Sunday, September 26, 2004

04W Looks for the "Daddy" in BaghDad's i Ad   Bo does not watch much television. But Bo did happen to see on CSpan overnight the incomparable comedy routine of the duplex appointed rulers, from Thursday, Sept. 23, about 25 minutes on the White House lawn. Two identical podia. Two guys of similar height, or "lowth" if you prefer; edge to Allawi. Iyad Allawi from the bleeding sands of Iraq and Buster Bob Bonobo from the bronc-less, steer-less sod of Crawford. In similar dark blue suits and bright ties; Allawi adding charcoal banker stripes, plus ca change, but mustn't upstage the Belle. Allawi had by rote the Repug electioneering script prepared for him. He was so "on message", so likeable, that Kingmaker Karl is probably thinking about running Iyad for Prez in Ought Eight if the Gropenator or Brudder Jeb fail to make the grade. He even auditioned a charming little proto-smirk. And touched the side of his nose a few times in good grifter acknowledgement, also to see if it had grown any in the process of telling one lie after another. His was otherwise a seamless, shameless performance.   The Bonobo on the other hand had but 30 good seconds, which brief interjection just happened to be the "coverage" which appeared over and over on Fox. CNN had to live with the seconds, the leftovers, the shakier rants, and those pretty much exhausted the pitch potential of the supposedly scripted performance du Dub. For the remainder of his time outdoors with the big kids, Dubbunkport was in a panic. He got four hard questions from the exact newsmen he wished to call on. Who in hell took the cuffs off of these castrati anyway? he seemed to wonder.  Each question demanded that our boykin tell the people why the rosy scenarios spouted by the twa Allawi, on the spot and earlier before the Congress, seemed to be just opposite to the nasty case of reality diagnosed elsewhere in re Iraq, or throughout the livelong week from a number of Agogo's own insubordinates.  And even from goose-steppingly loyal Repug Senators and Reps. Rather than answer those questions, Darth Invader repeated his campaign spiels over and over. And turned repeatedly towards Allawi's lectern for surcease, as if towards Mecca , begging for a Daddy to save him from his public disgrace.   One wonders why a man so supposedly triumphant in recent polls, so practiced at hiding his poltroonery, should appear so flubberly. Did he perhaps want the whole stage unto himself, as usual ? Was he confused by the precisely parallel setup, into thinking that his fellow appointee/sycophant must likewise be honored as a Comandeer in Chief ? When the debacle became unbearable, Dub abruptly cut and ran. Ah, a true if unscripted theme in his life. He tried to exit stage left, directly behind the lecterns, before someone signaled him that per the choreographing, he and Allawi must to walk in right profile the long veranda back to an actual unlocked White House door. But prior to that time, the Hatriot provided even the casual interpreter of body language with an encyclopedia of signs, each untoward move telegraphing his true distress.   One routine, which The Great Simian Hope practiced without making it perfect, was switching his formulaic demeanors multiple times while trying to spit out just one canned phrase. Bo was almost tempted to sympathy, just as Bo wept for the merciless Son of Terminator, while that worthy bot lathered up a manly sweat in the vat of molten steel, surfacing again and again in contorted capitulation to each of the faces his liquid metal self had killed and appropriated during his chase to waste the damsel. The ever "decisive" Frutex squirmed and twisted and stepped backwards many a time. He put first one arm then the other in front of him in a primal defensive posture. If only the S.S. would just arrest one of those newsy guys, then wouldn't they all back off? He touched his face like an ingénue in her litany of moves, his repertoire that of the needy infant barely cloaked under mantle of tough guy. These caricatures of the moves that Puddin & Pie always uses to beg for our approval, for the Prodigal Son vote. Except that these moves also lasted too long, and were not sandwiched in as usual, so as to be ignored.   Meanwhile Allawi was calm and nearly immobile.   What we may have seen here, oh sanctified brethren, was an imminent psychotic break. If only the "familial" intervention had been allowed to proceed another five minutes, HumptyDumpt would have broken down on camera, and the citizenry would not have to worry about his state of mind over the next four months.   Bo confesses he was so intrigued with the signifying that he subjected himself to the trauma of watching the spectacle at the White House four or five times, as the compliant CSPAN repeated through the night. What mastermind ginned up this public debacle ? If Japetto's Blunder can so compromise himself in the midst of the triumphal parading of his murderous toady, why cannot the feckless Dems manage to get the message out that the Unelect is a basket case ?   At any rate, one of his oft-repeated tics, a shirking move, particularly intrigued Bo because Bo has seen it before. In another little man. I mean the move of stretching his neck out of his typically tight fitting collar. It is sort of like shooting one's cuffs, except that the neck seems to shoot up out of the cuff of white collar that normally restrains it. The face goes a bit red; some high blood pressure perhaps. This is a boy baby, about to fight off his clothes. This is the head disjoint from the body, despite using the apotropaic of the two torques ( torc ), the buttoned collar with the looped and knotted tie doubling the safeguard. This is the basic paranoia of the unlizard part of mind, the forebrain, the superego if you will, the fear that manifold entities of the body are uniting in revolt against particular dominance, against its resident complex, against hominoidal inflation. The symptoms bare a resemblance to those of formication.   So what we see is what we get, what the electorate have got and what the electorate will get, the very picture of a man coming apart at the seams. The impact wrenches have found the bolts, and the psyche of this Frankenstein's monster is being unbolted. But Bo is thinking about that other little man who used to, when stressed or caught in a lie or a con, shoot his red neck repeatedly out of the comforting chokehold of his white collar. That little man was a drinker, folks. A nighttime tippler and a daytime tranquilizer. A functional alcoholic. Bo has seen this act before. Haven't the rest of you also seen it also, my Brethren of the Mississippi Valley ???   P.S. Bo also viewed Allawi's 40 minute speech to the combined venue of House and Senate. Iyad, the "go to" man, projected that quintessential Repugnican craft of video-sincerity while laying down a steaming pile. More interesting though was the audience. CSPAN did not pan, but returned ever to the small clique of generals in their palest masques holding down the floor level center of the apparent 150-200 members ( out of a potential 535 plus ) who bothered to show up for the farce. Most were Repugs, though a smattering of top Dems and a number of Dumbocrats showed their faces. Holy Joe Lieberman and Allawi demonstrated the 'shuffling of the deck of two faces' complete with Joe's air kiss at his left ear, on the Baghdadian's way to the rostrum. One guesses [ or what is that proper word for "guess" ?? ] he with the stoutest stubble wins these face offs.   The "crowd" tried to make up with scripted enthusiasm and timing for its lack of size, giving Iyad's absurd one liners long loud claps. No finer example to be seen of what one can get for cheap in the way of a Senator or Houseboy these days -- a trained seal with a musical ear, en masse comprising a pack of pinnipeds putting their flippers together on command from the plutopaths and fishmongers. The casual viewer would ascertain from this simpering chorus that the Congress of the U.S. of A. had not the slightest doubt of the correctness of its approval and financing of an imperialistic invasion, nor is that frying-pan-into-fire support likely to diminish regardless of who occupies the Blanc de Blanc House. Lookout boys 'n girls, its draft time.   And can't ya just cry a little tear for the KarlieMan, with the wheels falling off his life's project ? But hey, there is no man like Karlieman for loving a challenge.   And where are you, shrinks of 'Murka ? Now's the time to vault onto the bandwagon. Not that it takes a shrink to grok the disintegration of our Fearless FickleDick.   And might it just be that one immediate cause of Pinnochio's stagefright is the similarity of Thursday's White House mise en scene to that which he will face in one week, no Dadda-Wee there to lean on, only the Yankee Avenger, an Alphamale Not Al with perhaps some beta- release teeth to use on Zero for Four, a Mr. MonkeyMaster himself, the opposing debater Senator Kerry ?   Does anyone doubt that Rove's Fool Tool could cite the Precedent LBJ and renounce his candidacy tomorrow, while the psychosis this nation has chosen for itself goes on and on ? 8:36:10 PM    comment []