The Order of the Whinging Wingnut: Whingenfreude Edition

Jesus has been good to us lately, showering down sweet schadenfreude like cooling summer rain. First Obama’s Nobel Peace Prize caused the usual suspects’ eyes to bulge with rage, sphincters to loosen with shock and pants to fill with indignation.

Then the NFL gives El Flushbowl the heave-ho, causing a wave of histrionic outrage not seen since election canvassers in Dade County tried to count some votes.

Then Rachel Maddow takes Tim Phillips, President of Astroturf Americans for Prosperity, apart with a blow torch and mallet:

Shorter Phillips: “Just because I’m a shameless liar and money-grubbing, character-assassinating douchebag doesn’t make me a bad person, Rachel.”

The flood of eligible material made narrowing this edition of Whinging Wingnut down to one recipient harder than picking out the ugliest turd at a sewer plant serving a dysentery-stricken city. But I’ve gotta go with Limbaugh.

Despite his bombast, ostentatious vanity and über-macho public persona, I think he’s one deeply insecure dude. No, really.

I subjected myself to a few snippets of the three broadcasts he’s thus far devoted to his ownership-bid debacle, and he was plainly shocked beneath the bluster. He kicked his former partners in the junk and denounced the league he has so long aspired to infiltrate as “an outpost of racism and liberalism.” But it was more in sadness than in anger.

The scales fell from El Flushbowl’s eyes this week, and I think he realized that for all his vast wealth and political influence, he’s just a hired jester in the eyes of the real patricians. They’ll laugh as he dances like a trained monkey and distracts the rubes so his betters can finish looting the country. But he’ll never be one of them.

What a bitter realization it must have been. So this one’s for you, Flushy: whah!

Posted by Betty Cracker on 10/16/09 at 12:38 PM • Permalink

While I cannot articulate a coherent thought on the matter this came to mind:

While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him.

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in.

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