Hell's Kitchen, NYC– The plan was to visit a friend in DC last weekend, but the snow and growing wolf population gave me second thoughts. Since Spring of 2009 record number cottontail rabbits have burrowed homes into Washington’s vast lawns, but with so much snow they’ve been unable to find their holes after returning with food for their young. I was eager to see what would come of the rabbits since the Mall was devastated by snowfall two weeks previous. According to Republicans, hot after a few lame victories in usually blue friendly places, Obama should’ve been out with his shovel first thing in the morning. But what does an elitist immigrant born with a silver spoon in his mouth know about shoveling snow. That’s hard work. Obama went to Harvard. The white rabbits had the snow in their favor, but a hungry wolf can smell a horny bunny three miles away. That’s nature and the nation’s Capital is the still heart of a bloody corpse because of it. The rabbits are timid anyway and that kind of stink is lethal in Washington.
During the brief moments between snowfalls my phone rang. I reluctantly answered but all I heard on my end was the TV real loud and a lunatic reading the inscription from the Statue of Liberty: Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breath free. The wretched refuse, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door… I recognized the weeping on the other side. It was Harrison, whom I was to visit, and my source of all good things political. He’s recently divorced, wife took the kids to Puerto Rico, so the first image popped into my head was an empty bottle of Jack between his thighs and a Ruger Single Action revolver to his temple. (I was with him when he picked it out, his nervous hand could barely hold the plow-handle grip.) “Put on Fox News Channel,” he said. I told him I couldn’t. He agreed it was painful but there was something I needed to see. I explained I lack the luxury of cable and instead endure the long-hand version of politics on C-Span. “God bless you,” he said. “Most people don’t even know what that is.” I asked if he was okay and turn the TV down so I can hear you. “It’s Glenn Beck. He’s puking all over the place, making a mockery of the Revolution. He’s cried several times. I can’t turn it off.”
A week before CPAC wrapped up its annual three-day convention in DC, but the stench lingered like a toxic gas from a George Romero film. The remaining Crazies gathered at coffeehouses in nearby Alexandria, where Harrison holed up in the new suburban spread he’d recently purchased for his growing family. Not no more. I felt bad Mother Nature discouraged me from visiting, but I also started the weekend early, and forget the weather I wasn’t going anywhere for at least three days. Plus I had work to do. A friend of a friend found an agent willing to read my latest, but I’d lied about being finished in the first place, so the next few days I’d have at it. It was unlikely I’d get anything done with all that was on my mind– wolves and the slaughter of innocent rabbits– but I’d give it an old-fashioned coffee and Benzedrine try anyway, despite the cold-weather in my head. “Is anyone else there?” I asked Harrison. He said he was alone and the only company he was expecting would come by small plane trailing a banner denouncing taxes. “The fuckers defended the bastard,” Harrison said. “Like they did McVeigh and Nichols. The Right is armed to the teeth, taking a page from Al Queda. It’s bad. Cheney needs to be muzzled. He’s telling everyone America is unprepared. When will that prick’s machine heart finally fail?” We agreed probably never.
Harrison answered a call from his lawyer on the other line and forgot I was waiting so I hung up soon after. Hopefully things work out for the guy. The value of his house is down a good chunk of change and since the Mexican gangs supposedly took over Northern Virginia’s school system no one was looking for property in the Fast Food district of suburban Alexandria. But progress will prevail, always has, which got me thinking about what’s wrong and what’s right, and who is this CPAC guy and why does he spell his name like a robot? I went to C-Span’s website and activated a marathon of CPAC footage. It was quite a chill to see Liz Cheney, the grateful offspring of a savage Aryan, soak the microphone with rumors of incompetence over the Christmas Day Attack. Keep America Safe is the name of the group Miss Cheney represents, which seems to me a twisted joke when it’s her own gene pool that would better serve NASA’s waste management program in space far far away. Friday night turned into Saturday morning, despite the terrible reality of CPAC and the digressive culture it dignifies. Halfway through the second day’s events I again confirmed why I often side with lame Democrats over their textbook counterparts in the GOP. Thanks to CPAC it gets easier and easier.
The ferocious banging at my door will have to wait. Dedicated Aryans (see Teddy Roosevelt’s Following the Sun Philosophy) have hijacked our nation’s cornerstones and rewritten them to suit a “Christian” foundation, contradicting the founders' preference of Science and the Arts (see Amendment 1) and to justify imperialism with the Monroe Doctrine (again, see Teddy Roosevelt, John McCain’s favorite president). Forget all the other dangerous opinions breeding among Tea Party carnies. They maintain a distant second place to this vile, primitive agenda. Global Warming can wait. Right now there are powerful people whose happiness depends on other’s misery (see the gloating of Pat Roberson after the earthquake in Haiti, the hurricane in New Orleans and the destruction of the Twin Towers). CPAC called their invited guest Ryan Sorba’s homophobic rant connecting civil rights to natural rights via reproduction “freedom of opinion.” Sorba, a combative misanthrope who justifies his delusions with philosophical roundhouses, thinks humans are programmed like wild beasts and all feelings between us are pure instinct, no passion, love or intellect– in his case this is true. If that’s all that Limelight Conservatives can say about this kind of hateful ignorance, I fear what will happen if CPAC’s bag of nuts ever serves as a jury of my peers.
Brian Wask writes books, makes music and has spent several trips to an isolated cabin sweating out his unhealthy addiction to American Politics. Go to BrianWask.com to see more.