By John Burtis
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Boy, the new Democrats just can't wait to take over the whole darned shooting match next month.
We've all heard an inordinate amount about what's wrong with President Bush, Don Rumsfeld, america, the Republican Party, Christianity, free market capitalism, and the rich, from the new Democrats as they wheeze and blunder their way toward the finish line next month.
Everybody sitting astride a small plodding and overloaded donkey is a supremely uncontested expert on some aspect of economics, politics, physics, global warming, Iraq, sex, terrorism, home ownership, racism, education, the stock market, big oil, little oil, the top one percent of the tax payers, the bottom 99 percent, the poor, and everything in between.
You can see them cleaning their antennae everywhere you're forced to look, from the television news broadcasts, to the newspapers, to the street corners, where the hopped up messengers of doom have a new swagger in their step.
Nope it's going to be a real shindig when the new Democrats take the slack reins of power in their shiny white-capped teeth and lead us into the sunlit plains of pure socialist thought and reason and their own special brand of Stalinist free speech.
The lame will walk, the prisons will open, felons will vote, Bush will swing - from a rope, that is - the fences, what few there are, will come down, taxes will skyrocket, and the unencumbered deeds to the future will arrive at the Soros office by the carload, to pay off the Democratic Party debts.
New speak, new think, new talk will crowd out the old English like no tomorrow. The great prevaricators will rule our land anew, with the new dynasties rising from the dust of the old freedoms.
Clintons, Kerrys, and Harry Reid will walk the land like Ramses and the Caesars before them, while the people bow. Only the approved new Democratic nomenklatura will have the riches in this promised land. The sun, the new Democratic Ra, will only shine on those chosen few: Soros and his carefully selected puppet rulers, will ride among us in their limousines, insulated from the cries for water, heat, electricity and real news. Money will grace only those who toe the proper new Democratic line.
But somewhere, sometime, something is going to happen of such a calamitous nature that it will shake the very foundations of this great new Democratic paradise and demand Democratic action of some sort.
It may be a nuclear weapon delivered on american soil. It could be an immense biological attack. It may very well be a vast natural catastrophe like a state shattering earthquake or a super volcano. It might well be a world-wide depression. It could be a pandemic.
But, in the end, there may come an incident, after some years of delightfully blissful rule, which cannot, at long last, be blamed on Mr. Bush, the neocons, big oil, Dick Cheney, Harry Whittington, the Wall Street Journal's editorial page, the Beltway Boys, Charles Krauthammer, the economy, ann Coulter, and all the other scurrilous new Democratic bogeymen, which have served so faithfully in the past to deflect all manner of fault from the do-absolutely-nothing-but-blame party.
So the new Democrats, unused as they are to taking action of any kind, no matter how great the threat facing us, will be faced with a few actual choices -- unite the nation and fight back against the terror confronting the country, surrender in the face of the problem but remain in power, or, what I fear most, give up and flee on a wholesale scale. You know, decamp like ants in a flood, on any piece of flotsam they can find that floats.
and when I say beat it, I mean leave like those pathetic pictures which the old gleeful "redeployment‚" Democrats forced on us in the final days of Vietnam after they pulled the money plug -- with the new Democrats, their interns, and camp followers hanging onto the skids of their helicopters leaving the well manicured lawns around the Capitol.
You know, where we'd see a visibly frightened and therefore enlivened John "Live Shot‚" Kerry waving a wad of worthless cash as he elbows forward, as he has done so painfully in Boston, through the serpentine line, accompanied by his valet, who he'd quickly abandon in favor of a final skid on the last chopper, while clutching his briefcase, which holds his cherished cap and his secret maps of his Cambodian trip. and as Kerry went, so would all the others, some better, and some the worse for wear.
But, in the end, that is the real conundrum. What will the new Democrats really do, when confronted by a problem of life and death for the United States - not one they can talk, buy, or cheat their way out of?
Would these high falutin' know it alls go the mat for us, the little people? Would they actually take the soft leather gloves off and fight to save our necks? Would these pin-striped toffs and poltroons go into harm's way like all those who signed the Declaration of Independence did and suffer the tribulations of the damned for us?
I'll bet you dollars to donuts that if the chips were down, if it was the bottom of the ninth and we were way behind, that if we were all on the firing line and it looked like the line might break, there'd be no Knute Rockne half-time talks nor no Joe Stalin's "Brother's and sisters...‚" speeches coming out of Washington on the lips of any of these cowardly dandies.
If the field phone didn't ring it would be Harry Reid with news. If all you got out of the walkie-talkie was static, that'd be Bill Clinton calling about reinforcements. and if we heard the sound of massed helicopters, it would be the new Democratic leadership heading somewhere to catch their planes to Switzerland, where they'd vow to fight on. There are no Winston Churchills in the new Democratic mob.
Years later our survivors would find them fighting, alright, in the piazzas of the grand hotels surrounding Lake Constance and Lake Geneva, where the golden pheasants gather in that promised land on their yearly migrations to talk about the fall of america and other swell nostalgia.
They'd hear the remaining new Democrats speak of the close run things they'd survived, how they made it out alive, and how they missed the grand times in the good old USa.
and have another cocktail, please, Mr. Soros...
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