Tag Archives: CPAC

One of them! One of them!

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.

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Atlas pouted

After the Hieronymous-Bosch-Meets-The-Island-of-Dr. Moreau spectacle that was CPAC, followed by the entirely predictable news that RNC chairman Michael Steele has leased a long-term parking spot for his lips on Rush Limbaugh’s butt cheeks, I thought the conservatives had topped up their crazy tank and would spend the rest of the week sleeping it off.

Silly me. Now the flappers are talking about “going Galt” — i.e., emulating the pioneering, hyper-creative inventors and innovators of Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, who grew tired of being taxed and regulated by the masses and, under the leadership of John Galt, took their toys off to a secret valley where they could live in peace while the world economy collapsed. Kind of like what a teenager imagines will happen after he runs away from home because his fascist parents want him to take out the garbage once in a while. Personally, I always thought Atlas Pouted or Atlas Held His Breath Until He Turned Blue would have been a more appropriate title for the novel, but I’ve never had much use for Randian notions of how the world works — for my money, The Fountainhead is the only film that can rival Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments for chuckles and guffaws. 

The biggest joke is that our current John Galt wannabes aren’t nearly as essential as they seem to believe.  Let’s trek into the fever swamp and listen as these strange creatures gather around their favorite salt lick:

  • I shut down my online businesses in early November, I don’t remember why. I’m now a net user of Obama Cheese. I may even apply for food stamps.
  • Small businesses will lay off employees, and I hope the first to go are the ones that voted for bho. They wanted ‘hope and change’, well you got it. These bho voters have NO idea how much more taxes they are going to be paying. I just hope those bho voters have their IRA, 401k and stocks cratered as much as those who DID not vote for bho. Such(sic) it up kids!
  • I’m starting my victory garden this spring. My sister is expanding hers and in exchange for my helping with that I will be able to claim some of the produce. I’ve been couponing for over a year now and have a nice stockpile of food for when things get really, really bad. I can’t believe that my country is on this path. From Ronald Reagan to this Marxist in the span of one generation. Unbelievable.

Crooked Timber is urging bloggers to encourage and applaud this wingnut tantrum whenever possible. Sing it, brothers! Since the chief contribution of conservative philosophy has been to enable the Midas Mulligan financial antics that have brought the world economy to its knees, I say a nice long stay in Galt Gulch is just what the doctor ordered — for conservatives and, more importantly, the rest of us.    

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