And it isn’t just the looney-tune Tea Partiers. Nope. Even the old guard has drunk the Grover Norquist Kool-Aid. Which is funny, but telling.
When addicts want to pretend that they’re going to sober up, the first thing they do is swear an oath that, Tes, indeedy, they won’t touch Demon Rum ever again, promise, promise, promise! They’ll even sign The Pledge. Then, because their word is worthless since they have absolutely no control over themselves, they lock up the booze or pills, then put the key in a big carton of water and put it in the freezer so that in a few hours, when they just gotta have that drink or that pill, they’ll have to get out an ice pick and hack away at the block of ice. They think that’ll keep them from their drug of choice.
That’s what Republicans are now reduced to – having already signed Grover Norquist’s No Tax Pledge, now they’re pushing a Balanced Budget Amendment (the equivalent of that block of ice) since they’re simply incapable of governing, incapable of making the basic decisions our elected representatives are asked to make: raise revenue, then spend revenue for the public good. That process takes self control, and a certain level of pragmatic toughness and the flexibility to say no at certain times, yes at certain times and sometimes to say yes and no at the same time, as in Yes to that amount, No to that amount. But Republicans aren’t capable of doing that. Like any addict, they went on an 8 year binge and put two wars, a drug entitlement program and tax breaks for the wealthy (their “base”) on the national credit card (aided and abetted by their fellow Drunk Democrats) and now it’s time to pay the bill, they refuse. Instead, they’re busy proposing to sell the house and children and are now desperately trying to get an amendment to the constitution (which will take years, if ever) instead of simply doing their job – pass a compromised debt bill that gave them nearly everything they asked for.
But they walked away. They can’t help it. They’re not in control of themselves and are now desperately looking for something – A pledge! A Law! A Constitutional Amendment!-- that will remove all responsibility for their actions from themselves and locate it in some external control.
And if the country defaults and the economy goes to hell? Not important.
Nope. Unfit to rule.
On the other hand, I must admit to a certain sense of gleeful anticipation of a default – the vast majority of people who voted these Tea Partiers and Norquistians into office are not The Super Wealthy – they’re mostly (scared, angry) working folk, (the same ones the past 8 years of wealth transfer upline has hit the hardest), the less well-to-do, the elderly, the very people who will be hardest hit by any economic chaos that will ensue. It’s their Medicare that will be slammed, their 401-k’s that will diminish, their car-loan that will cost more, their local federally funded programs that will bite them most heavily.
While the shocked cries of, “Hey, I wanted Big Government drowned in the bathtub, but that didn’t mean MY benefits!!” will be music to my ears, there will, sadly, be a whole lot of silent people trapped in a world of hurt and that won’t be music of any kind.
But then, that’s what happens when you elect addicts. Their lack of self control causes no end of chaos and pain for those around them. It’s the nature of the disease. And if the voters keep enabling them, well, then they’ll get the sad consequences as well.
From the Fury of Norse Boys Who Feel Small and Sexually Inadequate, God Deliver Us
It was the penis, of course. It usually is, finally, ultimately, the penis and a little boy worried about his, worried that his little playmates would call him a sissy, a little boy longing for his distant father, a young man upset and angry that his divorced mother was “feminizing” him, worried that his “liberal” countrymen were soft (feminized) panty-waists. Secretly worried that he might be gay, or might be considered less than a manly-man. So he mooned over and dreamed of the most homo-erotic male-bonding fantasy of all: The Knights Templar.
And brooded about the 1683 Siege of Vienna, and followed anti-Muslim blogs (including many American right-wing “Christian” hate blogs) whose bread and butter consisted of drumming up fear of the dreaded Other and urging manly-men to come to the defense of Europe once again – Manly Christian Crusade! Manly Knights Templar! Swords and the Clash of Civilization! Exactly what a little boy angry at Mummy and fearful that his penis was inadequate would be drawn to.
So he got a gun. And made bombs. And dreamed of being a hero. A Christian Crusading Knight. Big penis. Big manly muscles. Big in all ways. A savior of Europe. A Viking Scourge. The Hammer of God. That’d show Mummy.
Then he fired off his big bomb then went to a summer camp and killed children. When captured by authorities (so much for being a Viking no-quarter-asked hero heading for Valhalla), his defense attorney declared that it’s likely that he’s “insane.” But “insanity” isn’t what his pathetic, egotistical manifesto reveals. What it ultimately all came back to was this: A little boy worried about his penis.
That’s what it always comes down to: Small frightened, confused, wounded children. And the price society ultimately pays for those untreated wounds is always ferocious.