I find it frustrating lately that the Republican party platform has been running feverishly from itself the last few weeks. Surely, the hardcore, Tea Party, frothing super-right fired up “base” must feel the same way.
Why are they running scared from Todd Akin’s rape science? Why do they suddenly love Medicare and Social Security? Why won’t Paul Ryan talk about how he authored a bill, with Todd Akin, that gives Constitutional protection to one human cell (seriously) while denying the same Constitutional rights to the fully-developed person housing that one cell?
After all, this IS the GOP platform. Why back away now.. when you’ve come so far!? So.. here is the account of the RNC that the Republican base desperately wants to see. I would want to see it too, as nauseating and frightening it would be, because it would reveal these ultra hard-right wing intractable folks in their truest, purest form.
Just to acknowledge cold, boring reality for a second.. what we will actually hear at the RNC is basically this: “The economy sucks bla bla bla, Obama’s fault, bla bla bla, Obamacare bad and expensive, bla bla bla, we love Medicare more than Obama, bla bla bla. Saber rattle rah rah military, bla bla bla.”
So now that that’s over with, let’s take a look at the dream ..err.. nightmare..err… Tea Party wet dream of a Republican National Convention.
So.. the room is full. Excitement builds in the crowd. The delegates proudly and enthusiatically wave their state signs.. OHIO! PENNSYLVANIA! WISCONSIN! FLORIDA! CONFUSION! LOUISIANA! TEXAS! DENIAL! ARKANSAS! MINNESOTA! NEVADA! SHOCK!
The lights dim.. a broad cheer, then an anticipatory hush comes over the crowd… Loud, foreboding music begins to pipe through the PA system. A booming, baritone voice, much like the guy’s who does the movie trailers, comes on: “Crime…. poverty… unemployment… crushing national debt” as images describing the narration appear on two huge overhead monitors. Many audience members shake their heads in disappointed agreement. “All because…… of one man.” The following picture appears on both monitors, zooming in:
“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” roars the crowd. “BOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!” A network camera closes in on a man in the crowd with a close-cropped beard and glasses. “I HATE YOU!!! I HATE YOU!!!!!” the man says, shouting at the monitors overhead as if the man being displayed on them might hear. His head trembles with anger as he continues at the monitors “I———- HATE YOUUUUUUU!!!!!!” Spittle is forming at his lips..
“But”…. the narrator interrupts…. “Where……. was this man…. really born??”
*gaaaaaaasssssssssssppp* A breathless hush of anticipation overtakes the crowd. Oh my god. Are they? Are they really going to do it? The monitors display this:
The crowd goes wild. Unadulterated cheers of sheer joy. The cameras focus on two portly middle-aged men high-fiving. They seem to be from the Midwest. One of them grabs their elbow in pain. “We may never really know…” bellows the narrator, to more wild cheers.
This makes it a smooth transition for the first guest. An unseen emcee announces: “Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only… Donald Trump!” The crowd gives a lukewarm cheer.. they weren’t expecting the Donald. He walks out.. his hair is wild and unkempt.. as if he just had some sort of tussle in the green room. He did.
Trump steps up to the podium.. “You know what I’m here to talk about today…” The crowd leans forward in anticipation.. He takes out what looks like a long-form birth certificate from the state of Hawaii… the crowd erupts. Trump makes a face that suggests he may have just tasted some long-expired sour cream as he looks at the paper. “But first.. I have some great news… of a very personal nature!” Again the crowd quiets.. “I want you to meet, as of 15 minutes ago backstage.. my new fiance. Ms. Orly Taitz, Esquire!!”
Again the cheers swell from the crowd. Some people are heard chanting “Or-ly! Or-ly Or-ly!” A tall, slender woman, wearing a very short skirt, white stiletto heels, and a tight white leather top with bleached blond hair comes staggering out. She looks slightly dazed, her hair is also a mess.
Trump puts his arm around the disoriented woman and shouts: “Together, we will prove blagablagabarg that Barack Hussein ablargablarg BLARGABLARGA!” The crowd isn’t quite sure why Trump is using nonsense words, but they continue to cheer. Then Trump looks over his shoulder and says “Joe.. bring out the ring.” Out from the back comes Joe Aprpaio. He’s riding a horse and dressed in full old Western-style sheriff regalia. The crowd goes insane.
Arpaio jumps down from the horse and pulls out a six-shooter. There is some anxiety in the crowd and some screams, but they are mostly drowned out by cheers. Arpaio fires the gun into the air while snarling menacingly. Some in the crowd duck. Small chunks of ceiling begin to fall onto the audience. He is using live ammunition. Secret Service is seen just offstage. They look apprehensive but assure one another “we were aware of this. Situation under control.” After Arpaio spins his gun and puts it back in his holster, some other audience members pull out guns, a few fully-automatic assault rifles, and fire them similarly into the ceiling.
Large chunks of ceiling tile and building facade are now falling onto the frenzied crowd. Some are injured. The cheering throng is nonplussed. He takes out a small ring box and hands it to Trump. “Thanks Joe.” “GRRRDDDGRRRFFLLM” Arpaio growls back. Trump places the ring on the still dazed Orly Taitz, grabs her, and bends her backward with a passionate kiss. The crowd goes berserk. Arpaio let’s out a hearty “YEE-HAW” and fires another volley of shots into the ceiling, this time using two six-shooters, one in each hand.
“Oh yes,” Trump says.. finally prying his lips off his new fiance, as she stands dazed.. lipstick smeared all over her face. Trump pulls out the birth certificate again. “FAKE!” Someone in the crowd shouts. Trump hears this and smiles, nodding approvingly. His face in a smug, sneering grin.. bottom lip jutting out and curled downward. “FAKE! FAKE FAKE! FAKE” the crowd begins to chant in unison. Trump smiles and nods, his face still contorted in a gargoyle-like expression. “FA-KUH, FA-KUH, FA-KUH, FA-KUH” Trump bellows into the microphone, lurching over the podium like a hunchback, over-emphasizing the “K” sound in the word “fake” for some hitherto unknown reason. Orly Taitz is staring hauntingly into the distance, about 30 degrees from the focus of the camera.
Finally, as the crowd loses the rhythm of their chant and descends into random cheering, Trump exits the podium, clasping his hands together as if he has just won something. He turns and grabs his bride to be, who is still staring at some unseen distraction, in a very far off place. The new lovers depart, and the crowd catches their breath.
During the segue, a curtain lifts and Hank Williams Jr. and Kid Rock step forward, guitars on hand. There is no band and their instruments are not plugged in. They seem to be lip synching.
“THAT OBAMA IS A MUSLIIIIIIIMMMMM! LET’S GO AND GET A LYNCH PARTYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!” Williams mouths into a non-existent microphone, to the tune of his Monday Night Football song… Kid Rock sways back and forth with glazed eyes.. he seems to be playing a completely different song. The artists leave the stage, vocals still blaring out over the PA although no one appears to be signing. The crowd delights. Clapping to try to keep rhythm but failing.
Next a wormy older gentlemen with thick glasses and a turkey neck shuffles out. It is Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell.
The crowd gives muted applause. McConnell is a mild-mannered fellow, and the crowd wants more action. He arrives at the podium, stares silently into the crowd for a few moments, then raises a shaky arm and points to the monitors above, reminiscent of the Ghost of Christmas Future directing Scrooge to his gravestone. A clip from the Republican primary debates plays, in which Wolf Blitzer asks then GOP candidate Ron Paul:
“But, Congressman, are you saying the society should just let him die?” in response to a question about a seriously ill 30 year old working man without insurance. The crowd boos at Blitzer’s question.
McConnell turns back to the crowd. He has a wild look in his eye. He begins to tremble, his teeth gritting, his face turning red. “Let….him….die” McConnell barks, seemingly forcing the words out through his clenched teeth. He begins to shake more noticeably. A few muted cheers arise from the crowd. “Let…him….die” he repeats, seemingly swelling with anger, a bony finger pointing in the direction of the now blank monitors. The crowd begins to join in with the chant. “Let..him..DIE” McConnell says.. emphasizing the word “die” more vociferously with each repeated phrase. The crowd begins chanting louder, in unison.
“Let him DIE! Let him DIE! Let him DIE!!” McConnell’s head is now jerking forward violently with each mention of the word “die.” His glasses begin to slip down his nose.. the entire crowd is now shouting the phrase in perfect synchronization. Their fists pumping into the air. “Let him DIE! Let him DIE Let him DIE!” McConnell spits out, running the words of faster and louder.. his head violently jerking forward with each incantation of the word “die,” appearing as though his head may fly right off his neck and into the crowd. A man raises his small child into the air, bobbing him up and down in rhythm with McConnell’s shouts. The child is crying inconsolably.
Suddenly.. he stops. He freezes and his eyes grow as wide as saucers. The crowd stops chanting amid the confusion. He stands in places, vibrates uncontrollably, and falls over onto the stage floor. The crowd gasps in horror. Three men in suits rush to his aid. The crowd stands up to get a better look at the situation. One of the men checks his vitals, looks at the crowd, and gives the thumbs up. “He’s OK!” the man shouts. The crowd cheers wildly. The men drag McConnell off the stage, his passed-out expressionless face toward the crowd. His pants bunch up as he’s dragged across the floor by his arms.. revealing socks too short, exposing his ankles and calves.
Next the lights dim… The sounds of a motorcycle is heard revving its engine offstage. “Born to Be Wild” begins to blare over the PA. A heavy set man rides out on a Harley. He is wearing a leather jacket and dark sunglasses. It is Rush Limbaugh. The crowd explodes.
Rush circles the podium with his motorcycle, chomping on his trademark cigar. The camera zooms to two middle-aged heavy-set women in the crowd. They are jumping up and down with delight, hugging each other and screaming as if seeing the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show. An elderly gentleman in a brown jacket with elbow pads is seen pumping his first triumphantly. The network anchors try to comment, but the din of the frenzied crowd and the music make it impossible to hear.
Rush parks the motorcycle. He removes his sunglasses and leather jacket. He steps to the podium. The crowd is still going wild. The lights dim slightly, temporarily quieting the crowd. Rush raises one eyebrow, much like “The Rock” during his wrestling days. He raises his head toward the monitors behind him with a quizzical look. The face of a young woman appears overhead. It is Sandra Fluke.
The crowd lets out a chorus of boos. A few hurl vegetables toward the screens. A cabbage is identified. Also a ripe tomato. Limbaugh grins in approval. He turns back to the crowd who quiet in anticipation of his remarks. He points his finger at fluke’s image on the screens while staring into the crowd. He begins to speak. “SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSLUT-” he growls, emphasizing the hard “T” at the end of the word. The crowd reacts with thunderous cheers. Rush leans back for a minute with a smug, victorious grin. Again he starts in: “SSSSSSSSSSlut…Slut…Slut…Slut” his eyes slowly gaze across the entire room as he repeats the term, his head nodding slowly to encourage the crowd to join him. They do.
“Slut! Slut! Slut! Slut!” the crowd shouts. Those who are not joining with the chant are cheering with unbridled enthusiasm. The camera focuses on a 40-something woman with curly blonde hair. Her fists are clenched as she looks into the air. She is crying tears of unadulterated joy. “YESSSS!!! YESSSSSS!!” the woman is shouting into sky, as if thanking a deity for her fondest wish coming true.
The audience has now begun to transform. Primal forces begin to take hold. They more resemble a pack of wild animals than Republicans. Some are seen punching each other in the face. Others are attempting to strangle each other. Security does not intervene. Due to an edict from the Governor and the NRA, many of these people are armed. For now, the skirmishes are contained to weaponless hand-to-hand combat.
As Rush continues to rant his one-word diatribe, he too, like McConnell, is getting louder and more animated with each pass. He is feeding off the intensity of the crowd. His eyes widen. He is sweating profusely. He begins to shout with wild gesticulations of his arms. “SLUT!SLUT!SLUT!SLUT!” He seems almost possessed. The crowd begins to quiet down. The men who were previously punching each other stop with their fists still cocked.. they lower them slowly as their eyes are now fixed to the stage. Everyone is concerned.
Rush doubles over, holding the podium to keep from falling. He is hyperventilating, wheezing, and gasping for breath. The crowd again gasps.. fearing their beloved Rush may have over-exerted himself. He slowly regains his composure, straightens himself up, and looks into the crowd defiantly. He leans over the podium, points a stern finger at Fluke’s image still displayed overhead and says, powerfully one last time, “SLUT.” The crowd roars.
“Born to Be Wild” again begins to play. Rush puts his jacket and sunglasses back on. Takes out a new cigar, lights it, and triumphantly rides off stage. Everyone thinks this is the climax of the evening.. but they are wrong.
Another parade of guests come in and out.. Rick Santorum, Sarah Palin, Allen West, Peter King, and Michele Bachman all come out together to videos of 9/11. They talk about Islamic extremism, gays, and Communism, Communism, gays, and Islamic extremism, and how they plan to root out all sympathizers of each cause, which West muses number in the “hundreds of thousands” within Congress. No one on stage stops to question his dubious math.
Finally, with the crowd nearly spent, ammunition running low (literally), and many members injured from physical exertion and the uncontrollable urge to fight one another.. the lights again dim and a booming voice comes over the PA.
“Ladiiiieeeeees… and Gentlemen… the moment you’ve been waiting for…” A deflated sigh comes from the audience.. as they anticipate the arrival of the man they least wanted to see.. the GOP presidential candidate Mitt Romney.
“The man of the hour…… your next Vice President of the United States..” The crowd perks up… “Congressman Paul Ryan!!”
Bombastic cheers. A brass band begins to play what sounds suspiciously like Pink Floyd’s “In the Flesh.” Congressman Ryan walks out, with a laid-back half-smile, in a seemingly dull navy blue suit..
He arrives at the podium and scans the crowd. He smiles blankly into the crowd for several moments. Suddenly, disco lights overtake the room, Usher’s “Scream” begins to play at thunderous decibels..
Ryan steps out from behind the podium, and rips off his suit like a birthday telegram stripper, revealing a cut off workout shirt and skin-tight shorts.
Pandemonium ensues. Women in the crowd are shown swooning, some faint. Ryan begins engaging in a P90X kickboxing routine as the music blares and the multicolored lights beam and stir all over the room.
The cameras are in a frenzy, unable to keep up.. a close up of a man reveals he is having convulsions, but still standing. Two middle-aged women are pulling each other’s hair in what seems to be a life-and-death struggle, per their expressions. An attractive 30-something woman becomes overwhelmed with excitement and begins vomiting uncontrollably.
Another round of gunfire is discharged into the ceiling by those in the audience who are armed. Joe Arpaio’s horse comes galloping onto the stage, as the sheriff rides in, both guns shooting wildly into the sky, shouting: “FLARRRGGGLEGARLMPHP!” His shots strike a light fixture which comes crashing down onto the front of the stage. Ryan does not break stride and keeps going with his workout routine, his smile beaming throughout the room.
Someone runs in front of the camera with their arms waving frantically. For some reason, their hair is on fire. The signal to the TV begins to break up. Someone is hitting the camera with a sledgehammer. There are sounds of carnivorous animals attacking people, that the remaining working camera struggle to find the source of.
Very soon, all camera transmissions are lost, and all networks go back to their studios where fumbling anchors attempt in vain to explain the situation. All except Fox News, where a very serious Britt Hume stares into the camera and declares:
“Ladies and gentlemen… what you have witnessed tonight…” He pauses as the emotion of the moment has caused him to choke up. “Was the greatest Republican National Convention… of all time.” A single tear gently descends down his jowl.
“Did they forget to introduce Romney?” An unseen voice in the background asks.