You Gotta Dance With The One That Brought Ya
Poor Dennis.
It’s been a pretty shitty month. CNBC is dumping your confused little
black hole of ratings and replacing it with a show called Mad Money with Jim Cramer. Ouch. That’s gotta hurt. Not to mention your sad, painfully unfunny Daily Show
appearance a few weeks back. Seeing Jon phoning in the laughs was
excruciating to watch, especially since there was nary a peep out of
the studio audience the whole time. But I guess laughing was his only
choice, since you wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise. You
launched into your pseudo-intellectual Mad-Libs game stand up act from the moment you hit the couch, and didn’t look back.
And
you should really watch it Dennis - you could really sprain an ankle
the way you were backpedaling on Bush there. "I only supported him on
the war", etc. Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Was it that kind of tepid
support that snagged you a spot next to the straight shooter himself on
Air Force One? But I understand. That was when 9-11 Changed Everything, and
so you had no choice to bravely join the nuke-em-all dogpile and call
everyone to the left of Buchanan a traitor to the Homeland. The free
speech libertarian was now an anti-thoughtcrime crusader, and a vicious
defender of the status quo. The switch was jarring, to be sure. It
can’t be easy going from being the contrarian curmudgeon one day to
fawning lapdog to power the next, but you didn’t even break a sweat.
Of course, if the millionaire son of a former president can play a
jes-folks cowpoke, I guess anything is possible.
But as Bordello of Blood clearly showed, you were never very good at
acting. In America, it’s an age-old tradition to conflate a simpleton
with a populist ala Bush, but no Nascar dad is ever going to mistake
you for anything but the smug pretentious fuck that you are. The irony
is pretty funny, actually. All the references to De Gaulle and Pétain that you used in tarring Kerry just went over their pretty
little heads, and painted you, not him, as the prissy French faggot in
their eyes. Now that the War With Islam is just background noise, the
Inquistors are onto their job of repealing the Enlightment. So, now it
seems, the bride is getting cold feet after finally seeing the 12 foot
high writing on the wall. Being a student of history, he knows that,
after the darkies, the faggots, and the liberals, the intellektuls are
the next ones with their head on the block. Well, tough shit, says I,
and thanks for nothing. You and your fellow libertarians sacrificed
most of your core principles for a few tax cuts, massive deregulation
and a dull illusion of security. Don’t ever tell me you support free
speech, a right to privacy, or hate government intrusion into your
lives while you kept silent during Guantanimo Bay, the Patriot Act, and
Real ID. For you all your clever talk of appeasement, you guys are the
real collaborationists. The fairweather ‘liberals’ all wet their pants
on 9-11, and circled the wagons against a completely imagined alliance
b/w the pacifist left and Islamic fundamentalism. But now, after Terry
Schiavo and Justice Sunday, the bible beating is getting a little too
loud for them, and they’re trying to pull a Prodigal Son, but without
the tearful apology part.
Well, sorry, but fuck you and the war you rode in on. The Sane Side
don’t want you now. You threw in your lot with the crazies, and that’s
where you get to stay. It’ll be fun to see you justify their attempt
to ban gay authors, or rationalize the N.C. church’s decision to excommunicate Democrats from their congreation,
or make Bill Frist (M.D.!) look uh, not crazy, when he says AIDS can be
spread through tears or sweat. It’s fun times we’re living in now,
Dennis, and you can take part of the credit. Thanks to you, the
terrorists truly have won. America is on the fast track to become as
theocratic and rabidly anti-intellectual as their stone age societies
we want to flatten to the ground. If you suck up hard enough, maybe
they won’t put you in the gulag with the rest of the egghead
know-it-alls. But still, no matter what happens, it’s going to be a
little bittersweet for the perennial teacher’s pet. After all, when
they’ve burnt all the books, who will care which ones you’ve read?
