies clean up my poop hole until Tom DeLay’s tapered skull pops right out of my mouth and starts blatting on about how teaching Evolution in Science class caused the Columbine Massacre.

And then I’ll beg for more.

Please, please keep lying to me, my Liege. Keep me safe from hurtful, hateful Reality.

I roll in Bush’s shit and call it new mown hay.

I rub Bush’s shit in my face and call it Chinese Pearl Body Lotion.

I schpritz a little of Bush’s shit -- wrists, back of the knee, nape of the neck – and call it Jean Nate.

I dab my crab in Bush’s shit and call it drawn butter.

I gargle in Bush’s shit and call it Cockburn 1955 Vintage Port.

I’ve replaced my old, crappy brick house with one made of sturdy, hammered Bush shit.

The shingles? Shit.

What’s on the shingles? Take a guess!

I don’t even shit my own shit anymore. I just pass through what I get from the sphincter-end of the White House Press Office.

I can’t even remember what color my hair used to be anymore, or what I used to smell like.

You'd think I couldn't eat another bite, but I am Loyal.

As a Loyal Republican, I value blind Fealty to the Dear Leader over my Country and my Constitution.

Like some kind of miraculous, manure anti-cornucopia, I’m never so full that I can’t gobble down another helping.

I shall always be chirping -- mouth open like a baby bird -- hungry for more.

Like Jello, there’s always room for more nutritious, dee-licious GOP feculence.

Or, in classic Advertising-ese, that’s “J-E-L-L-O.”

Penned by the late “Don Bestor”.

No relation.