corrente

I’m beginning to believe that aWol could say “extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice” and get wild applause from the pre-screened sycophants, and bobbleheaded nods from the SCLM. Maybe that’ll change after last night, but who knows? I mean, did he really say “That's kind of a pre-September 10th mentality, the hope that somehow resolutions and failed inspections would make this world a more peaceful place. He was hoping we'd turn away. But there was fortunately others beside himself who believed that we ought to take action”?

Sheeee-it.

Anyway, I was sitting at the table handing out campaign literature for a local Dem running for the county commission at the community services fair. Table row—if you’ve ever been to a fair, municipal, organizational, county or tribal or state, you know the setting. The lady at the next table over was handing out literature for a church that I won’t name, but it’s one of those that opens in a big old tin building with lots of fanfare and loud Christian rock music, and soon has a thousand members. And then in two years, it’s gone.

There was nothing separating the tables but a piece of rope and some crepe paper. It was late afternoon, a slow time, and I’d said I’d sit there for a couple of hours. No problem. But the gal at the church table kept pestering me about God. Did I want some literature? Did I believe in God? Finally, she asked me if I didn’t think it was a good idea to have a man in the White House who talks to God.

I bit, damn me.

Depends, I said. Does this guy in the White House also believe that God talks back to him? Well, sure, she said. And I said, well, what if God tells this man to drop nukes on countries he thinks are a threat? Then that’s what he should do, she says. And it’s okay, because--? Well, because God will take care of us, silly. God wouldn’t tell the President to do anything wrong.

I asked her if she was aware that Charles Guiteau alleged he shot President James A. Garfield because God told him to. No, she said, she hadn’t heard that. But, of course, Guiteau had to listen to God, didn’t he? I ask. Well, that wasn’t God talking, then, she said. Because God would never tell anyone to kill a President.

I then confessed that I was a godless socialist who thought sweet, sweet reason should govern public discourse, and, as such, I really couldn’t talk to her any more. She said she would pray for me, and I told her how sorry I was, really, deeply sorry. (Thanks, Xan.)

Which led me to:

Is voting for George Bush better than getting poked in the eye with a sharp stick?

Well, let’s examine results. In a worst case scenario, if you got poked in the eye with a sharp stick, you would lose the vision in that eye. If, however, you voted for Bush, the worst case scenario is that your vote would help put a man in the White House who believes he will get raptured before the nookyoolar holocaust he helps start happens. You can get by with one eye; you can’t live on a radioactive cinder.

Clearly, getting poked in the eye with a sharp stick is better than voting for George Bush.

Is voting for George Bush better than being mauled by a rabid dog?

Again, let’s examine results. You could get stitched up and receive rabies vaccinations if you got mauled by a rabid dog. If, on the other hand, your vote helps put a man in the White House who really believes that God talks to him, and one day God tells him to drop nukes on the “bad people,” and then good old Earth is incinerated, there’d be no stitches or vaccines that could help that.

Cleary, being mauled by a rabid dog is better than voting for George Bush.

To the barricades, me hearties! Arrrggghh. Mother Earth is counting on us.