Edge of the west
Bizarro World At GOP Convention
By Ron Scott Smith
Sep 21, 2008 - 1:47:47 PM

Bizarro world at GOP convention                               

“Drill baby drill.”

Are you serious? 

I’m in a serious cold sweat with that catchy mantra reverberating through a sore head, rendering me dumbstruck with broken sleep now for on towards two weeks, or since the end of that Republican confluence in Minnesota.

“Drill baby drill.”

They chanted it joyfully, ecstatically, mercilessly all throughout their get-together and if drilling is something what rocks your world, so be it, but drilling something is never, repeat, never, ever, worthy of being the object of a happy chant. Except maybe at a meeting of rabid dentists.

“Drill baby drill” the best they could come up with?  And they now sit in the latest polls some 10 points ahead of the competition. Please pass the Novacaine.


The hockey-mom-fundamentalist walks out on stage to delirious applause and I’m scared to death that I’m about to bear witness to the future leader of the free world bellowing God bless America in five different tongues.

The hockey-mom-governor, adamant about no condoms and no sex education in her Alaskan high schools, speaks to a devout audience that includes her teenage daughter who is swollen with an unplanned high school pregnancy and the reverent family values bunch that make up the core of this suddenly raucous Party insist it is a further measure of the hockey-mom-matriarch’s stellar character because, papa first dude, I’m keeping my baby. Talk about if you get a lemon turn it into lemonade? They’re good, man, they’re very good.

The hockey-mom-rugged-outdoorsman rules her stage like a rock star, albeit a rifle-toting, moose-killing, extreme right-wing rock star. Think Ted Nugent in lipstick.  Make no mistake about it, this lady is here for one reason to push this country down into the guns, God and gays chasm that every four years splits us open like a gutted caribou, spilling blood from Alaska all the way down across the “lower 48,” turning the electoral map into a sea-to-shining-sea of red states. My friends, you have been “Roved” again and you like it.

Speaking of Rove, what’s with the biggest elephant of all so conspicuously not in the room as in Bush and Cheney? Real nowhere men, suddenly sitting in their nowhere land making nowhere plans for nobody.  This is no cold shoulder they’ve gotten, this is an Alaskan deep-freeze shoulder from the very party they rule. The hockey-mom-princess-warrior does not so much as acknowledge the existence of either her president or the man whose hunting boots she hopes to fill in the office of the vice. It’s like she and her G.O.P. minions are running for their lives from a stalking Freddy Krueger and Jason, who would surely murder the whole deal.


This can’t be happening, we’re hallucinating, right? This gang is actually brazen enough to tell you they want to take over your nation and mine on the promise of throwing-the-bums-the-hell-out”“of-Washington even though they’re the bums that have been running it for the last eight tortuous years. John McCain has been over there for some three decades, right in the heart of the mix and would appear to be exactly one of the bums he promises to throw the hell out.

He doesn’t know how many houses he owns while Obama is stuck in his one, yet Obama is the “elitist” in this Salvador Dali canvas where what is real is not necessarily real any more. The poor young black man raised by a single white mom admittedly not a hockey one in circumstances as far away from privileged as possible is branded “elitist” in this bizarro world, where Cindy McCain, high as a kite, introduces her husband dressed in “fierce saffron shirt-dress with popped collar, diamond earrings, four-strand pearl necklace, white Chanel watch, and strappy shoes totaling out at $313,100,” according to the fashion experts at Vanity Fair.

“Drill baby drill.” This thing should be a Barack Obama slam dunk but Barack Obama lost his mojo and may not be able to get it back. He gave it away in fact, when he scurried to that dead zone they call “the center” faster than a rat off a sinking ship as soon as he got the nod over Hillary, who by the way would be taking McCain and the hockey-mom-faux-feminist apart piece by disingenuous piece right about now. Barack’s time is eight years from now, Hillary’s time was now, and the self-righteous liberals who disdained her so thoroughly may well be suffering a severe case of buyers’ remorse when they wake up on Wednesday morning, fifth of November.

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