The Death of the Republican Party, Part 2: The Walking Supreme Court Justice Blues:
Let us say, and why not, that you are a bisexual male (and if you are, dude, let's party). And you've gotten back from an evening of group sex, as, you know, all bisexuals do every night. You go to bed tired, spent, smelling of fluids viscous and clear. You're lying in bed when, all of a sudden, you feel itching in your groin. At first, you scratch your balls and think that does it. But it gets worse. No matter how much you rub, the itch doesn't stop. In fact, you're feeling bites. You look through your pubes and you start to see the marks. You grab a magnifying glass and finally it's clear. You've got crabs, motherfucker.

What do you do? If you're smart, you immediately go to the doctor, get the anti-lice shit you need, shave yourself, whatever, to get rid of those bastards. You'd realize that you oughta get treated before you fuck again. You'd silently stay away from the scene so you can heal without tipping your hand (although, really, you oughta tell your recent partners). But not you, man. You're a stupid fucker. You decide you're just gonna keep on having sex with your group, no matter how many people you inflict your infestation on. You just make sure you don't scratch while anyone's looking. In fact, being the selfish, apathetic, blind asshole you are, you fuck away until word gets out about you and no one wants your buggy ass anywhere near them. A couple of months later you may reappear on the scene, claiming that you finally got treated. But who'd believe you? Their memories of the pain and itch you left them with are strong. It's exile for you, dear theoretical bisexual, a scarlet C, because you were too fucking dumb to see that you were the plague all along.

Alas, such is the fate of the dying Republican Party. As they sit around with each other, scratching their pubes, wondering how they can best perfume the same wheelbarrow of shit they've been pushing for years. With the coming Supreme Court nominee battle, Republicans have a choice: to actually shut the fuck up and regroup or to get into a circular firing squad with guns pointed at guts so that they bleed to death horribly.

Barring the revelation that a nominee owns a gay illegal immigrant-run abortion factory, President Obama's gonna get whoever he wants onto the Supreme Court. Even Rupert Murdoch's yapping dog, Karl Rove, knows that. But let's push this even further. It's not just that the American public has voted Republicans out of power. It's that we're sick of them. We don't want to hear what they have to say about anything. The vast majority of us don't care what Republicans want. When they talk, we stick our fingers in our ears and yell like angry teenagers, "Blah, blah, blah, lower taxes, blah, blah, blah, no gay marriage, blah, blah, blah, less regulation." Seriously, at this point, listening to Republicans talk about policy is about the same as listening to a particularly articulate toddler explain why he refuses to shit in a toilet.

So at some point, they need to take themselves out of the picture for a little while. They need to choose a battle not to fight. And this Supreme Court justice nomination is where it ought to happen. There's no reason to get themselves all geared up for some kind of idiot's rage about the nomination of a pro-choice, anti-corporate, "empathetic" nominee. Republicans are not gonna get who they want. And it's Souter's replacement, so there won't be a change in the "balance" of the court. Where's the advantage in fighting except in keeping Rush Limbaugh happy? And, tell us, how does it feel to be a fat man's bitch? Does his gut feel heavy resting on your heads while you're sucking his dick?

This is the 2009 Republican Party. Everything they do is another step in the long death march they've been on since 2006. No, instead we'll get the usual bullshit pronouncements about abortion rights, about limiting the ability of people to sue, about "judicial activism," one of those meaningless phrases that fools use to make themselves sound smart. They'll say they're standing up for people when all they're doing is pleasuring the base like a Chinese masseuse on happy ending duty at a corporate retreat.

Then again, this is a group who actually believes that the future of the party might be named "Bush" or "Palin" or "Romney," the crabs on the crotch of American progress.