Wayward Son

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Memo to the John Kerry And "Friends" Show: YOU ARE DUMB.

I was all set to spend today continuing what I started on Monday, a discussion of shit I'm sick and tired of hearing during this run-up to the midterms. Unfortunately, a new term raced to the top of the fucking list in about 24 hours. That term? JOHN KERRY.

Now, I'm no fan of Kerry. I've said many times that even if he got robbed in 2004, it's because he was such a wooden, equivocating lump that he put himself in a position to get the election stolen. And now, two years later, we're still talking about John Kerry.

And it seems to me, over the past day or so (as I write this), that none of the reporters, none of the pundits, none of the bloggers, and certainly none of the blog commentors have the slightest fucking clue as to what happened. I do, of course. Figuring this shit out is my avocation. And I even have a convenient analogy to help you understand.

Picture any reasonably bad 80's high school movie in the Revenge Of The Nerds vein. Everybody's in the cafeteria. It's lunch time. And John "Dingleberry" Kerry, the leader of the nerds, makes plans to score points on the jock table with a practical joke involving Mentos, Diet Coke, and a four-page policy paper on the deleterious effects of candy and soda vending machines in public schools.

Unfortunately for Kerry, he puts the Mentos in the wrong bottle, and ends up spraying the head jock's pretty cheerleader girlfriend with aspartame-laden goo. Oops. The jocks are all getting up from the table and making menacing noises. But as they get up, Kerry realizes something he should have realized a few years ago when he was a freshmen. These guys don't have any game. It's all bluff and bluster and jackets with imposing letters on them. And Kerry knows that these guys are going to pound him no matter what he does. But the nerds have the numbers advantage. The nerds have the tactical high ground. The nerds can win the day.

So he calls out to his nerd friends, "LET'S GET 'EM!" And he goes screaming at the leader of the jocks, fists flailing. It's the classic unstoppable Windmill Fist technique. And just before he gets there, he turns, like William Wallace, to gaze upon his loyal charging troops. And NOBODY'S THERE.

Well, OK. Harry Ford and Jonny Tester are there, but they've slipped over by the jocks, egging them on, in the hopes of avoiding a painful wedgie. And Hillary's grabbed one of his ankles. So Kerry windmills right into the big pile of jocks.

And that's when the mother of all swirlies commences.

Yes, Kerry fucked up. Duh. But I don't understand how any Democrat would think calling for him to apologize is a good idea. Have they not been paying attention to the last decade of politics? If you're asked about it, just ignore the question. Go on the attack. Change the subject. Deny EVERYTHING. For fuck's sake, Duke Cunningham yelled bloody murder about the politically motivated conspiracy out to get him right up until the minute he signed his guilty plea. And his colleagues kept their fucking mouths shut and let him. And by doing so, they bought precious time.

An apology gives you NOTHING. You think the right's going to graciously accept Kerry's apology and move on? Why should they start now? Time, on the other hand, gives you the ability to outlast the attention span of the public. Harp on an issue long enough, and eventually, they'll get so sick of the whole thing that they'll offer up a collective "fuck it" and move on so decisively that nothing can make them care about it again. We've seen this cycle repeated so many times to the right's benefit over the years it's sickening. But the Democrats still feel the need to hang a portrait of the Marquess of Queensbury rules on the back alley wall before gingerly stepping into the giant fucking gang rumble taking place.

And we all end up getting swirlies because of it.

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