In The Mood With GOP [“Grand Ole Partiers”]
Part One: Senator Ted Cruz (R-TX)
Somewhere in the deepest confines of my being, rife with frost, I knew that they were right, y’know, them: #KeepingUpWithTheKardashians #WhileRomeBurns was here to stay. “Self,” I said to me, “look who people are paying to watch and emulate. Not you!” Or did I mean “me”? Who knew? “Not I,” said The Cat.
But hey, lookit, that’s okay: it’s cool to know nothing.
What am I going on about? I don’t even know where to begin because I cannot bring myself to accept the excruciating fact that I may very well be near the end.
The crux of the matter, or at least a chunk of it, is my sustained disbelief that the party, the Grand Ole Party, The Party of Lincoln, Eisenhower and Nixon, my party has been reduced to the non sequitur. The Republican Party is beset by conflicts befitting an episode of “Aqua Teen Hunger Force” rather than a group of men and women whose alleged aim is to produce the leader of the world’s most powerful empire. A significant portion of my angst rests with the present, ongoing tense of all applicable descriptions of these debacles. I cannot truthfully say “was struggling” or “has struggled” when, as I bumble about the keyboard tonight, all of this…this nightmarish stuff has just gone on.
Here one might find the hero of the narrative thus far if it weren’t for finding me, quite the antihero. More Rick Deckard than Jack Ryan, I, now quite uncomfortably ensnared in the present as this mockery of a tale proceeds, am nearer to the Breton Sound than being of sound mind.
In some ways, both the Republican Party and your author draw nigh to a diagnosis of Retrofuturism in terms of framework.
And so, the resultant product of equal parts bitterness, intrigue, bemusement, economic obsession and general lust for conquest, I’ve given myself the ignominious duty of addressing this POTUS election cycle. If able, I’d prefer to make some sense of this swamp but, outcome be damned, I will most certainly make fun of this bastard of all elections. Meanwhile, in Liverpool, the Reds’ charismatic talisman/manager Jurgen Klopp has spoken just today of their upcoming Europa League fixture against arch-enemy Manchester United being “the mother of all football games.” Ah, a tale of two continents. That, dear reader, is a rant for another day. Back to the drivel.
Observing Mick Jagger’s motto, circa. 1978, is the reason for the dispirited vibe permeating this article: “If you can’t take a joke, too fucking bad.”
What is not in jest, though, is the magnificent displays of the fledgling ModState staff, however new in their introduction to the ensemble. Having come light years since our first beta-test around a month ago, already has the effort to close the gaps betwixt where we were, are now and see ourselves on the 30th of April that, almost biological in authenticity, has emerged an instinctive, bare-knuckle esprit de corps all our own.
So, without further delay, either close the dialogue box, go drink your political skim milk via National Review and The New Yorker or brace yourself for the emergence of the standard bearer of this hard-nosed lot of scene-makers. I’ll be judging the largely blah, middle-of-the-road lot left (on the right) based on three factors stemming from the letter grade they all deserve in one way or another: C. You’ll…see.
First, recall the shrill bard from the Barry Goldwater cloth as personified by Senator Ted Cruz (R-TX).
Cruz could just as easily have said “extremism in defense of liberty is no vice” as did Senator Goldwater (R-AZ). Bear in mind that Goldwater’s prime came not long after serving in the Army Air Forces. By no means am I calling Goldwater antiquated, rather pointing out that being in service before the Air Force was a branch in its own right means the Texan senator would probably butcher the famous battle-cry today. Think something along the lines of, “Freedom isn’t free and if you’ve got to swing a hard copy of the Tax Code at them to free them from listening to things like ‘Stairway to Heaven’ in reverse, it’ll all come out in the wash, America!” Then, after disemboweling the train of thought of everyone present except Donald Trump (who wasn’t listening anyway) with such ludicrous wordplay, comes the massive slowdown in meter and simplification of thought so that morons like you and I can understand: “Folks…the Constitution…is all…that we need…but it’s also all…that we have…left to us.”
In the end, Goldwater won the GOP nomination but was thoroughly routed in the 1964 general election by Lyndon Baines Johnson (D-TX). LBJ captured 61% of the popular vote and secured a 486-52 Electoral College margin over ole Barry. Both figures comprised the dual scorecards of the most disastrous landslide defeat in U.S. presidential election history. While the record survived a mere eight years, we’ll get to McGovern, Bernie & the Jests later. For now, note the popular Goldwater bumper sticker that his hardcore adopters sported: “In your heart, you know he’s right.” Yes, yes, yes, I know, I know: two wrongs don’t make a right (but three lefts do), “nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong” (per Buffalo Springfield), and thus my final verdict is if they’d been any more convinced of being right they’d’ve morphed into women en masse. The best news, though, literally just occurred: just past 3 AM here on the Left Coast and lo and behold Caitlyn Jenner has said it wants to be the “Trans Ambassador” for, I shit you not, Senator Ted Cruz.
This development occurred, mind you, in the same 24-hr period within which Charles Evers endorsed (The) Donald Trump. Mr. Evers is a former NAACP chapter head, became the first black mayor in the State of Mississippi since the post-Civil War period referred to as “Reconstruction” and, last but not least, is the brother of assassinated civil rights leader Medgar Evers. Mr. Evers cites Mr. Trump’s lengthy and largely profitable business record (he did make a profit off of prior failures) and relentless propensity for sparing no one’s feelings through his tough talk. It’s a wild “Fear and Loathing” head-trip to Cleveland…sans drugs. So basically it’s a wild ride minus the two things that generally merit such aims: some form of “head change” and a cool destination. In other words, it’s as if the hoary-headed, “missionary only” schoolmasters of the Republican establishment actually are having their way. That’s how cool the scene…isn’t.
Cool factor: Only related in alphabetized search indices have the words “cool” and “Cruz” within miles of one another.
Comfortable in Cleveland: The Hall of Fame masquerading as the people’s consensus on the best of the best in rock n’ roll and music as a whole is based there. None of the city’s major professional sports teams have procured a league championship for the city since 1964, the same year Cruz’s spiritual predecessor, Barry Goldwater, was annihilated in the general election by Lyndon Johnson. Johnson would later thank Goldwater for being the only person to have ever caused people to, by comparison, label him “charismatic” and “a good speaker.” And no, that part didn’t happen. I made that up, because in reality both men were equally horrible speakers and each was as charismatic as Barney Frank and James Traficant. Anyway, an indigenous nickname for the city is “The Mistake By the Lake.” Sounds like a place the French would build. Cleveland’s climate is cold and largely miserable during late autumn and much of winter while being sticky and irritating in the summer. The convention’s being held in July, but both “cold and…miserable” and “sticky and irritating” sound like places Cruz will fit in just fine. Just fine indeed!
Would call someone a c**t under [blank] circumstance(s): None. He’s too good to swear like the rest of the idiots in America. He generally includes everyone but himself in the “idiot” category except for the military, many individuals belonging to which should be in that category but, more importantly, are most apt to use the “c” word.
E’ryday I’m triflin’.