Here’s to the Fools

On this most hallowed of days, let us come together in solemn recognition of its namesake: the members of the 111th Congress.

PERP WALK.   Source: AP

Rave on, supercilious buffoons. You are not craven, vacuous, or delusional. You have not failed as leaders or as human beings. You are significant, essential, inestimable. You frolic with grave import under a neoclassical circus dome in the Land That Sense Forgot.

Your Lilliputian brains are bursting with criminal acumen and your grandiloquence is legendary. You can manufacture crisis and then pretend to save us from it. You can distort language to the point where words have no meaning; where iron-fisted health control becomes benign and beneficent health care. You can draft a 2000-page bill, forego reading it, and then—with a veritable clown-car of cash—secure the votes to make it law. Marx and Engels would be mesmerized by your top-down technique.

So, on your special day, we salute you. We salute you for being you. We do this because we will always have the satisfaction of not being you. And not being you—to twist a phrase—is the best revenge.

Oh, and Nancy?  The lavender Armani and pumps fairly whisper bipartisanship to an adoring public. Nice choice. And nice clown hammer.