Wednesday, March 05, 2008

clash of the Senators, round ten

Would someone hire a fat lady and ask that woman to sing, please?

While Mr. O. and Ms. C. wrestle, Johnny Mac the Arizona Wildcat has won it all. Reverend Huckabee, (that name still kills me... Jefferson, Madison, Grant, Wilson, Carter, Clinton, Huckabee? Some things are just never going to happen.) anyway, the Reverend gave a long, weird, boring concession speech, opening, inexplicably, with a George Brett anecdote.

You may be thinking George Brett?

That's what the assembled crowd was thinking, judging from their uncomfortable televised silence. He told some strange story about Brett wanting to end his career with an easy out instead of a grand slam.


And all the coiffed melonheads on TV were arguing and shouting about Johnny's plan to go to the White House tomorrow and get annointed by the Idiot. Why? Why, for god's sake? they were all shouting.

I'll tell you why, it's the Jerry Lee Lewis Defense.

When you're caught red-handed fucking your fifteen year old cousin, what do you do?

You marry her.

You're already dead to those who don't like you, so you may as well consolidate the family and show those sitting on the fence that you're a stand-up guy. Marry her, put a big ring on her finger and then get back out on the road.

Democratic field is still all tied up and tangled, but I'm hearing a lot of people saying that mathematically Clinton has already lost, regardless of what strategies, outcomes or wild unsubstantiated shit comes out on either side. The people saying this sound smart and correct, but smart and correct don't match up to determined and dirty in this Great Republic, do they Tonto?

On the Art Side, I'm reading some great plays these days. Something's in the water or I'm just finally talking to the right people. Just finished something called We Have Brought Nightmare by John Christian Plummer. Man alive. It's the foul-mouthed, no-fucking around Dutch back in pre-Colonial America, beautiful, scary language, very elemental stuff going on. Kind of like There Will Be Blood set in 1630, written very smartly for the stage.

Or something.

Anyone know what those 1191 signs at the McCain headquarters are all about? Some Masonic Code? Some subliminal 9/11 message?


Ann said...

1191 delegates needed for McCain to clinch the nomination...check me out, being good for more than just music trivia and the occasional drunken lampshade dance!

I love love *love* your Jerry Lee Lewis analogy, and I fully intend to steal it and pass it off as my own. That's what you get for flinging your genius around on the internet, son.

John said...

Steal all the good stuff, that's what it's there for.