Columns » Bob Lancaster

The big giddy is on

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Ma Clinton once famously fingered a vast right-wing conspiracy, and now we have a vast one of the other kind. At least the old vast right-wing conspirators think the new vast conspiracy is a vast left-wing conspiracy, or say they do, but I personally don’t see much southpaw in it, and it looks less like a conspiracy, really, than it does a big dogpile. Everybody geronimoing in on the Republicans, even other Republicans.

A big dogpile or self-destruct or reaping of the whirlwind or avalanche of just deserts. But I’m no party-pooper so let’s go with the notion of a vast winged conspiracy that’s building toward a big First Tuesday blowout, with such hoopla and fireworks and marveling that it’ll be a week or maybe two weeks before things settle back to the same-old same-old. Hell, the big giddy, the buzz of expectation, might last till Thanksgiving.

Granting the conspiracy, though, I still don’t understand what all the complaining is about from starboard. Didn’t these same groaners just pass a law that lets the president get to the bottom of such foul schemes by torturing suspect perps till they rat or croak? Is he too tied up with staying the course in Iraq to supervise all the torturing that might be necessary? If so, I bet the vice president would be more than happy to stand in. That’s what vice presidents do. I mean, besides shooting innocent bystanders and telling solons who don’t sieg heil to go, uh, you-know-what themselves.

So with this new torture act and the new and improved Patriot Act and universal 24/7 eavesdropping, cracking this new conspiracy should’ve been short work for the Republican conspiracy-busters. It should’ve been as easy as invading Iraq was. And it probably would’ve been that easy if the various conspirators hadn’t been such sly, slippery, non-existent types.

Aye, these conspirators have been hard to nail mainly because they don’t exist. They’re not right-wing or left-wing, batwing or single-wing. They aren’t real people at all. They’re what is known in political circles as straw people or bugaboos. The al-Zombie roster includes these phantoms:

Gay people. There’s no such thing as a homosexual, of course, any more than there’s a Dracula or a man behind that voice that says you’ve got mail. There’s no “Congressman Foley,” and the GFY veep certainly didn’t mean to imply anything as unlikely as homoerotic self-abuse in what he told the solon. “Up yours” is not a metaphor; it’s only an expression. There are no real-life same-sex couples clamoring to get married. There couldn’t be, since the whole point and purpose of marriage is to legalize the naughty activities that result in procreation. A same-sex “marriage” renders the word meaningless; you might as well call it Low Chicago or a flea flicker. It’s like electricity, where you have to have both plug and receptor. If it’s only plugs or only receptors they cancel each other out. You don’t get homosexuals that way; you don’t get anything.

So there are no real gay people. They’re just a bugaboo the Religious Right thought up to get their people out to vote for Republicans in the last election. And even if there were genuine flesh-and-blood homos, everybody knows that it’s just not in them to conspire. It’s like Tay-Sachs or sickle cell, where they just don’t have the gene.

Illegal immigrants. Just as there are no homosexuals or werewolves or haints, there are no illegal immigrants either. They’re just a fiction, another bugaboo. Really now, can you imagine anybody staggering across great deserts and swimming crock-infested rivers just for the chance to gut chickens for the rest of their life for the minimum wage? It might be different if The Man let you take some of the innard piles home with you at the end of the day. But he won’t because then what would he have to pollute rivers with?

No, the scenery is better in Mexico, the climate’s better, the Mexican food is better, nobody there has a yippy dog, and you have a lot better chance there than here of Jesus or the Virgin Mary revealing Himself or Herself on a tamale shuck. Who would leave such a garden for a criminal longshot chance at the dubious material rewards of el norte? Nobody in his right mind would. So there are no illegal immigrants. And if there were, I know for a fact that it’s impossible to conspire with any sort of passion or enthusiasm when you are up to your existential knees in poultry gore.

Activist judges. Have you ever seen a judge who was good for anything except sitting around? Banging a gavel isn’t activism. Banging a gavel AND shouting “Objection overruled” only barely qualify. And you’ve got somebody to help you put on the robe. So no, there are no activist judges — another mythical co-conspirator — and there are no atheists either. How could any of us not believe in God when Bro. Pat Robertson and others just as credible talk to Him on a regular basis? And He talks back! Hard Darwinists mystify me, but in my experience they’re even pisspoorer conspirators than the Jew yellow-dogs who starve bumptious Huckawags in their Arkie Dachaus.

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