LICENSE TO SPEW

Oliver Willis links to a post from a wingnut blogger that rants about how Joe Wilson was a big old liar, an indictment for perjury and obstruction is no big deal, and--and this is just precious--the CIA is engaged in a vendetta against the Bushites. Naturally, the new meme has filtered down from the RNC, passed through the diseased colon of Rush Limbaugh, and splashed on the upturned beatific faces of our PT wingers.

Now normally I don't give much credence to the random pea-soup retching of the wingnuts, but I wonder if this one might just be true...

Scene: a decrepit trailer in rural Alabama. Vic Ferrari flips a tendril of his mullet over his shoulder as he raises the base of the can of Milwaukee's Best to his lips, flips the tab, and shotguns his 15th beer of the night.

Vic: Wooooohoooooooo, yeah muthfucka! I wonder what those assholes on PalTalk are doing.

Vic walks over to his computer, a 486 shitbox held together by duct-tape and baling wire. He has no headset, so he uses a thick rubberband to strap a microphone to the side of his head. Finally, it's his turn on the mic

Vic: Well, thaaaaaaank you, Voo. And hello to drclean and brutelogic, you are fiiiiine Americans. Let me tell you all about your heeeeeeero Joe Wilson and his CIA bitch wife. See, the CIA has hated Bush for years, and they're just using this as a chance to secretly undermine the fiiiiiine people in the White House...

The naked plywood sheet that is the door to Vic's trailer slowly creeps open, and a large man wearing all-black clothes and dark sunglasses levers himself carefully into the filthy trailer. Stepping around piles of rancid stained underwear and copies of Juggs magazine, the man looms directly behind the oblivious Vic. A length of piano wire slips out from the man's sleeve.

Vic: You see, you Democrats, with your Howard "The Scream" Dean, and Ted the drunk, you are the real racists, not the fiiiiine George Dub--URK!

In the blink of an eye, it's over. Vic is now slumped back in his chair, a new, lower smile leaking blood on his Iron Maiden T-shirt. The man smirks slightly, and half-turns to leave. He pauses, turns to look back at the screen, and picks up the mic.

Agent: We regret to inform you that Vic is signing off for good. The mic iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis OPEN!

We can dream, can't we?

JC