Going...going...

...Goss

“Gosh I’m gonna miss Goss' mishegoss.”

I’m sure if you parse that sentence you’ll find it full of unforced rhymes, alliteration, retinal pairing, chiaroscuro, latent postmodernism, chiasmic goodness and all kinds other artistic nutrients.

And I, for one, want to get right out in front of this roiling cloud of gathering karmic fury that’s about to meatpole the GOP root and branch and say that it would be irresponsible to speculate that the sudden

retreat

chicken run

debaclation

race for the rathole

boatless Dunkirk

vomiting into his shoes and his Borsalino, and then wearing both to his exit interview

explosive Diarrheic Sprint for the nearest dumpster or large, slow dog

departure of “Goss, Porter Goss” from his post as chief spook and data washer at the CIA had anything to do with the erupting sleazcano dubbed “Forni-gate” that is blasting pyroclastically squallid wonderfulness though the streets of D.C.

That there is grainy film of him with a vibrator the size of a narwhale’s tusk rammed up his Rovehole, and audio of him yelling for the hooker who’s working him to “do me like a Tur-Duck-En, Mistress Hillary!”

Whatever that means.

Or that once this scandal piñata busts and spills its candy all over the GOP, that to continue their unbroken record of categorically refusing to investigate one of their own no matter how blatant or destructive the crime, they will again reliably narrow the aperture of “investigatable” offenses.

Having already violently ratcheted their pre-Dubya rhetoric down from the lofty, windswept “anyone who violates the law... ”, “integrity of the office... ”, “even the appearance of impropriety... ” heights of 1999 to its current “Penis-related activities” levels, it certainly would be reckless to assert that they will march right along that trend line and declare, once-and-for-all, the only activities worthy of hearings are solely those that specifically involve sexual congress.

With Monica Lewinsky.

During the 1990s.

If you were a Democrat.

With the middle name of "Jefferson".

Because to imply that would be so very wrong.

Instead lets just say I’ll miss that stoic patriot and leave him to history.

Hey, you know who else I miss?

Troy McClure.

Selma: But... don't you love me?

Troy: Sure I do! Like I love Fresca. Isn't that enough? The only
difference between our war marriage and any one else's is: we know ours is a sham.

Selma: Are you gay?

Troy: Gay? I wish! If I were gay they'd be no problem! No, what I have is a romantic abnormality, one so unbelievable that it must be hidden from the public at all cost.

Good times. Good times.