[. . .]
The Chaffes, the McCains, the Snowes...they slink in the shadows, drawing their tattered Small Government rags around them, playing out some ghastly, humiliating, Norma Desmond/Sunset Boulevard charade, pretending that they're still Big Shots in a wholly imaginary Republican Party that is long, LONG dead in everything but name.
But since they have neither the honesty nor the integrity to acknowledge that the Party they once loved is a corpse - murdered by the very vampires they themselves invited in - they're reduce to scampering around out in the cold like some out-of-favor pet that no longer amuses a tyrant child. Listening hungrily for the dinner bell, hoping that they can scrape together one last shred of their dignity to barter away for whatever greasy scraps fall off of Karl Rove's plate.
And like a Gilbert and Sullivan version of "The Stand", the spawn of the wraiths who now dress up and dance in the Dead Flesh of the Party Once Known as Republican are gathering in Las Vegas next week to plot their various mini-me evils. Mostly trying to figure out a way to Whitewash the fact that they are vociferously cheerleading a war based on what we in the Real World call LIES...while scattering like roaches when the Recruiter Man come around.
[. . .]
Yes, indeed. The Republican Party I belonged to so many years ago is dead. It's why I left when I saw the writing on the wall in '92. Best political move I ever made.
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