Friday, August 21, 2009

44: The Deformering

Eugene Robinson rightly concludes:
"Here's the least surprising news of the week: Americans are souring on the Democratic Party. The wonder is that it's taken so long for public opinion to curdle. There's nothing agreeable about watching a determined attempt to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory."
Observing the process up to this point, I would say the exact same thing, except with more exclamation marks, OMGZ, references to strange smells, and quotations from Proust.

There are some balls that desperately need to be kicked in this evolving situation, and most of them reside in Max Baucus's pants.

Notice I say "most" when the maximum number of balls possible in Max Baucus's pants--anatomically speaking--is two (2). By saying "most," have I forgotten all the hours from my youth locked in the bathroom confirming and reconfirming these two simple facts of the male physique? No, I remember those hours well. I say "most" because no one else on the left side of the aisle seems able to prove his--or her--possession of such apparently rare and precious stones.

Not that it's a mystery where the Dem's shriveled orbs of courage (-5 vs. Expected Attacks) have disappeared to. See that candy-colored music box over on the Republican side of the aisle? The one playing the chintzy, nursing home remix of "Sabotage" on repeat? They're in there, right next to a pack of C Street Foundation brand condoms ("hushed-up, for his pleasure") and Larry Craig's bathroom pass.

Still don't see it? It's that box right there, the one unceremoniously shoved under Chuck Grassley's desk, its spherical contents left undisturbed by the Finance Committee member since he clearly has more than he needs...

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