A Bishop and Three Pawns
by G. Murphy Donovan (March 2012)
"Like a welcome summer rain, humor may suddenly cleanse and cool the earth, the air and you."
- Langston Hughes
The American presidential debates this year have often resembled circular firing squads, aided and abetted by a generous Republican establishment. John McCain and Elliot Abrams have redefined bipartisanship; both seem to be doing opposition research for the Democratic National Committee. Each has provided some swell one-liners for an Obama Gatling gun should any Republicans survive. Yes, the entire elephant herd may be gone by the time the general election rolls around. So in the interests of common sense and economy, the 2012 election should be cancelled so America can get on with the quest for some pot in every pan. Do the math!
Ron Paul is a good news/bad news chap. He’s very sensible on budgetary or domestic issues and a true believer in smaller government and the need to scrape social barnacles. Unfortunately, he’s up in a kind of Jimmy Carter ozone when it comes to foreign policy.
Paul’s suggestions to end all those untidy little wars or close bases in the Ummah are all very sound, yet he’s alienating the Muslim vote by complicating their targeting program. IUD’s don’t travel well and a self immolating Islamist is not likely to encourage his American brethren to vote Republican.
Anyway, Paul still looks like a nerd from the
Gingrich doesn’t make the cut either. His parents are mostly to blame. Who names a child Newt? If you’re going to name your kids after slippery critters; why not something dignified like “Escargot?” Americans, even Georgia Republicans, seldom vote for amphibians.
On the plus side, Newt is a fearless orator and an accomplished inside-the-beltway knife fighter. Unfortunately, he has way too many academic degrees and comes across like a pedantic Trojan horse. Scratch an academic and you usually find a guy who voted for Ted Kennedy or Eliot Spitzer.
As a kind of Republican Mister Bluster, Newt’s mouth, if we can mix a metaphor, may be his Achilles heel. He might forget his foot someday, raise his sights, and put a round through that fluff above his necktie. And Gingrich fancies himself a historian. At no time in American history has there been a greater need, or opportunity, for a politician who has amnesia. Newt’s not that guy.
If Gingrich were an amphibian, Mitt Romney would be a gastropod – or maybe just Harry Reid’s evil twin.
If you thought the first bishop to run for US president would be an Episcopalian or a Baptist, you have not been reading the Deseret News of Salt Lake City, as good a fish wrap as you’ll find out West. That’s Deseret not “desert.” Mahatma Gandhi once said; “Those who would separate religion from politics do not understand either.” Indeed.
Orin Hatch, Harry Reid, and the Republican front runner for 2012 are all Mormon Bishops in good standing. As you try to wrap your mind around “senator” and “bishop,” in the same sentence; think Harry Reid; former gambling commissioner and Latter Day Saints (LDS) high priest of “sin city;” and now Senate Majority Leader. When Bishop Reid reigned in Las Vegas, gambling morphed into “gaming” which is a little like calling road kill a road tax. Las Vegas is now overdeveloped and underwater; Christians are cheering and the hookers are moving up to Utah.
This is not to tar mainstream Mormons with gambling or the smutch of the world’s other oldest profession. Clearly, temple ties to these antique trades are incidental - or just profitable. Indeed, the cartoon faces on slot machines have the potential to make millions of gentiles believe that vice is nice.
At some point in the run-up to the election, some bigot is bound to say the “P” word, so best we deal with the polygamy issue early. To understand the saints, one must appreciate the great divide; a world separated into so-called mainstream Mormons (aka streamers) and plural marriage crackers (aka polygs – a colloquialism for polygamist, pronounced ‘poo-legs’). The polygs are sometimes known as fundamentalist saints (FLDS)
Distinguishing the two is easy. A streamer will have one wife, two houses, three cars, and a lift pass for Deer Valley. A polyg will have three to six wives, one house, and a pick-up truck. Lapsed, excommunicated or non-tithing saints are called “Jack----s” – the second syllable is always silent. You might recall Fawn McKay Brodie; the apostate Joseph Smith biographer who was excommunicated for making too many rude inquiries about these matters.
Visible saints like Mitt, Orin, or Harry are brethren in “good standing” i.e. one who tithes. Temple pews are reserved for the 60% who cough up the ten percent. Mainstreamers are saved and go to heaven. The Jacks, well, they have to make do with an ‘83 Ford 150 and a six pack of pokes - in this world. Back in the day, before saints closed the saloons out West, a “poke” was a bag of gold dust on the bar; today, in rural Zion, the whisky’s gone and a poke is a …well, you get the idea. If the truth be told, jack polygs are closer to Joe Smith (34 wives) and Brig Young (53 wives) than they are to the Reid and Romney crowd.
And voters can not expect senators or bishops to police the illicit proclivities of zealots and apostates in rural Zion. The tithing majority and clergy are no more responsible for plural marriage, “lost boys,” or child brides than Catholics are responsible for priapic priests. Fair is fair! The prophets of Salt Lake don’t know any more about child abuse than the Archbishops of Boston.
And let’s put those cult rumors to bed. The brethren of Salt Lake are the antithesis of a cult; in fact, most temples are the world’s first successful, self-loading, safety deposit boxes. Church boodle isn’t wasted on deadbeats either. “I’m not concerned about the very poor” says Mitt to underline the point. Indeed, the lion’s share of church “charity” propagates the faith - as it should be.
And no bishop, like Mitt Romney, needs to explain why Joseph Smith compared Mormons to Muslims when he exclaimed: “I will be to this generation a second Muhammed, whose motto … was ‘the Al-Qur’an or the sword.’ So shall it be with us.” (Joseph Smith, History of the Church, Volume 3:167). No matter what the prophet might have said, any similarities between M&Ms are coincidental.
Mitt Romney’s most unique asset is his ability to make conservative voters feel queasy while he makes Barak Obama look good. Strike three, Bishop!
Senator Santorum never got to be a Catholic priest, but he may be the most clueless candidate on the stump this year. In a few short months, he has alienated men who fancy men, the American Kennel Club, selfish urban white women, and all those African Americans girls who will never matriculate at Brigham Young University.
Any politician who compares men and canines insults a single breed of men and all breeds of dogs. Senator, dogs always practice safe sex! With the exception of pit bulls, mainstream dogs seldom need a condom. And when dogs have sex, they don’t transmit anything but puppies. This probably explains why a Golden Retriever is a bigger draw in Washington Square than the Village People. Comparisons of men and dogs are too odious as they diminish the roles of straight women and gerbils in the dating game.
And then there’s Santorum’s abortion nonsense. How is a Mexican ever to graduate from weed whacker to the White House if liberal urban black and white women don’t trim their litters? Duh! A fetus can’t vote. Let’s face it, a 60% abortion rate for big city (NYC) blacks and a 40% rate for whites doesn’t get it. Only when these gals get their abortion numbers up to 75% and 50% respectively will a Gonzales find enough votes to make it off the lawn and into the Oval Office.
Rick, you’ve been a hoot, but it’s buenos noches. You will never reach the folks in Manhattan, Key West, or Tijuana. But thanks for the laughs.
Cheers for Four More Years
So there you have it. There are no good Republican prospects. This year, the presidential election, in the interests of economy, ought to be cancelled. Barack Hussein Obama should be coronated by acclamation.
Heck, the Oval Office should emulate the Congress. Do away with presidential term limits too. Just think of the rap potential: “Turn back the clock for Papa Doc Barak.”
Salt and pepper socialism indeed! A progressive white mother got Obama to Pennsylvania Avenue and a traditional deadbeat African father gives him street credibility. Could there be a better incarnation of American values and diversity? And this time around, Michelle could grace the inauguration as a natural – maybe sport some platinum blond extensions.
G. Murphy Donovan writes frequently about politics and national security. He never reads hate mail.
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