MCCain/Palin 2008-Final Days; a Fargo Farrago

The frenzied thrashing, the desperate flailing, the unrestrained keening emanating from the Stench Talk Express in these last hours of the 2008 presidential election remind me of the end of the movie Fargo, when William H. Macy's Jerry Lundegard -- cornered, trapped, and facing his final doom -- is pulled from a motel bathroom window, screaming, you should excuse the sexism, like a woman. An unhinged one.

The scattergun attacks from the McCain campaign, the fabricating and flinging of charges and slanders that don't even pass the sniff test for "truthiness," also remind me of the few actual fights I've seen in real life, mostly in my childhood, when one overmatched and hysterical opponent, going down to ingnominious defeat, melts down in a windmilling frenzy of despair. It's a sad, sad sight.

The Republican party sold its soul a long, long time ago, when it began to court and then cosset the religious right and the fundamentalist conservatives. The return of their chickens to roost, while satisfying a sense of moral outrage held for many years, is a sad sight to see.

Who said Americans don't overthrow our governments violently? This overthrow looks pretty fucking violent to me. And a long time coming.