Selling the Farm

The Democrats know the rats in the cellar, but they dare not set the trap. To rid America’s reverence for the Father, the Son, the Holy Buck; and its wand waving war mongers, this party, let unconstitutional acts run amuck. And they’re still leaking. See 8-1 Supreme Court Ruling on Search and Seizure.

A new and revived party? A hard sell at the pump. All the flag waving, snorting, turf-treading on the original state of slavery, the smell of war, trim to the eye, fat to the pulpit; may not park Othello at the gate. The only “change apparent” rattles in the jobless pockets from Oshkosh to Gary, to Miami, San Antonio and beyond. The Legislature, awash in somnambulistic hustle, enmeshed in the land of Oz, sleeps with itself, and prays not to be found out before the casino closes and the band stops playing. Rockets red glare boils the Great Plains, the purple mountains, the valleys and the rivers it will consume forever, if not in body in spirit. The smell of old blood and orchids wafts in the committee rooms and the buzzards hold the combination to the safe.

It will take more than a whisper, a prayer, and a promise of thereafter with America’s heart hooked to the exhaust, the blurb, the wasteland, the clicked, the botched, the collective idol, all devoid of hindsight, clever, and bleak of wonder. It can be done, certainly in no short order, but it takes, without steroids and magic, courage to trap the rats and lock up the clowns.