Back and forth we argue, the Reds and the Blues, the liberals and the conservatives. One lives by God and the other is just friends with Him. So many differences but what I've noticed lately is how the Right lacks a comprehension of satire.
It's as if there is a missing bone - while not necessary for total body function, it neverthless provides increased flexibility and movement. Does that mean those that embrace and appreciate satire for what it is, a mirror, are more highly evolved than those who do not?
Why, yes. Yes, it does.
If there was (is?) right-wing satire, what would it look like? Would it be like blue collar TV? No, because even that is smart enough to be self-effacing and done with great affection.
This has been the household subject of late. I offer that maybe it has to do with most creative types being pre-disposed to left-leaning ideals. Then, that creative minds are a pre-requisite to creating and/or enjoying this art form. Cousin Ryan built on this theory: "Since they can't create things, they need to be TOLD things," he said. "They're sheep, they wanna be led. Whether it's a God or a government or whatever."
Of course, it is this type of thinking that leads to that election-crushing disease known as Liberal Smugness. It is the distant cousin of the yawn-inducing behavior, We Know Statistics. Both are why the Left has nary a lick of power in this country.
Which is why it's so damn fun to watch Bush Meltdown 2005. Again, I am reminded how happy I am that Dubya won the last election, fair and square. Every mess we are in, he got us into. Kerry (or whomever we dug up) would've inherited it and then would have been blamed for the handling of it all, no matter what.
This way, it all remains on Bush's watch. All of it. Every drop of blood. When those history books get written, his name will be right there next to it and his memory will be tainted. If there is one thing Bush cares about, it's his Presidential legacy. (Followed closely by keeping tight abs, I'm sure.)
Ironically, the only time I remember feeling sorry for Bush is soon after we invaded Iraq and were coming up empty on finding certain weapons of, well, you know. At the annual White House Press Corps Dinner, traditionally an evening of rare hijinks, Bush screened a hi-larious video of himself searching under White House couch cushions and in closets for the gol'dern WMDs. Woo-wee, that there is funny stuff!
I be damned if the joke didn't fall flatter than a pancake. Crickets chirped. Tumbleweeds rolled by. Someone coughed. Against the backdrop of my day-to-day Bush-aimed rage, I had to admit, I felt a pang of sympathy. It's one thing to be the President of the United States and run the world into the ground but it's quite another to attempt comedy-disguised-as-what-it-is-mocking.
Strangely enough, at this year's dinner, First Fembot Laura Bush apparently brought down the house, playing it like a weary, sharp-tongued Dino to W's fumbling idiot Jerry. She joked about George being so rural-life clueless, he tried to milk the horses. Strange, but I can picture it.
So why am I not laughing?
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