The inherently stupid hubris that afflicts all powerful people is truly an awesome thing to behold—especially once it begins to make their brains dissolve into warm muck, forcing them to flap their arms in panic and whimper like eunuchs on national television. We all got another good look at that phenomenon this week, of course, when the Gods of Karma claimed a further Democratic victim in the secretary-designate of Health and Human Services: Tom Daschle, whose prediliction for expensive automobiles and erudite drivers landed him deep in the freshly-dug Obama Transitional Ditch of Shame.
The secretary-designate will have to scratch and claw his way over the heads of other ridiculous degenerates already caught in varying levels of corrupt stupidity—the shifty Tim Geithner, the hopeless sot Bill Richardson, the crazed Rod Blagojevich—and for a man who wears pretty red-framed glasses, that won’t be an easy task. Daschle, of course, was one of the prime examples of Senatorial Yellow Spine Syndrome during the past eight years—groveling and sniveling at the feet of any Republican who looked at him sideways—and bookmakers across the country have not been kind to him since his current predicament arose. He is currently at 6-1 on the question of career survival, surely music to the ears of any pathetically hopeful Howard Dean fan—though The Doctor himself could not be reached for comment.
Daschle’s weak-ass defense, some silliness about “needing debate and intellectual stimulation while in transit,” was so colossally dumb that even elementary school students laughed at him. When pressed, the ex-Senate Minority Leader amended his remarks to something like “you can’t drive to Cabinet meetings in just any old town car—this is still America, goddamnit,” which did him no favors when bloggers, pundits, and other semi-evolved hacks began likening him to the half-wit patricians currently sucking up taxpayer funds in the latest Wall Street bailout scam. Hell yes—tax evasion for everyone! Now that is some big-time change we can believe in, dude.
Jesus creeping shit, where will it end? I know, I know—politicians are all corrupt, blah blah blah…but does every Democrat have to do a Bill Clinton “why-don’t-you-make-me?” impression these days? How many more of those stupid bastards will be cut down by their own incorrigibly arrogant impulses before the new administration figures out how to vet people? Naturally, we childish fanboys out here among the purple mountains and amber waves are dying to know. All that starry-eyed bullshit about “seamless transitions” was starting to get a bit rank, you know? Hell, somewhere people like Zoe Baird, Kimba Wood, and Lani Guiner are collapsing into fits of laughter, and even Jimmy Carter is getting a weird sense of deja vu.
Apparently Democrats have been shut out of real power for so long that they don’t know how to handle it once it defaults back to them after years of mendacious Republican venality. Well, you can all kiss healthcare reform goodbye now, kiddies—because every single one of Tom Daschle’s vaunted “genial relationships” with various congresscritters is now a steaming pile of useless rat dung. No one will want to work with him at all—and even the Republicans who are so used to whoring themselves to any lobbyist who comes along won’t even bother to return calls from Daschle’s wife, Linda, who at press time held so many lobbying credentials for…let’s see now, was it Big Pharma or the M-I complex or the insurance industry or—oh who gives a shit, because none of it matters. One could reasonably assume an outcome like this was even by design.
And why not? The true powers that be in this country got what they paid for in 2008—a complete overhaul of Brand America—and now they’re hanging in there until the gazillion-dollar bailouts get muscled through so that everyone who went all-in gets their promised ROI. But hey, at least one level of government is bothering to make it look like a full-body cleanse; out here in California, our stumbling dunces in the legislature can’t seem to get themselves together enough to give the Governator the finger.
Of course, none of this would set me off so much if I hadn’t been digging through random piles of paper all day in preparation for my own imminent tax bill—and unlike most people in this Proposition 13-worshipping state, I am perfectly happy to pay my fair share of taxes. I am, after all, a Liberal, and flagrant tax evasion is not among my retinue of vices. So pretty please, pardon me if I have no patience for yogurt-brained dingbats like Geithner and Daschle who can’t get their shit together in anywhere near a competent manner. I thought the fucking grown-ups were supposed to be in charge again, Mister President. All the Facebook ads tell me your IQ is 130, but didn’t Mister Alinski teach you to do your homework, or at least to cover your ass if you didn’t? I didn’t vote for reruns of “Pimp My Cabinet,” man. This isn’t judo. This is the kind of thing that Rush Limbaugh masturbates to.
And look, I know it’s finally great to be in the Oval Office, and I appreciate the Ledbetter thing and the solemn promises to close Gitmo and whatnot, but some people really aren’t worth putting on the Cabinet when they have severe cerebral malfunctions on or around the Ides of April. They got Al Capone for tax evasion. Remember him? Don’t make someone like Arlen Specter into Elliot Ness, dude. My ever-so-delicate sensibilities couldn’t take it. And to all the other potential Geithner/Daschle mutants out there, well, if you want a gubmint job, you better pay your fucking taxes, yo.
