The Omnipotent Poobah Speaks!

For a good portion of George Bush’s ill-fated Reign of Error^TM people pondered the bubble he was said to live in. The bubble seemed impervious. With every new evil the Dingbat-in-Chief visited upon us he grew ever-more optimistic. When faced with the weighty matters of state that cursed his administration, he always had a good word for progress or victory or whatever the happy, happy keyword du jour was. No matter how many corners we turned in Iraq there was always a new one waiting just around the next…well, corner.

It was hard to tell if he really believed his own malarkey or whether he was so out of touch he’d managed to transport himself to some sort of Republican Garden of Eden full of tax cuts, vanquished Muslims, and all the phones you could tap. In fact he’s still in there, recently telling staff he was glad the economic crisis occurred on his watch because he had “good people” working for him.

Bubblehead in the Bubble
It seems John Sidney McCain has bought himself a bubble too. After months of running against Bush by inexplicably running for his policies, prostituting himself to anyone with a spare endorsement, and hiring what is surely the least qualified running mate in the history of politics, he needs a nice, self-delusional bath in a luxury bubble. Preferably one made of solid cast iron so he doesn’t have to look out at the tumult that has become his career. With his latest confection he said he has the Obama campaign “right where we want them”. Then he slammed the door on the bubble for the trip to Reaganlandia.

“We’ve got them right where we want them,” seems a super-Bushonian statement to me. While this incantation served McPalin well with a gun at his temple in the Hanoi Hilton, it’s political suicide to use it in the middle of a campaign. Hell, even Karl Freakin’ Rove thinks he’s a nimrod and the Hockey Puck, er, mom, can’t even draw a respectful crowd at a hockey game. “We’ve got them right where we want them,” must be the same thing Uncle ‘Dolph muttered before playing Russian Roulette over a dinner of cyanide capsule under glass.

By any rational measure McPalin is toast without a huge asteroid vaporizing all the Democrats in the world. Unless he’s a “Comeback Kid” who puts Slick Willy to shame, he’s taking the rest of the party down with him too. When Commander Pickledick abandons ship he should consider himself lucky he’s not the poor schmo left at the helm.

McThusela’s Maverickdom
I’ve never bought McThusela’s crap about his maverickdom. He’s long been in the pocket of anyone who would tolerate his explosive temper and toadying to anyone willing to toss him a contribution - but I still feel a little sorry for him. He looks lost out there on the town-hall stage, wandering from one brain-addled He-Man Muslim Hater to the next. His few friends have abandoned him. The fiery eyes have turned rheumy and glazed.

Perhaps it’s from that awful place that the “we’ve got them right where we want them” sentiment comes from. Maybe the “them” doesn’t refer to Obama, but to the ignorant bastards running his campaign or the hockey mom run amok, or the Ding Dong Daddy of Pennsylvania Avenue. Maybe he just plans to check into the Bubble City Hilton with Cindy Stepford, put all that political life behind him, and try to smell the Phoenix cactus blooms without falling into them. Maybe he just longs to transform himself into a reincarnated Douglas MacArthur.

Old senators never die, they just fade away.

The Poobah is a featured contributor at Bring It On!

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