Home Stretch Rituals

Is it possible in the final "debate" for our prospective overlords to spill some blood? Not each other's, of course, but some demonstration of murderous capability. The stage in Nashville was large enough to allow a few chickens to run about, and given the dull, austere atmosphere, crazed clucking and flapping would've animated the proceedings a bit. Obama and McCain would walk around, deliver their pre-scripted sound bites, then suddenly drop the mike, grab a hen, twist off its head, drink its blood, and unleash a primal scream of conquest. A decided ratings bump. YouTube would be swamped for weeks.

Some may think I'm making a satirical, metaphorical point. Not so. I really mean it. All this talk about killing and crushing our invisible enemies intrigues me, and I want to see which one of these guys has the stones to seriously act on it. It's all peachy fine to green light an aerial assault that incinerates dozens of poor children, but damn it, show me something now, a sneak peek at the next savage era. That zombified audience desperately needed stimulation, and ripping apart live chickens while yelling "God Bless America!" might've primed their pumps. Dress the birds up as Osama bin Laden, then ask Obama to show how he would eliminate the supervillian. It may help the undecided who question Obama's killer instinct. As for McCain, who knows? Perhaps the chickens would give him a decent fight. It's bound to be more entertaining than listening to him drone on about crossing state lines to get affordable chemo.

Regular readers know that I avoid CNN and the other cable news nets as much as possible. Whenever I visit these channels, I usually get anxiety attacks from watching the lunatics on display. To paraphrase an old Alexander Cockburn line, these election "analysis" panels lend the impression that American journalists are insane. I know that level-headed journos do exist; I've met my fair share. But in order to grab camera time from Campbell Brown and Anderson Cooper, they must scream and wail and jabber as if they just smoked crystal meth. They are a fitting chorus for our corrupt system, the perfect soundtrack to this demented fantasia.

I think Obama has it won. Of course, I thought the same thing about John Kerry four years ago, so what do I know? I would be shocked but not totally surprised if McCain finds some way to prevail. Remember the country that we inhabit. Anything's possible. Still, I don't see it. McCain's too slippery on economic issues, and this is decidedly the wrong time to appear that way. Obama smiles, tilts his loving head, bats his eyes, and promises to make it better. In a land that loves lies and false hope, he who is more deceptively pure becomes king. McCain looks like a bitter, over-the-hill jester whose material no longer works. Maybe he can entertain the chickens.

I seriously considered going to see "An American Carol" this week, the prospect of really bad comedy tempting my damaged mind. Instead, I found several extensive clips online, including the first ten minutes of the movie, where Leslie Nielsen tells a bunch of patriotic kids the story of Michael Malone, i.e. Michael Moore (Kevin Farley imitating his late brother), whose treason and hatred of America knows no bounds. Part of the tale shows a Girl Scout calling Malone a sack of shit, and jihadists in Afghanistan praising Malone's film work. There's a labored bit about the "proper" way to be a suicide bomber, complete with Arab stereotypes running around, eyes popping out of their bearded heads.

In perhaps my favorite scene, Trace Adkins plays the Angel of Death, taking Malone to a future Los Angeles, which has been conquered by Al Qaeda and renamed "Bin Laden City." Naturally, there's a statue of Malone, thanking him for unilaterally losing the Terror War. I thought that Al Qaeda was against such graven images, but then LA does corrupt people, so I suppose that gag has some logic. There's a nice moment when JFK appears in Malone's living room to remind him that Camelot's prince was not an antiwar president. If only Kennedy had a copy of "Savage Mules" on him.