THE FOLLOWING IS A SHORT STORY ABOUT THE REPUBLICAN LEADERSHIP AND MY OPINION OF THEM.  BECAUSE IT'S A BIT LONG - AND EXTREMELY GRAPHIC.  PICTURE JAMES DOBSON, A SHEEP, AND A MIDGET WEARING AN APOCALYPTIC GAS MASK.  YOU WILL LAUGH, YOU WILL CRY, YOU MAY WANT TO TAKE A SHOWER.  I'LL GIVE YOU A QUICK LOOK AS TO THE FUN YOU CAN EXPECT IF YOU READ ON -

• George Bush sinks into depression

• Pat Robertson administers secret oath of loyalty to test resolve of Republican leadership in a secret Neo-con lair of evil

• Republicans required to drink potion comprised of ashes of old dead racist colleagues, rendered fat of Jerry Falwell, and other fun things

• Story of Todd and Sarah Palin's snowmobile date - making love on the snow covered in seal blood

• John Boehner and Michael Reagen licking juice from Pat Robertson's chest

• Eric Cantor pissing off Lord Cheney - and paying the ultimate price for it

• And finally - a thought on what I believe is the only way the Republican's regain any momentum - said in a way that reveals what sick, twisted people they truly are.

The Republican leadership is in total disarray.  Every day, President Obama and his administration prove themselves to be extremely capable of not only handling the almost mind blowing number of crisis situations we face - but also in getting a progressive agenda passed for the first time in most of our lifetimes.  He strikes fear into the hearts of the extreme right wing, and exposes them for the frauds they are.  They are in a state of retreat the likes of which they haven't seen in a long time. 

As Bush gets even more unpopular over time, he fades into obscurity, becoming more depressed every day.  His legacy is always on his mind, and he does his best to convince himself that time will make things better. But every night as he tries to drown out the feelings of inadequacy and failure, he hears the voice of his father telling him he ruined the family name, and that it should have been Jeb who got to be President.  His party, and now his family have asked him to disappear. Sadness grips him, and he finally gets the gift of sleep.  He is then tormented by dreams all night as well.  He

But there are others in the party who realize that they only have one shot left to save this party.  They desperately need an idea that will help them turn the tide of approval numbers shrinking at breakneck speed.  But their ideas are continually rejected by the American people.  As a selected group of Republican  leaders sit down to work, their computers display a single flashing symbol.  They all know what it means, even though it hadn't been used for a long time.   They click on the symbol, and enter their secret code.  

At around 1:30 am, you can see John Boener park his car and enter a nondescript bar about 20 miles outside D.C.  The door is locked, but opens when he uses a secret knock he was taught six months ago. The room is dimly lit, and looks just like any other bar you might stumble into when you don't want your wife to know where you are and/or who you are with.  The faces are familiar.  The room is filled with the neo-con elite. It was obviously invitation only.  You could describe everyone there as super-rich and super white (sorry Michael Steele and - you just don't have the "credentials" to get an invite to this one).  Rush would of course be there as well as an honorary invitee.

Everyone is having drinks, making small-talk or lamenting the sorry state of the Party. Of course - it has nothing to do with the men in this room or their political philosophy.  They don't understand why America can't see it's the feminists and the colored's and those damned dirty mexicans - oh and the liberal media - and of course - the terrorists).  At precisely 2:00 a.m. a secret door opens in the back of the room and everyone descends down an old rock staircase  that had been carved into the hill long ago.  Torches line the walls.  The stairs lead to a hallway that is solid rock. It is very long, and had been there for at least two hundred years.  The hallway ends and opens to a room a stone floor.  There are intricate patterns carved into the stone.  They depict the Great Americans of yesterday who would have agreed with the neocon philosophy.  Eric Cantor respectfully doesn't step on pattern depicting David Stephenson, former Grand Dragon of the Indiana KKK in the 20's.

Even though the group was small enough to know that there were no "undesireables".  There were also none of those "middle of the road" Republicans there either.  But this meeting was only for the eyes and ears of the hardest right in the Republican party.  Many of them had never been to this gathering before, but knew there would be a test of their extreme right wing beliefs.  They were told that only a true neo-conservative would have the strength of conviction to pass the test.  In truth, only someone with a black enough soul and who would have developed enough hatred for all that is good and decent would be able to survive the "oath of loyalty" test.  Tonight's test required them to drink a small amount of a tonic that is mixed as follows:

1 tbsp of the Ashes of Strom Thurmond
1 tbsp of the Ashes of Jesse Helms
1/3 cup blood of sacrificed puppy (this year's breed is Portugese Water Dog)
1/2 cup of the rendered fat of Jerry Falwell (reserve 1 tablespoon for rubbing on lips later)
2 tablespoons sacred dirt from mound of Golgotha
Baby seal brains to taste 

Heat to boiling and allow to cool. 

Pat Robertson walks in from a secret entrance.  As the door closes behind him, James Inhofe sees James Dobson performing a sex act on a sheep that can only be described as acrobatic. Acrobatic and fun.  He wonders who the midget was wearing the apocalyptic gas-mask, but was forced to pay attention when Pat took the small stage.  Pat was wearing a blood red robe and giant hat like the pope wears.  He welcomes everyone, and thanks us all for coming.  He says "I'd like to thank Todd and Sarah Palin for procuring the seal brains for the elixir.  Apparently Todd took Sarah on a snowmobile date up to the seal breeding grounds.  As the sun started to set over the white snow capped mountain, he looked her in the eyes - and said "Go get one".  She raced across the snow, and chased down a doe-eyed pup.  She killed it and made love to todd on the blood soaked snow.  Have you ever heard a more romantic story?  This is how God wants love to be."  He asks them to bow their heads while he prays. 

"Dear Lord, please grant us the wisdom to return this Nation to greatness.  We have lost our way - and have grown wicked.  We have put a Muslim in the white house, have allowed mandatory prayer to you to be taken out our schools and our workplace, and have allowed evil religions to permeate America. We have allowed women to vote, giving them equal rights as men.   We are sorry for this, oh Lord. Please give us the skill to do what is necessary to make America a Christian Nation once again.  A nation that has one religion, and one interpretation of the bible.  Mine.

It was imperative that  just the right amount of the drink is used (2 milliliters by scientific measurements, but since Republicans and Christians hate science, they use a line drawn on an old set of ancient shot glass)  Pat fills each glass - and each man raises his glass in the air.  Pat bows his head and begins to chant. The chanting grows louder, faster, and more frantic.  Some members are worried he might die right here - as he seems so old and frail. Foam starts gathering at the edges of his mouth and he throws his head up - his eyes blaze, wild and crazy.  He abruptly stops chanting, drives the spear of Destiny (or Holy Lance - the spear that supposedly got all stabby-stabby on jesus.  He won it in a poker game from Prescott Bush, George W's grandfather - who had it given to him as a gift from the Nazi's for all his good work) into the ground signifying it's time to take the oath.

As each person drinks, there is a sense of nervous anticipation - the rest of the people waiting to see if anyone dropped dead - thus proving they were not pure in their neocon beliefs.  Pat had poured the remainder of the liquid into his beer mug (enough for 200 men, and was pounding it like a college girl getting herself drunk enough to let Joe Francis see her titties.  The liquid he could not swallow was spilling out of his mouth, down his chin and onto his bare chest.  After finishing, the hump on his back got much smaller, and he stood up taller, no longer showing his age.  Apparently, he was actually about 140 years old, and had been using potions, spells, and rituals to keep him alive for many years.  He looked at least  20 years younger.  No one thought it odd when Michael Reagan and Mike Huckabee went over and start lapping the juice that running down Pat's neck and bare chest.

People's eyes were diverted from the homo-erotic nipple licking happening on stage, when they felt the stone floor shake.  Rush had dropped dead, and there were gasps of surprise.    Everyone wondered - could the rumors about him not really believing the things he says - and only saying them to make himself rich be true? You would think that selling yourself like a prostitute and spewing hatred to America for over a decade would blacken your soul enough to pass the test. A revitalized Pat jumped off the stage and checked the body.  He had seen people die during the test.   He was able to tell that Rush died from a massive heart attack from his slovenly lifestyle - not because he was actually a decent human being down deep inside!  PHEW!

"I've got dibs on the corpe" growled a voice from one of the dark corners of the room. It was Dick Cheney, the only member of the group who didn't need to pass any loyalty oath to prove his allegiance to the evils of neo-conservatism.  He walked over, complaining that no one saved any juice for him. Even if he didn't need to pass a test, he wanted to taste that sweet sweet   Without even pausing to greet people, he casually walked over to Rush's enormous body and knelt down by his face.  With a speed you wouldn't have believed if you didn't see it, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver knife, flipped it open with a flip of his wrist, and cut Rushs tongue out.  "This tongue has done a lot for us, boys, we owe a lot to that fat son of a bitch!" he said, before biting off a large chunk of it, and slowly chewing it, enjoying the flavor of tongue and the reminents of the oath juice.  "God, it's like eating the last animal of a species and pushing them into the oblivion of extinction" he grumbled - as his minions nodded their heads in agreement.  

In his weasely little voice - Eric Cantor said "How are you tonight Lord Cheney"?  Apparently hearing a hint of chipperness in his voice, Cheney whipped around and landed a thunderous backhand across Cantor's face,leaving the imprint of his ring on his bright red cheek.  "How the FUCK do you think I am you worthless little SHIT"? Cantor tried to apologize, and to say that he didn't mean any..... Boener tried to save his friend by giving him the STFU look (Shut the Fuck up), but it was too late. 

Cheney had been set off.  It was too late to stop it.  Like an MMA cage fighter, he lept toward Cantor and delivered a spear reminiscent of Bill Goldberg during his undefeated streak.  Cantor folded at the midsection as Cheney's bulk hit his midsection, and flew backward onto the ground.  Cheney was like a wild beast, his head buried in Cantor's throat, thrashing about with a ferocity rarely seen in humans.  Everyone held out hope initially that Lord Cheney would would just be teaching Eric a lesson, and that he would let him off with a warning.

They soon learned that the lesson would be Eric's last.   Eric's screams of "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" seemed to only make Lord Cheney angrier, and the visciousness of the attack increased.  Eric started an especially loud scream, but it was abruptly cut short and was replaced with the sound of gurgling as cheney bit through his windpipe.   As Eric's body grew limp and fought no more, Cheney immediately cut off the attack.  He got up, and without even needing to ask, Michael Savage rushed over with a moist towel.  Bowing his head as he handed Cheney the towel, he immediately scurrried back to the group like a cockroach retreating under the sink.  Cheney wiped his face with the towel, smearing Cantors blood all over it.  He threw it down and it covered the gaping wound in his throat.  "Let's see if we can't get someone who's not a fucktard in that seat next time- eh boys"?  

Cheney seemed irritated and annoyed.  His words were spat out with anger. "I didn't want to have to do that - but you can't fuck up over and over, then act like we're here for a god damned circle jerk".  Everyone laughed uneasily, hoping that was the reaction Lord Cheney wanted.  It was.  As his mood lightened - he cracked one more joke.  "All this killin has given me my own stimulous package".  Even though the joke was stupid - there was a loud roar of approval and it echoed throughout the chamber. 

Cheney told the group it was time to get down to business.  He said that they all knew why they were there.  That the Country was moving away from conservative ideas at record speed, and if things keep going this way, the Republican Party would be pushed into an increasingly small group of States in the South and a few in the midwest. 

The silence of the room showed why the party was losing ground.  There were no ideas, and they all knew that the whole cut taxes, deregulate, and get the Christians riled up thing wouldn't work this time.  The group  was primarily located in the center , as Cheney paced the outside, weaving his way in and out of the giant columns adorning the room.  Each column had a single burning torch, causing the room to be filled with light and shadow, and an eerie flicker that made an already tense situation worse. Cheney's growl was much angrier this time, "NOT ONE OF YOU HAS A FUCKING IDEA - DO I NEED TO DO EVERYTHING MY GOD DAMNED SELF"?

Silence still.  Only one man dared speak.  You didn't need to see him to know who he was.  He spoke from the back of the pack.  In his nasally voice, he uttered only four words.  After he said them, everyone looked at Cheney for his reaction.  His eyes were covered in shadow, his mouth, still smeared with blood was covered in light. The room held it's breath as they waited for Cheney's facial expression to give them guidance.   His blank expression slowly morphed into the most devious, chilling and evil smile they had ever seen.  This was one of those moments they would remember forever.  Everyone basked in its dark glow. 

The man who brought a smile to Cheney's face was Donad Rumsfeld, of course.

The words spoken - "We need another attack".