corrente

Where to begin? It would appear that the liberal segment of the flock has gone astray. Strayed from The Way of the His Word and coaxed by Cain and Francois Marie Arouet down the crooked shadowy "values" barren path of modernism, enlightement, and skeptical decadence. And ultimately into the gnashing jaws of faithless sin. At least that's the noise, as I've decoded it, ringing from the belltowers and wafting from the incensed altars of cable TV Nooze BabbleOn. The high toothless priests and priestesses of jabber and lore are holding forth on the dire consequences of secular political sermonizing. Warning this blessed land's wayward tribes of Blue State lefties to get Right with Republican Jesus or prepare to be set upon by the Chosen Red State swarms. Consumed by fire like so many Amalekites being pounced upon by Saul. Prepare, transgressors, to have your asses smote and your sucklings heaved into the waves with the swine if you should once again fail to heed the fabulous signs and wonders before you!

Show up on Sunday, librul', and pay the preacherman like a good Gawd-fearin' real Murican', or prepare to be lashed to a post in the public square, come 2008, and switch-whipped like a slutty barefoot chambermaid passed out drunk in a stable.

Howard Dean 2008! Forget it.

Unless he changes his name to Jimmy. Jimmy Dean, the breakfast sowsedge guy, not the fruity dead Hollywood actor. Then again, nah, that won't work either. Too obvious. But our next candidate's first name could be Dean. As long as he's not the Dean of anything academic or snooty or elitist or "coastal" or book larn'd or ungodly strange like that. But Dean something? Dizzy Dean! Possibility? Not Dean Martin, no. How bout' Dean Autrey? Hey...maybe? Ok, forget "Dean".

How about Beauregard M. Whiteman? Yes! That's our guy!

"Beau fer sho" - in 2008!

So then, "Who is Beauregard M. Whiteman?" you ask. Well lemme' tell ya: B.W. (as we like to call him around the traditional non-metrosexual male barber shop) is a plain-spoken well-mannered liberal-like church goin' God fearin' southern Methodist Christian gentleman. Family man, former Navy Seal and commie assassin, Democrat, small business owner, Little League umpire, and member in good standing of the National Association for the Advancement of Foniks, and the Celebrated Southern Sons of Celebrated Southern Realtors. Never missed a parade or a chicken a la king dinner in a church basement. A man who don't always talk real good neither and is married - to a woman - (and a piston pumping hottie to boot... heh... if ya know what i mean fellas) - who loves watching NASCAR on the TeeVee and knows how to stuff a fat turkey and seal a driveway and wipe a screeching baby's ass and be the first to spy a cheery uplifting rainbow on a blustery day. All at the same time, if need be. Beau and the missus will have a son named Roy who wants to be a fireman or a jet pilot or a speed boat racer, or something that involves burning gasoline, and a daughter named Ashley who wants to be a veterinarian or a mommy or a country music singer or anything that doesn't involve performing medical science on humans. They must have a dog. A dog named Cadet. Must not have a butler named Rhett. Must have a gun cab-in-ett. With lots of guns in ett. Ok, ok, i'll stop.

Especially scary looking guns. With scopes. And antique dueling pistols. B.W. likes to spend his free family guy time hitting golf balls into a corn field with a four wood or taking the whole family on picnics to Civil War Battlefields. B.W. also has a crazy lovable younger brother foil who drinks too much cheap American beer and eats fried twinkies and chases cocktail waitresses around buffet tables in Vegas. And other manly Red State Christian regular guy things like that. Must also own a pile of dried brush. Which he can be photographed, on occasion, moving from here to there and from there to here. If he does not possess a dried pile of brush one will be provided for him.

Potential candidate must NOT: have any prior history or incident involving long lost relative left alone wailing like an animal in the charred smoldering ruins of a burned family farmhouse. Unwelcome surprises like that - will be unwelcome.

Plus, the new Democrat dream preacher, I mean candidate, must extend a welcoming paw to Alan Keyes. I think Dems need to finance third party challenges to moderate and semi moderate and even fanatical semi moderate Republicans. Especially in key battleground states. In order to split the sword of the lord vote and elect good church going pew shining liberals to key positions of leadership and faith and other stuff. And Alan Keyes is just the guy to help split the rock right down the middle. And hey, Alan Keyes is like a human bowiling ball anyway. He even looks like a effing bowling ball. Every few years he rolls back up out of the shoot and someone picks him up by his ears and flings him down a buffed hardwood alley in the hopes he'll knock down some pins at the other end. What's so hard to figure out about about that? Eh? Sheesh. Dems need to pay the guy at the counter, rent the funny shoes, and start bowling with Alan Keyes.

Hopefully I will be invited to appear on cable television TV shows with meatheads like Chris Matthews or eerie cackling Falangist crypt minders like Pat Buchanan to discuss my plans for the future of the new Jesus shoutin' liberal agenda. The sooner the better. So, CNNMSGOPFOXNewzi producers, fire an email my way, and let me know when the limo will arrive to transport me to the bright lights and glamour of high stakes Calvinist revival punditry.

BTW: I have alerted the Justice Departmart and Chris Dodd and Harold Ford to the old liberal HULLABALOO menace amongst us. John Ashcroft's Final Days Avengers should be kicking in the door to Digby's little subversive parasite infested Socialist Republic of Santa Monica nest any minute now.

It's the least I can do for the future of THE PARTY.

BTW again. Homosexuals: Shut the friggin' heck up and get back in that cedar finish log cabin closet you filthy fairy touched Irish Catholic Christ kill—..., I mean homos!... you filthy fairy Hollywood homos! Oh my dear God I din't mean that part about the Irish Christ killers, it was just a joke!!!! Well shit, I mean poopy! ...there goes the South Boston vote.

But hey, think on the bright side. I may have just picked up a few hundred votes in Colorado Springs.

Beauregard Moses Whiteman - 2008!

[Ed note: this post has not been spell checked by pompuss elitist fuckwit professer moonbats or anything lame like that.]

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