Converting to Conservatism

Millions of liberals and moderates have become conservatives over the past generation. An ever increasing process which I have come to believe is both irreversible and inevitable until some great cataclysm sets things right. (Recession 2008)

So the question arises. What do we gain by pounding our different drum? Beyond a modicum of emotional and intellectual satisfaction, not much. The media is owned by large corporations; the Presidency, the House, the Senate and the Supreme Court are controlled by conservatives. Most states are run by conservative governors and legislatures, and what little liberal control there is in urban mayoral offices, city councils and school boards are moving to the dark side. The suburbs, where most of our population now resides, are where the votes are, and are overwhelmingly conservative. Blue collar Americans have moved into the bowels of the GOP for the racism and religious dogmatism inherent to their nature.

Being a liberal has become much like being a Cubs fan. Perhaps it is time to quit Wrigley Field and start going to Comiskey Park. Here are some good reasons to move over to the Dark Side:

It could be very helpful to one’s mental stability, for quite often frustration levels run so high we find ourselves making up words like; conservanazi, gunloon, limbiciles, looneytarian, netscab and conservatively incorrect which are never picked up by the media as are; feminazis, tree huggers, environmental wackos and politically incorrect. It can make one feel they are living on an alien planet.

 

It most certainly will improve one’s social acceptability regarding family, friends, acquaintances and the workplace. Remember in these times, a Nuke the Whales T-shirt is far more witty and acceptable than one that says Save the Whales.

 

What with John Ashcroft watching you from one side and Homeland Security checking you out from the other, there really is some worry about saying or typing some unpatriotic thing or another and having the whip come down.

 

And of course there is that very small but serious danger of being shot for being too outspoken a liberal, the Berg Effect.

It is no exaggeration that the single most dominate political factor of our time is the present day raw bitter hatred of liberals and the federal government. Having an advantage over many of you by having seen conservatives so eagerly bare their black little hearts all over the net for twenty years, I probably sense more danger than you, for if I were asked to describe the largest block of people tapping keyboards out there, I would say it’s the gun-gun-shoot-shoot crowd. Their technique of using lies, libel, harassment, invasion of privacy and threats to intimidate liberals out of the public forum is a standard daily occurrence. Just the law of inertia causes it to slosh out into the real world on occasion. To make the transition from liberal to conservative you must first come to terms with the two Immutable Laws of Conservatism:

An all encompassing genetic inability to see anything from any point of view other than their own.

 

Not giving a rat’s ass about anything or anyone anywhere other than oneself or one’s immediate family.

As most of us liberals lack these two genetic deficiencies, we not only have to play loose with the logic, we also need large amounts of whisky, tequila, Prozac and perhaps even a partial lobotomy to deal with it. I can help you reason out each issue, but your ability to adjust to this new way of thinking is dependent upon how well you can stifle your point of view ability and muddle your mind with drugs and alcohol.

Abortion - As a male, I will never need an abortion. I am well off enough that if any woman in my circle does need an abortion they can be shipped off somewhere or other as has been the case for thousands of years prior to 1973. So, denying women abortions only adversely affects the poor and I am not poor. Though some may fall to suicide and butchery, that is not my problem.

Affirmative Action - I have seen the conservative and libertarian argument on it tens of thousands of times. Racism is defined as favoring one race over another, thus Affirmative Action is racism, making anyone advocating it, a racist. Simple as that, just a matter of hiding one’s bigotry behind stone cold logic while at the same time ignoring who suffers it and who dispenses it.

Capital Punishment - Live by the sword, die by the sword. An eye for eye. The families of victims need vengeance for their spiritual well being. There is no recidivism. It’s a position I will never find myself in, so why should I care?

Crime - Let’s be honest about this. Drive-by murders, pimping, street drugs, riots, armed robbery, burglary are disproportionately committed by young black and Hispanic men (well those who are caught and convicted anyway). The courts and prisons are full up with them for good cause. Remove Black and Hispanic crime from our national statistics and we have one of the safest nations on earth. In fact why spend money on prisons at all. Ship them back to Africa or pay Mexico to take them and watch our national statistics climb to the top of the heap on every front.

Economy - This nation was built on greed. I want all I can get as fast as I can get it. And there is nothing wrong with that.

Education - There are only two factors of import here, my education and my children’s education. Somebody else’s education is not my problem, responsibility or concern. Why would it be? It takes an individual.

Environment - Not my problem. It’s long term and I won’t be around long enough to suffer any impact. I am only concerned with the next quarter.

Gays - This one’s easy. You need the tequila to get past the Special Rights crap, but if you just spend all your time concentrating on what they actually do when naked, you are home free. Also bringing Roy Cohn to mind helps.

Guns - This one is the hardest for me. My best advice is to drink a quart of tequila and shoot up a couple grams of crank and you too can conclude that the more guns there are in bedrooms, pockets and cars - the bigger they are, the faster the fire, and the more bullets they can hold - the safer we will all be.

Racism - Blacks care less about whites than whites care about blacks. Same can be said of Jews, Hispanics, Asians, Indians, and what have you. Why on earth would anyone want to stick their neck out, or possibly give up something for the well being of those who don’t like you? Got me by the short and curlies.

Religion - That ignorance is bliss business is nothing to sneeze at. Those seeped in religious dogma do seem to be more content, have better disciplined children, and make fewer waves than most people. As such, why not force it on every child? A few tabs of otherworldly LSD should help with this one.

Taxes - Do enough Prozac to accept the fallacy that our overall tax rate is 50% rather than 30%. Then from that false premise you can arrive at the false conclusion that we are the most over taxed industrialist nation in the world rather than the most under taxed. From there its an easy road to whine and bitch about taxes being theft and that we live in a Marxist, socialist society.

Welfare - Why should I have to support the failure of others? Again, disproportionately it is minorities bleeding the entitlement programs. Send these dead enders to the dead end, a one way bus ticket to Terra Del Fuego would cut my taxes in half.

   The White Man' s Plight in the New World

"They do not bear arms, and do not know of them, for I showed them a sword, they took it by the edge and cut themselves out of ignorance, They would make fine servants. With 50 men we could subjugate them all and make them do whatever we want. Let us in the name of the Holy Trinity go on sending all the slaves that can be sold." Christopher Columbus.

" Aborigines - Persons of little worth found cumbering the soil of a newly discovered country. They soon cease to cumber: they fertilize." Ambrose Bierce

It was 1492 when the lamentable plight of the Whiteman began in the New World. Whitemen had to work very hard destroying the indigenous cultures and eliminate the native populations. Not only was it a big job taking many years, but it was often dangerous precariously sitting atop war horses running down stone-age men, women and children; lopping off their body parts. Animals were known to rear and old fashion muskets and cannon would often backfire causing serious injuries to the Whitemen. Neither was it an easy chore whipping and overseeing the human caravans of thump-lined natives hauling all that gold the long distances back to the ships under the hot topical sun.

The story was repeated a few centuries later in the Northern climes. Soon Whitemen had killed or caused the death by disease of 90% of the indigenous population there too, and they didn' t even have any gold. This was not always as much fun as it sounds, for sometimes Whitemen got hurt and a few even got killed when some natives had the audacity to fight back. It was an awful time for Whitemen.

Soon the Whitemen had to import slaves to do the work that they themselves didn' t like doing, but soon found being a slave owner was not all it was cracked up to be. Some Africans resented being slaves, which is hard to imagine as the Whitemen shelled out a lot of time and money feeding them and building hovels for them to live in. Believe it or not, many of the slaves actually complained about free room and board! Sometimes, when the Whitemen needed cash, they would have to suffer the loss of some of their laborers by breaking up slave families and selling them off. On occasion, having one' s children or spouse sold away would upset some of these three-quarter humans to the extent that they had the impudence to run away! The Whitemen would then have to take time off to chase them down with dogs, capture them, shackle them (shackles were not free) and punish them by beatings or sometimes having to crush their feet so they could not run away again. This physical punishment was dirty sweaty menial work for the Whitemen and as it was usually quite hot and muggy where the slave owners lived, they often got dirty, winded and dizzy doing God' s work.

Though hanging disobedient slaves was not a common occurrence, it was used on occasion to instill fear of the serious retribution involved in becoming a runaway, but when dictated it was very hard on the Whitemen' s pocketbook. So here again, Whitemen suffered the mental pain and anguish of deciding whether to whip, cripple or kill their slaves, not always an easy decision.

Another unattractive business for the Whitemen was having to force the female slaves to have sex with them. They would have to go down to the dirty slave quarters to have their fun so their wives, children and neighbors wouldn' t know. Remember, these were the days before air conditioning so Whitemen often perspired profusely under the physical stain.

Speaking of wives, the Whitemen also had to make their women understand that they too were slaves, and having no rights, must submit to sex on demand. It just added insult to injury for a Whiteman to have to come home from a long day of slapping slaves around to have to do the same to his womenfolk.

Soon a great civil war forced the Whitemen to disband slavery and start paying for labor or doing it themselves. So they kept these newly declared now-five-fifths-human African-Americans in poverty and squalor to make sure they understood who was boss no matter what the government or anyone else had to say about it. Whether urban or rural, it was hard work keeping such hopeless people in line, but with persistence and good planning the Whitemen accomplished it for a hundred more years.

Toward the end of the 20th Century it got real scary for Whitemen as the now humans sometimes burned things down. They did it where they lived rather than where the Whitemen lived, but it was still painful to the Whitemen' s sense of security. To make matters worse, sometimes a few of the now humans would sneak out of their ghettos and actually steal and rob from the Whitemen themselves!

There is no doubt the Whitemen suffered great harm for centuries nor that things have gotten worse for them in recent times. A small percentage of now humans and even some women were getting a small degree of special treatment in education and job opportunities; entering Whitemen' s schools, police forces, fire departments and bureaucracies to make up for past and present discrimination. This unfairness has so upset Whitemen they often do the only thing they can do to alleviate the pressure. They buy a bunch of big guns and go to workplaces, restaurants, and post offices to shoot down whoever happens to be around. It' s a terrible burden to be Whitemen in this society, and don' t kid yourself, you have to be White to understand the pain.

" There are many humorous things in the world: among them the white man' s notion that he is less savage than the other savages." Mark Twain

  Of Barneyfags and Bitches

" It's the most serious thing that can possibly happen to one in a battle, to get one' s head cut off." Lewis Carroll 

Alice soon happened upon a very long table in the woods occupied by three very strange characters. A droopy faced Dormouse snoozed in a chair much larger than he seemed to belong in, while the oblivious leader, a cherub faced gray haired individual with a large top hat, madly ran up and down the long table kicking off whatever old things he found in his way while a March Hare followed behind replacing the empty spaces with what they decided were newer and much better things.

" Out with the old!" Cried the Hatter kicking away.

" In with the new!" Shouted the March Hare dropping newer and better objects in the empty areas.

" Hello." Interrupted Alice, " May I sit down?"

" No room. No room. Can' t you see we are busy making things new! We are the government and too busy for you."

" There is more than enough room. All I see is you breaking things while that strange rabbit runs behind you dropping old lumps of coal everywhere you' ve been. I' m sitting down anyway thank you kindly." Alice said placing herself in a chair next to the snoring Dormouse who after its snottering inhale, released a descending " barneyfag..."

" What is a barneyfag?" Alice inquired of the Hatter, who now with hammer in hand was smashing flower filled vases in the center of the table.
" He sits in a chair too big for his britches, talking of barneyfags while I speak of bitches. It' s really quite simple and just what it seems, he means what he says and says what he means."

" I can' t really make much sense of that, but if it' s suppose to be a poem, its poorly done. Could I bother you for a small cup of tea please?"
" Tea? Poems? Tea and poems are for those who spend their time thinking and reading, an awful waste of time when they could be hammering and beating" , rhymed the Hatter who was now at the end of the table jumping up and down on some old documents in a glass case. Soon he moved back toward Alice and the Dormouse, pausing while the March Hare moved a large stack of framed paintings from a chair up on the table. Alternately, they then picked up paintings and smashed them down over each other' s head, soon waddling about with their bodies caged in rectangular frames.

" What are you doing to all those lovely pictures?" Alice asked.

" What we are doing is not looking at them but using them. We drink no tea, we read no poetry and we would rather look down on you than up at pictures. Have you not noticed how big we are up here on the table and how very small you are down there in the chair." The Dormouse woke, looked up, and hoisting his chair up on the table looked down on Alice dozing off once again, " barneyfag..." .

After the table had been cleared of all the bad old things and replaced with the newer and better things the Hatter trampled over the broken leftovers to where Alice sat to declare, " Our ungovernment won and the party' s begun!"

" Oh, I like parties," Alice said, " What is the party for?"

" You are not invited so it shouldn' t matter to you. This is a party you are not welcome to. You are neither a Dormouse, nor a Hare nor a Hatter, nor anyone else with enough value to matter."

" I am a little girl," Alice replied, " I can' t see why I can' t be included in the party."
" You may indeed be a little girl, but traveling about without your parents is abnormal. We cater our party only to the normal such as we." The Mad Hatter stated stretching his mouth wide with his fingers, then extending his tongue and releasing a high-pitched " OGGLE OGGLE OGGLE" and wetting his pants.
" I have some money for tea." Alice told him reaching into her pocket and dropping a handful of coins on the table.

" She has money! Well that changes everything. Welcome to our party. Have some tea!" The clinking of coins and offer of tea woke the fat little Dormouse while the March Hare reached under the table piling large birthday cakes upon it." Then the party normal joined hands and skipped around in circles while occasionally bending over and gobbling up hunks of cake with their faces

singing their party song.

" A very merry ungovernment to us, to us. A very merry ungovernment to you to you..."
" Could I have a piece of cake?" Alice inquired politely.

" No. Absolutely not. The cake is ours. The coal is for you. Take all you want." Cried the Hatter as he and the Dormouse fought over more frosting.
" A very merry ungovernment to all to all..." They went on.

Alice soon had about enough of their rudeness and asked, " How can you be the government and the ungovernment at the same time? It makes about as much sense as those Tweedle brothers did."

" Our ungovernment does not answer questions unless you pay for them in advance." The Hatter replied.

" In that case let me phrase it differently. I am absolutely famished, give me some cake." Alice didn' t ask.

" Our ungovernment hears no demands, but if you wish some cake then pay for it first. Do you have cake money?"

" You just took all my money."

" That was tea money not cake money. You have no money, you get no cake."
" But I didn' t get any tea!"

" And there' s a lot more that you won' t be getting. Our ungovernment does not give things away, especially to abnormal little girls who refuse to work. Our ungovernment has learned that giving hungry people food turns them into silly people who do nothing but sing and dance all day."

" I' ll work," Alice replied, " What would you like me to do?"

" There is no work. We the government of the ungovernment are not responsible for work that isn' t there, that is the beauty of an ungovernment."

 " Well this isn' t a very nice party and I' ll just be on my way if it' s all right with you."
 

" Stop! Before you go you must be searched, that is the ungovernment rule." The Hatter then directed the Hare and the Dormouse to hold Alice down on the table.
" What' s this?" The Hatter laughed happily. " Contraband! An evil " eatme" cookie! This is not good news for you my dear." He looked to his normal friends holding down the little girl with their hands up her dress and asked. " What do we call it when someone sits down without permission?"

" Strike one!" Screamed the Dormouse sucking his thumb.

" And what do we call it when someone demands cake without money to buy it?"
" Strike two!" Yelled the Hare smelling his shoe.

" And what do we call it when someone possesses 'eatmes' with intent to distribute?"
" STRIKE THREE!" The normal ones joyously said, " Get us a pole and OFF WITH HER HEAD!"

  The Clan of the Cave Beast

Over the past few years, Noot' s GOPAC has sent out planning kits to thousands of Republican candidates telling them that to get elected, they needed to " talk like Newt" . It specifically tells them to call Democrats and liberals; bizarre, thieves, un-American, unpatriotic, unchristian, atheistic, self-serving, socialist, Marxist, sleazy, corrupt and criminal.
 

The Great Council sat with legs crossed around the fire waiting for the boy to approach. It was the time of manhood for Sleezel. An unattractive young man, whose oversized head kept him apart from most of the physical games the other boys played, waddled up to the fire with head lolling from side to side to accept his task at finding a namesake token for his rise to manhood. The Council Leader explained to Sleezel that the other boys had recently hunted and killed wolf, bear, lion and mammoth to gain their tokens and that perhaps his best bet to overcome his poor reputation would be to bring down a giraffe. As usual, the boy talked rather than listened but finally took up his spear and went out to become a man.

Not far from the cave, near the garbage dump, Sleezel sat down to think. Though he could talk about giraffe hunting and admonish others for cowardly refusing to go on such hunts, for him, it was out of the question. His peers did not call him Full Moon Head for no reason, as running down any large animal would surely cause his head to fall backwards and bounce along behind him on the ground. As he sat pondering his dilemma, he noticed a small mammal rooting around in the trash heap. Its sleek slender quickness was attractive to the clumsy boy and he decided to follow the animal, learn it' s ways and take it as his token rather than a large giraffe which would probably cost him some grievously hurt.

He watched as the animal darted about. He tracked it fascinated by its control over whatever environment it found itself in. It commanded the ground where it ferociously killed small reptiles and mammals, it took to the shorelines where it attacked amphibians, crustaceans and unwary fish, it climbed trees stealing the eggs of birds, it went after the hatchlings and young of every species including its own. It was everything the slow, head encumbered Sleezel wished himself to be.

Hunting it down and killing it to get it' s hide and heart for the manhood ceremony was of course another matter. However after days of following it, the Great Spirit looked fondly upon Sleezel and he came across the animal dead from an altercation between others of its kind. Thereafter it was that the boy became the man known as Sleezel the Weasel.

The clan soon became embroiled in a war with a neighboring tribe. With so many young men dying some people began questioning the purpose of fighting over whose Spirit was the real Spirit. After Sleezel successfully petitioned the Great Council to defer him from the battle because his ungainly head - this was now supported with a hollowed mammoth vertebra buttressed from his shoulders - hindered effective combat. Once out of harms way Sleezel became the central advocate of keeping the war going. He benefited in many ways from his stand. Shunned by clan maidens, the war caused a rarity of men and Sleezel soon found an older widow to purchase.

With so many young men out of the picture fighting and dying, Sleezel, competent at nothing worthwhile at all, finally coerced himself a spot on the Great Council where he talked so much in so irritating a manner, council members began to accept his ideas just to get him to shut his yap.

Time passed and Sleezel increased his power over the tribe. His first step was to win over Grunge the Spirit Talker. Grunge was often in trouble with the people of the clan for rejecting any new idea that happened by, so Sleezel made a contract with him. If Grunge would give him the favor and backing of the Spirits, Sleezel would help him hold the status quo. Sleezel explained it was a simple two step process. First, a requirement that all clan members accept and worship the Spirits as Grunge and Sleezel saw fit, and if any individual or Council member did not adhere to that process, Sleezel would help Grunge ostracize them out of the tribe or off the Council by calling them names such as Spirit Haters, Dung Smellers, Tribe Traitors and Child Eaters. And secondly, playing upon the clan members poor long range memories by defining old ideas as new ideas, realizing the older the ideas, the newer they would seem.

Sleezel then went to old Booger of the Nose Bones who had the most wives for good reason. As sole producer of the currency for the clan, nose bones, Booger controlled the economy of the clan and was programmed by the Spirits to always want more. Sleezel cut a simple deal with him also. If Booger would give him ten nose bones each new Moon and send over an extra wife each night, Sleezel would ensure the rise in both the demand and the price of nose bones. This of course would benefit everyone.

It wasn' t long before Sleezel the Weasal took control of the Great Council. He drove his enemies out and began his plan of renewal. The new rules were simple:

·        No man could have sex with other men' s wives, except for Sleezel.

·        No one was to break any laws handed down by the Spirits, except for Sleezel.

·        No one was to take nose bones for special favors, except for Sleezel.

·        No man could run from war duty, except for Sleezel.

·        No one would is allowed to lie, cheat or act in a corrupt manner, except for Sleezel.

·        Everyone would be held accountable and responsible for their actions, except for Sleezel.

It soon became obvious to all what Sleezel was and what he was up to. He soon became the most disliked man in the clan. Even his patsies on the Great Council had trouble stomaching him as did both Grunge and Booger, but he had stumbled upon the formula of the future, control of the Spirits and wealth resulted in control of the people. Sleezel held on for a few more years until one day, while showing the clan his new idea of dealing with the old and infirm, he leaned too far forward pushing an old wife off on an ice flow. His head fell forward breaking his neck and he sank to the bottom of the icy sea where he was found and hired by Fox News.

  Conservatives Know Best

A gun in the home is 22 times more likely to kill a family member or friend than it is to kill an intruder.

An old man sits on a bench in the Springfield Park. He is a happy gregarious man who feeds the pigeons in his retirement. As the day progresses he runs into the Andersons at different times. He promises to buy six dozen boxes of Girl Scout cookies from Kathy. He promises to sponsor Bud' s bowling team. He promises to buy a big insurance package from Jim. He promises to get Betty the formal she needs for the dance. The scene moves to his apartment where his wife asks him if he has made any more promises he cannot keep that day. He gives her flowers and shows his love of her and all mankind but admits he was a failure and can' t help himself from compensating for it by big talk. Mrs. Simmons is saddened but understands and kisses him softly on the cheek.

" Bud! Bud! Telephone!" Margaret calls up the stairs. Bud crashes down the steps to tell Freddy that he will have the bowling shirts by Saturday. The scene is full of Andersons on the stairway near the phone, all beaming with hope. Kathy tells Betty of the nice man who gave her the big cookie order which will get her the cookie of the year award. Betty is beside herself in glee at the thought of that dress she wants so badly for the dance. Bud is hopping up and down over his bowling ball. But down the street at the General Insurance Company, Father, in trying to close the insurance sale with Mr. Simmons, learns he is a penniless fraud.

[Here the actual 1950s story line is swept out of time to the present]

Margaret sits in the kitchen sorting the Wanted Dead or Alive posters she has made for Kathy to distribute. On them are the pictures, names, phone numbers and addresses of all the Springfield gynecologists who have performed abortions.
" Here Kathy, put these in your pack to take to school tomorrow. And be sure to put the right poster on the right lockers." Kathy took up the stack of poster sized papers and reads through them.
" Mommy? Is Krissy' s mom really a baby murderer like this says?"
" Of course she is Kathy, she is a murderer and her daughter should know it, so are the rest of these stinking liberals, so be sure to get these up on all the correct lockers before school. Stick the rest on trees on your way in the morning."
" Okay Mommy, this is fun! I hate Krissy anyway, she' s not a real American, she' s a Dumbocrat!"

Bud enters the kitchen slamming a .44 magnum down on the table. " Mom, I was shooting down in the basement at our Hillary and Chelsea targets and the thing is jammed or something. What if some fag or jigaboo tries coming in here and ripping us off and our .44 aint working?"

Margaret slides the pistol in front of her, takes it down and slaps it back together, firing a round out the back door. " Bud, its fine now but we do have the Uzi' s in the den, the .38' s in the living room and the Glocks and Mach-10' s in Kathy' s room, so why get upset about the .44?"

" Makes the biggest holes Mom. Why can' t a queer or jungle bunny come here and try stealing our TV? Just once I would like to shoot someone in the back as they' re running away with something I worked for."

" I know how you feel Bud, but if we live our life under the Lord' s guidance and pray, our prayers will come to pass."

" The only time I' m not too busy to pray is in school and they won' t let us pray Mom!"
" Don' t worry Bud things are about to change, these secular humanist pinkos will one day all be either dead meat or running like Hell to one of those socialist countries they like so much!" Margaret droned on to Bud and Kathy about the need for a cultural/religious war that could only be won by grabbing up M-16s and taking the cities back house by house.

Betty enters the kitchen all dreamy over her expected dress. " Bud, did you know that Sylvia in your class is a lesbian? She told me today all crying at the malt shop!"
" I could of guessed it Betty, Ms. Mustache!" Bud laughed.
" I got on University netmail system today and typed out her whole sick confession with her address and phone number! And a few of us girls in the Young Republicans Club wrote LESBO across her locker this morning!" Betty beamed.

" Well done Betty!" Margaret gleefully cheered, " By this evening everyone in town will know, including those nice bald boys down the street."
" Are those boys with the funny hair and all the guns going to shoot Sylvia?" Kathy asked.
" We can only pray!" Margaret stated expertly, twirling the Magnum in hand.

Father enters through the back door laughing. " Who' s the ace shot in my family? Someone here got the Bigley' s Cocker Spaniel right between the eyes!"

" MOM!" The children shouted in unison to Margaret' s smiling pride.

" That' s my girl!" Jim said, but as he laid his briefcase on the table his mood changed from one of family pride to one of family business. " I hate to tell you all this, but today I found that our friend Mr. Simmons from the park is a fraud and a liar. He has no money, no connections and cannot make good on any of the promises he made to any of you. I also heard from some reliable sources that he is liberal Democrat!" The kitchen quieted in thought for a moment before exploding into seething raucous hatred.

" Princess," Father asked, " Did Mr. Simmons touch you when he ordered the cookies?"

" HE TOUCHED ME!" Bud fired. " He' s a damn faggot, I knew it all along!"

" And he was just trying to get in my pants too!" Betty screeched.

" He touched me! He touched me! He even kissed my hand!" Kathy added.

" Did he kiss your hand or lick it?" Margaret questioned.      

" I guess he did lick it Mommy!" Father calmed them all down and got them once again moving as a military unit.

THE SPRINGFIELD GAZETTE

 

SPRINGFIELD -Today in the small town of Springfield the Jury came out after only 4 minutes deliberation. The Andersons were found not guilty of all charges stemming from the shooting of Albert Slade Simmons. Though the murder was ugly, with more than 200 bullet holes in Mr. Simmons, the testimony of the Anderson children swayed this middle American jury to quick justice.

 

The bigger news is still the casket with Mr. Simmons' body at the morgue where it will sit until Mrs. Simmons either wins or loses her fight to have her husband buried in this conservative town. Every cemetery refuses to bury a lying faggot child molester in their hollowed Republican ground. Jim Anderson, the father of this fine traditional family, had only this to say.

 

" We in Springfield are sick and tired of you in the left-wing socialist media making so much of this. If it hadn' t been for you liberal outsiders we wouldn' t even have had to go to trial. We are just a Christian family doing things together as a family. I suggest you leave the story of Mr. Simmons and his rotting faggot body alone, go back to all your culturally elite socialist homo friends in New York City and leave us people with real American family values settle matters at our local pleasure. If you don' t, just be sure you know we know where you live and where your children go to school."

 

This reporter now closes this story, for like you he understands, father knows best.

   A Grinchmas Carol

" Noooot.... Noooot..." Came the moan under the din of clacking chains. The Ghost Who Walks the Rotunda was paying The Speaker a call. At first Noot thought it was just another congressional freshman under some furniture having yet one more orgiastic seizure from being in his presence, but soon the apparition couldn' t be missed for what it was.

" Oh, it' s you Pat, for a minute I assumed I was so smart and powerful I had spontaneously created life. What' s with the chains?" Obviously, Noot thought it was presidential candidate Pat Buchanan coming by to crack some more Christian fag jokes they both enjoyed so well.

" Repent.... Repent...." The ghost chanted as it came closer. Though it did at first look like Buchanan it was the ghost of the most reviled man to ever walk the halls of the Capital.

" Senator McCarthy! I am honored by your presence!" Noot beamed. " I have taken up the mantle. Where' s Roy? He' s my favorite Jew."

" Noooot... Repent! Or you too will wear these chains of misery. Mr. Cohn is presently at such a deep level in Hell - The Hypocritical Evil Weasel Pit - he will never see a painless morrow. It is where you are headed too if you do not stop playing the game I played so well. It will only result in a life of regrets, a lonely death, and an afterlife in chains. Hear me Noot. Change your ways."

The apparition drifted away as Noot called after it, " I must do what I do! This is a revolution and I am a revolutionary. Hey! Do you think I' d look good in fatigues?" Noot dozed off wondering what medals he could coerce and where they would look best on his newly imagined uniform.

" Noot! Wake up. Come with me. We will take a peek at what has been. Come." The stern image took control dragging the reluctant fat assed slug of a Speaker behind him by his red Rush Limbaugh tie.

" There you are Noot, protesting the war protesters. What' s that sticking out of your pocket? Let' s zoom in and see. Ah, a letter from your college you were taking to the draft board to insure your deferment from a war you were pleased to have lesser men fight for you." Noot sighed boredom, his conservative colleagues understood, in fact, most of them did the same, God and Country needed them for more important matters than giraffe hunts.

" Let' s move on Noot. Here you are right after your move from Pennsylvania to Georgia so you could run for office in an easier congressional seat. Love those horned rimmed glasses and muttonchops! But let' s keep moving. Ah, here you are at your wife' s bedside in the hospital. As she recovers from an ovarian cancer operation, you toss her divorce papers. Then off you go by yourself to Washington. Look here! This is your church handing out food and clothes to your x-wife and your children because you wouldn' t pay child support. Didn' t you win your seat on a family values personal responsibility platform? Move over Roy! One more coming down!" The ghost mirthfully hollered.

Once again Noot was bored. His conservative constituents understood. He married that old bag to stay out of Vietnam. It wasn' t his fault she got so fat and ugly she would only be a cancer on his move to the top. Anyway, he was getting good sex from not only his wife to be, but not a few perky little campaign volunteers.

" Yes Noot, you are right in that. I can read your thoughts, everyone can. Let' s take a look at a moment of this sex life of yours. Do you see that car parked in front of your little girl' s elementary school? Looks like you are sitting alone waiting for your daughter. Wait! The car seems to be bouncing a bit. Oh, I see, you' re getting a BJ. Kind of hypocritical for someone who made most of his political hay feigning such high moral Christian values wouldn' t you say? And a leader in impeaching a President for the same thing. Perhaps we will have to begin construction of a Hell level lower than Mr. Cohn' s."

Noot was no longer paying attention to this moron who hadn' t a clue to politics. Noot was a conservative, and other conservatives either didn' t believe what the liberal press said about him, or they didn' t care, after all, he was giving them what they wanted, a hate extensive propaganda war against Liberals and Democrats and the glitter of money plums dancing in their heads. Noot understood Americans.

Once more Noot found himself in his office thinking about what crimes and sedition he could blame on Liberals the following day - could he manage putting the Holocaust on bureaucratic leftists? His reverie was interrupted by another liberal demon appearing before him.

" Come with me Noot. Let' s see what your Christmas government shutdown did to millions of American' s this day." Off the pair went from one home to the next, the checks not coming only slowed down the joy of the children a bit, but the real hurt came down on those already hurting. Checks not arriving for disabled veterans, for poor single women on welfare, to sick children on social security, a kick in the head to not one, but millions of Tiny Tims.

This was too much for Noot, now he was angry. It was that draft dodging socialist President Clinton who caused all this, not he. The argument that congress controlled the purse strings was only a good argument when it served his purposes.
" Frankly, you are bizarre and only pushing out liberal disinformation. It won' t work, this is a conservative country as I have proved unequivocally in the last election. Americans will not believe your Liberal Welfare State rhetoric, they believe in me, I am the light, I am the way." Noot spat out.

The apparition shook his head and returned Noot to his office. " You will be happy to know Noot, there is no welfare, liberal or otherwise, in Hell. Be certain, you will be completely on your own, no GOPAC, no PACs, no book royalties."
Noot laughed, he was doing the work of Jesus, he was one of the chosen, he was as close to God and Heaven as any man had yet come.

Noot was about to leave the office when it came one more time. The darkness was upon him and a voice began. " You have perfected nootspeak, which in earlier times Orwell named newspeak. With your talent you have managed to increase the income of the wealthy at the expense of the poor, to gain more control for the powerful over the powerless, and have the audacity to call this war of masters over slaves of yours a revolution. This has been catalogued as the most obnoxious hypocrisy in human history. As such, I have been called forward to give you a taste of not the possible future but the unchangeable one."

The dark shape enveloped him. Suddenly they were looking down on a mall parking lot in Atlanta. Dangling from a rope attached to a high light post, a rotund gray haired body in fatigues and meaningless medals pinned all over it, swung by its toe. A mass of humanity cheered as the body turned; North, Northeast, East, Southeast, South, Southwest...