And so, another edition of the great wingnut Walpurgisnacht called CPAC has wrapped up. The braying, snorting, and grunting attendees have flopped, slithered, and staggered home, like the drunken participants in a Sunday night tricky-tray at the Esoteric Order of Dagon Hall. The speeches and minutes have been painstakingly transcribed with crayons on construction paper, and the ones that didn’t end up too badly smeared will be stored in the Bedlam Archives, where future wingnut generations may paw over them at leisure, assuming the silverfish don’t get to them first.
Once again, there was a straw poll to determine the horde’s preference for selection as this year’s Bride of Cthulhu. As it was last year, so it was this year: Ron Paul was chosen to wear the ichor-encrusted crown. With his ascension, the masses lifted their voices for the traditional salutation:
Now that the Great Goldbug has won the big gooble-gobble two years in a row, I assume it is only a matter of time before the Old Ones reclaim Earth for themselves.