The Wages of Sin

Well, things don't look good for the bad guys. All their old superstars have run out of gas, but more to the point it looks like Justice is catching up with them.

Take Brandon, if you dare. Today, we saw him (the 9 feet tall one) jogging across the Rainbow House lawn to tell Fake News he's going to right an old wrong. Actually, it's just another pander to a particular ethnic group, American Indians. Even the Noble Red Man seems to be walking away to the point that the Demos feel obliged to make a big deal out of taking away all the Medals of Honor awarded for Wounded Knee.

To make the picture complete, another of Brandon's body doubles shows up mumbling and yelling about how terrible the white man is. That alone tells you it isn't the real one, but the whole this is the same guy who messed himself in Normandy, wandered in a daze in Italy, and stood catatonic on Juneteenth smacks of some plot or other to invoke the 25th and declare Chlamydia PUS. Or something.

What evokes the themes of Greek tragedy is that the real Brandon, wherever he is, at the point of getting the validation he lusted for all his life, he had to see it slowly slip away in madness.

This is not to sympathize. The mean, petty, corrupt, bigoted, and depraved excuse for a human certainly had it coming, but such a fitting end could hardly have been envisioned.

Then there's that good ol' boy, Willie Whitewater, serial rapist, adulterer, real estate flipper, hick town ward heeler writ large, and not so closet racist. The Smartest Boy in Hope AR (how big is it, anyway?) who could never figure out how to stay out of trouble and needed fixers like Carville and Dick Morris on speed dial.

The Demos resurrected him to try to save Chlamydia and found it just gave him a shhot at channeling his inner Orval Faubus. Unfortunately, Willie is looking a lot like his political ideal in his present state. Sunken eyes, bloodshot cheeks, raspy voice, and split lip. Maybe AIDS, maybe just the picture of Dorian Gray. All the over the hill wannabe hippie chicks that wanted him 20 years ago have left him to Hillary's tender mercies.

Zippy OTOH still has that crease in his pants and maybe the love of all those perpetually guilt-ridden Liberals, but his gift for sticking his foot in his mouth has gotten lots worse and he's looking more like Uncle Ben (or is it Uncle Tom?) than the Lightworker of 20 years ago. In talking down to da brothas, he forgot that a lot of them have been taking a hard look around and realize halfa cracka is about the nicest thing they can call him. Having the people who put him on the map now turning their backs on him by the million can't be good for someone as vain as he is. 

He never really liked them, of course, and felt more comfortable around the Hamptons crowd even though aping the mannerisms of Bush 41 never quite compensated for not really being white. He's now reduced to hawking some idiotic nonsense about people who may vote for Trump because they got a kung flu check should realize it was Brandon's doing. The people flocking to Trump by the million aren't looking for a check, they all want to be able to make their own money. Something the First Gay PUS will never understand.

James Carville, still looking like Spock's evil twin, has come a long way from, "It's the economy, Stupid" which the adoring media forgot was just a warmed-over variant of the old saw, people vote their pocket books. He spent most of this year telling the new generation of flacks what a bunch of pansies they are and being ignored, if not laughed at. His latest bit of wisdom has been that the Left ought to take up arms if they lose.

As the Greeks put it, be careful of that for which you wish...

What's interesting is that the old political order, Uni-Party included, also seems to be fading with its old stars. If the Hildabeast can barely waddle into a TV studio to blather about how Free Speech gets in the way of control and gets the same treatment she did in '16, and even the last JFK from MA, good ol' Lurch, is treated like the also-ran he always was for supporting her, the old days are slip-slidin' away. Cocaine Mitch is now irrelevant, as is Pelosi Galore - and, brother, does she look like Hell. The Gods of the Copybook Headings told us evil shows its ugly face eventually.  

How long these people have on this planet is anybody's guess, but, whatever awaits them on the other side, the years they have left will be spent contemplating the mirror and the world that's passing them by because they sold their souls.