In the spirit of Jonathan Swift, here’s an idea. In order to avert the imminent destruction of human civilization by runaway global warming, how about the eco-terrorists, Algorian religionists, Marxists and all the other “True Believers” enter a solemn pact to commit mass suicide? Man up and take one for the team. Maybe on next year’s Earth Day?

After all, it’s evil human beings that, by the simple act of breathing, contribute CO2 to the witches' brew known as greenhouse gasses. So let Algore (and his ilk) put his “money”—which would be substantial if his flim-flam scheme comes to fruition—where his carbon dioxide-spewing mouth is, as it were. Many of the global warming fanatics have, themselves, focused on population control as one means to reduce CO2 emissions worldwide. Eliminating, in one fell swoop, millions of dedicated alarmists, martyrs to a man willing to die for their cause, would go a long way toward mitigating this dire situation. True, mass suicide by all the world’s lefties would not completely halt the impending apocalypse; but, like all those lawyers at the bottom of the sea, it’s a good start. Still, this one sacred act would have a disproportional impact when you factor in the fact that these traffickers in fear are spewing a lot more hot air than the rest of us.

And it would put to rest for good any accusations of rank hypocrisy on the part of these sophisticated modern-day doomsayers. An added bonus would be ridding the world of the vapid and boorish mewing of the Hollywood Left.

Just a thought.

Certifiably insane David Ickes, the controversial conspiracy author and lecturer, claims George W. Bush, Queen Elizabeth II, Kris Kristopherson and Boxcar Willie all have something in common: they’re actually scaly Reptilians from outer space masquerading in human flesh as they conspire to take over the world. Boxcar Willie?

But maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the crackpot Brit. Last night the new drama V premiered on ABC. It’s the story of a race of Lizard People who come to Earth ostensibly as beautiful beings looking remarkably like and speaking like ordinary humans. And the good news is they come in peace! Their leader, Anna, looks more like a Milan fashion plate than the supreme commander of an advanced alien race.

What’s so amazing about this TV show is this: it’s a perfect metaphor for Obama’s cult of personality. It’s all there, the attractive yet somehow elusive, inscrutable Dear Leader (Anna/Obama) promising to unite the world, the V’s pledge to better humankind (including literally healing most known diseases, even swine flu), the universal Liberal disclaimer, “Don’t worry, we mean no harm”, a call for volunteerism (“Become a Peace Ambassador”), the emphasis on technology, particularly in the realm of imaging and communications, the not-so-subtle attempts to co-opt gaga journalists, laying down ground rules for interviews, indicating that they, the Vs, believe in free and open inquiry as long as the questions don’t produce any “negative energy”.

As the plot unfolds in the first episode, already there are signs that maybe the Vs are not quite as benign as they make themselves out to be. In fact, according the leader of an underground movement, they’re downright sinister; they’re slimy Lizard People intent on destroying the very Earth they supposedly came to save. The sleeper cell in New York hasn’t exactly organized any Tea Parties just yet; but these revolutionaries are banding together in secret, ever vigilant, knowing their freedom, their very way of life is being threatened by the winsome Anna with the seductive smile.

It’s hard to believe the same network that a few months ago treated us to a slick one-hour infomercial for ObamaCare—a ratings dud—is now premiering a drama which, wittingly or unwittingly, lays bare the true nature of Obama’s “magnanimity”. At least for those of us who have ears to hear.

Footnote: If you doubt this analysis is on the mark, consider this: The critics at the New York Times have already trashed the show.

Who could have possibly imagined our half-baked Commander-In-Chief would opt for prosecuting His “necessary” war—the “good” war—in a half-a$$ fashion? On the domestic front, it’s a pedal-to-the metal, full steam ahead, man the torpedoes, “they bring a knife, we bring a gun”, locked and loaded for bear, guns-a-blazin’, Chicago-style all out frontal assault on the Enemy. (That would be Rush, Levin, Sarah, Hannity, Beck, FoxNews, teabaggers and over half the American people—the usual suspects.) But with Afghanistan it’s all mulling, dithering and, now, pussyfooting.

It looks like Barack, the quintessential calculating politician, is hoping to placate both sides in the strategy debate by splitting the difference. General McChrystal wants 40,000 more troops; Code Pink wants zero. Hmmm … let’s see … I know! ... how about 20,000? (Too bad there’s no Nobel Prize for mathematics—Barry would be a shoo-in.) One problem with this approach, however—besides losing the war, I mean—is that, rather than making everyone somewhat happy, you’re more likely to just pis [tick] everybody off.

Actually, there happens to be a third dog in this hunt. Fido, in this case, is named Joe. As in Biden. Ignoring General McChrystal’s expertise and counsel, the veep instead favors War-Lite, preferring to wage war remotely. Joe is very big on drones. Our friends, the Pakistanis, however, are not so big on drones or, as they call them, “executions without trial”. Thankfully, even Obama knows enough to just ignore Rover’s leg-humping.

The peaceniks love to deem the war in Afghanistan “another Vietnam”. These weak-kneed pinkos just love to toss around the term “quagmire”. Generally I don’t agree with crazy lefties. But they may have a point here. Mind you, this war needn’t be another Vietnam if we’d just listen to our generals. But with Colonel Barry and His lieutenants, Rahm and Axelrod, on the front lines, calling the shots from the trenches, who knows?

If only El Jeffe saw Al-Qaeda and the Taliban in the same paranoid way He views the menacing FoxNews, He might actually have a shot at defeating the bastards.

Madam Speaker has unveiled the latest iteration of Health Care Make-Over legislation. The slightly-creepy Alchemist of San Francisco, along with her apprentices, spent days cloistered in her dungeon behind closed doors carefully blending various ingredients, all from earlier versions of various legislative concoctions. The problem with this esoteric approach, however, is that all these ingredients—herbs, metals, humors, elemental substances—are all poisonous. Blend, stir, heat, distill, siphon, and infuse all you want— you’re never going to spin gold, even if you try to burn off the dross of deficit spending. Far from achieving the Philosopher’s Stone, this arcane enterprise will only end up yielding an unknown inscrutable substance that turns out to be deadly.

These so-called lawmakers remind me of a bunch of snot-nosed, giggly, unruly pre-schoolers playing with a jumbo Lego™ set. They keep fumbling and flailing the pieces as they test one component after another in a frenetic trial-and-error effort to force-fit everything together. Some of the other kids offer to help, suggesting some new approach. But the little Lego™ legionnaires just bluster and stop up their ears. (They should really learn to play nice and share.) Eventually, they somehow manage to construct some gangly, weird oddity. But the thing is ugly and unwieldy, lacking elegance and functionality. They keep trying—bless their pointed little heads—adding a piece here, substituting a piece there. But each time, the end result is bigger, uglier and more monstrous than before. By comparison, Doctor Frankenstein’s fabled creature looks like George Clooney gracing the cover of GQ. The teacher really needs to step in and take away their toys.

In other words, these little Demo-brats really need to scrap all these self-indulgent legislative perversions and just start over from scratch—hopefully this time with a little help from their Republican classmates who are a lot smarter.

The question comes to mind, could Barack Hussein Obama possibly be the worst president in U.S. history? Alas, that distinction will forever remain the exclusive province of Jimmah Cahhtah. But Barack can content Himself with the consolation prize: the most dangerous president in our nation’s history. Kudos, Barry!

In the context of Obama’s declaration that the swine flu constitutes a “national emergency”, consider the following two quotations.

“The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary.” — H.L. Mencken

“You never want a serious crisis to go to waste…crisis provides the opportunity for us to do things that you could not do before.” — Rahm Emanuel

So just what are the Obamanistas up to? What’s next, Rahm, martial law?

Quoting the eminent political philosopher, Lucas J. Boy,“There are many qualities that make for a great leader, but whining like a prepubescent schoolgirl isn’t one of them. Yet, at every turn, our thin-skinned Boy King—almost a year into His reign—continues to cry in protestation, ‘but we INHERITED this mess’. (Every president inherits problems from his predecessor. George Bush was bequeathed a recession from Bill Clinton. He didn’t complain about it; he just cut taxes to end it.) Truman’s ‘the buck stops here’ has been replaced with Obama’s ‘hey, it’s not MY fault’. That’s sentiment befitting an insecure, spoiled teenager, not a great man.”

President Barry has long been jonesin’ for the idea of “volunteerism” although His notion is a little skewed in that His concept of community service comes, at times, dangerously close to being mandatory. An oxymoron befitting a moronic head of state. Obama dreams of a domestic Youth Corps of “conscripted volunteers”—huh? —that would be as powerful and well-funded as the military. WTF?

I’m all for community service when its impetus is your local church or synagogue, a local school or neighborhood association or the Kiwanis. But when there’s a coordinated national push orchestrated by the Community Organizer-In-Chief, I get a little nervous. Obama has already tried to co-opt the NEA, employing that tax-funded organization to urge the art community to rally to His agenda. (There’s even a rumor gaining currency that the Obama Administration may get involved in the NFL, advocating for the Players Union during the next round of collective bargaining.)

Now the administration has set its sights on the medium of television. Big Hollywood has unearthed a Google Document published by the Entertainment Industry Foundation (EIF) titled Play Your Part America announcing that, “from October 19-25, more than 60 network TV shows [will] spotlight the power and personal benefits of service,” and that this “unprecedented block of TV programming is the first wave of a multi-year ‘I Participate’ campaign.” Quoting Big Hollywood’s John Nolte, “Next week, tens, if not hundreds of millions of Americans, will be urged through the (ab)use of public airwaves to log on to the EIF iParticipate site and volunteer.”

The EIF’s memo begins with the preamble, Answering The Call, which declares, “President Obama has called for a new era of responsibility—recognition on the part of every American that we have duties to ourselves, our nation [read “government”] and world to serve others. It is the price and promise of citizenship.” Where in the Constitution is the clause defining the “price” of citizenship? I thought citizenship in the Republic was a birthright bestowed by God Almighty (the real one, not The One).

The document goes on to outline a number of strategies including this one: “To ‘organically’ create and produce as many stories as possible about service and volunteerism and connect them in the plots of network dramas, comedies and reality shows.”

The memo continues: “By connecting characters and storylines to broad themes of service and/or providing messaging through the cast, a picture will be painted of what service and volunteering can look like today, and inspire viewers.”

So now Rahm and Axelrod are screenwriting for TV shows? I can’t wait for the next episode of Criminal Minds where the FBI profilers nail a serial volunteer!

Another blogger, Stage Right, at Big Hollywood makes this observation: “You know how folks always say, ‘If you don’t like what you see, just change the channel.’ Well, clearly next week that won’t be an option. It’s going to be a full-court press… nowhere to hide.”

It turns out, during this propaganda blitz, viewers will be encouraged to get off their duffs and visit a number of websites that will happily facilitate any new-born inspiration to “serve”. You can, for example, be directed to Planned Parenthood’s website where you’ll be encouraged to help man—sorry, help “person”—the phone banks to reach out to and enlist those committed to “reproductive freedom”, pleading the cause for a health care plan that includes women’s health. If you visit www.iparticpate.org, you’ll have an opportunity to save the environment by becoming a “Global Warming Ambassador”. You’ll even be urged to visit the government’s official website, www.serve.gov, where you can read the transcript of Charlie Sheen’s twenty minute conversation with The One Himself with the chat centering on the Hollywood Truther’s deep concern about what really happened on 9/11.

Agenda? What agenda? It’s all benign, liberal do-goodism promising us the reward of liberal feel-goodism. What could possibly be wrong with that?

Imagine if George Bush had pressured 60 networks and cable outlets to devote a week of programming to promote the theme War Isn’t Necessarily Bad. Chris Matthews would have been foaming at the mouth. No, wait—bad example. He was already rabid.

The Rastafarians didn't quite get it right. They imagined Haile Selassie to be The Lion of Judah, I and I, God incarnate. It turns out they failed to anticipate the coming of the god of this age, another “Son of Africa”—Muammar Gaddifi's term—the divine Barack Hussein Obama. If anybody deserves the title of “I and I”, it's Barry O, the Narcissist-In-Chief. And the Queen of Heaven isn't much better. As George Will notes:

In the 41 sentences of her remarks, Michelle Obama used some form of the personal pronouns “I” or “me” 44 times. Her husband was, comparatively, a shrinking violet, using those pronouns only 26 times in 48 sentences. Still, 70 times in 89 sentences conveyed the message that somehow their fascinating selves were what made, or should have made, Chicago's case compelling.

The Royal Couple came sweeping into Copenhagen at the last minute as jet-set potentates supremely confident in the obeisance of the faithful.

But it turned out the self-referential and self-revering Obama speeches were cloying and nettling to the attentive IOC voting bloc. Barry’s blathering the same old tired platitudes—“represents what’s best about our humanity”—didn’t exactly help either. Even the Europeans were seeing through the Obamas in their pretentious insipid vanity. No wonder they blew it.

There was a time, not that long ago, when the president of the United States would, on occasion, lead the nation in a public prayer to—God forbid—well, God Almighty. Am I referring to Ronald Reagan? George Herbert Walker Bush? The evangelical W? No, I’m referring to Franklin Delano Roosevelt. I know it sounds surreal, a progressive Democrat humbly beseeching the Lord’s favor and blessing. And not just on his knees in his private prayer closet. No, the New Deal president offered up his prayers over the nation’s radio airwaves. These were not merely obligatory unctuous, pietistic interludes embedded in a presidential address; these heart-felt supplications were full-fledged prayers that were the address.

Since then, we the people, inspired by the ACLU, have become more squeamish about such overt piety manifested by our presidents. FDR’s successors have been lucky if they can get away with a perfunctory, “God bless America”, at the end of a major speech.

But then came Barack. And everything has shifted again. Now, instead of public embarrassment over the president saying a prayer to the Lord of Hosts on the nation’s behalf, we actually are witnessing citizens praying to our president. Not for our president or with our president but to The One currently occupying the Oval Office. Yes, another video has surfaced, this one showing a group of devotees praying to Barack Hussein Obama with refrains in unison such as “Hear our cry Obama” and “Deliver us Obama”. Surely, such creepy blatant idolatry might be dismissed as silly exuberance on the part of a few nut jobs, right? But such religious devotion to Barry of Hyde Park was presaged by testimony to the Democrats’ Godhead when one intellectual, Newsweek’s editor, Evan Thomas, literally referred to our sitting president as “God”. Even the esteemed Chris Matthews, normally reserved—I wish—admitted to experiencing Pentecostal ecstasy—at least in one of his legs—when in the thrall of The One. And then there were all those school children across the fruited plains bravely singing hymns to our blessed Messiah.

Conservatives admire their presidents, especially those who adhere to conservative principles. They tend to reserve their worship for the more transcendent. (We might revisit the issue if it can be demonstrated that Barry can literally walk on water.) But, now, spiritually-vacuous secular liberals, too, are finally “getting religion”. Hallelujah! The irony is almost toxic. The words of G.K. Chesterton come to mind: “When Man stops believing in God he doesn¹t then believe in nothing, he believes [in] anything.” Or anyone—even a skinny community organizer from Chicago’s South Side, a neophyte politician with an anemic portfolio who fraternized with unsavory characters, a Senator who voted “present” when he ever bothered to show up for work, a smooth-talking pretender with zip executive experience and a laughable naïveté toward foreign affairs.

From Jesus to Barack. We’ve come a long way.

Perhaps there comes a point in every Messiah’s life when He must enter that “dark night of the soul”, when that inner burden of crisis reaches critical mass. Could it be that our blessed Messiah, Barack Obama, is even now upon that gloomy threshold? Surely He must be feeling the weight of the world on His sinewy shoulders as He ponders the war in Afghanistan, a conflict that is not going well by every indication.

The New Testament reveals that Jesus, contemplating the crucifixion that was his destiny, removed by night to the Garden of Gethsemane to wrestle with his human doubts and inner misgivings. In the frailness of the flesh, the human Jesus could hardly bear the thought of that horrible fate which awaited him. Yet, in the end, he renounced self, setting aside his all-too-human instinct for self-preservation, to do what was demanded of him. He glimpsed the bigger picture and courageously chose to do the right thing. And the rest, as they say, is cosmic history.

I’m trying to picture in my mind young Barry stealing off at midnight, slipping past the Secret Service detail, to fall on His knees in the midst of Michelle’s vegetable garden, praying to Himself, between drags on His Marlboro, with such earnest intensity that He literally sweats droplets of blood—all the while his closest apostles, Rahm and David, along the redeemed harlot, Valerie Jarrett, having fallen sound asleep, abandoning their Master in His hour of need.

But try as I will, that just doesn’t play in my brain pan’s home theater.

Frankly, I simply don’t believe Barry truly cares enough about America and her defense from foreign aggression to get that worked up about it. True, Obama deemed this war to be one of necessity, vital to the national security interests of America. During the campaign He made the successful prosecution of the war in Afghanistan one of the main pillars of His proposed foreign policy. He owns that war now.

On the other hand, by authorizing the sending of more troops Obama escalates the conflict and risks alienating His fringe-kook political base. And He needs those zany zealots if He’s going to sign into law ObamaCare, the hallmark and crowning achievement of His domestic agenda.

Well, when you put it that way, it’s really a no-brainer. So, yes, our feckless Capitulator-In-Chief will sell out our brave men and women who wear the uniform and who’ve sacrificed so much already, putting His agenda, His ego and His imagined vaunted place in history before the defense of the nation He pretends to lead. After all, He’s a celebrity, not a Churchill. In the final analysis, Barry is a Democrat, just another weakly-constituted wimp without the stomach for any fight that involves guns or staying power.

Fantasy-monger, President Obama, was at it again. In addressing the UN General Assembly earlier this week, with soaring vapidity and the usual banal platitudes, Barry perpetrated, once again, some of His favorite myths. He parroted the hyper-alarmism over “climate change”—now there’s a self-evident truth—and He reiterated the fatuous and disingenuous notion of moral equivalency. The dirty little secret is Obama no more believes in “moral equivalency” that I do. It’s just that He only invokes the principle when it’s expedient to do so, framing it in such a way as to further His own agenda. In truth, Barry makes judgment-tinged moral distinctions all the time—between Zelaya and Micheletti, between Iran’s Greens and the Ayatollahs, between Islam, the “religion of peace”, and other world faiths, between Israel and the Palestinians. I could go on.

Nevertheless, speaking in the public forum of the UN, Obama asserts the doctrine. According to the Appeaser-In Chief, no country is any more distinguished—and certainly not any better—than any other nation. Oh really? So, according to this leftist screed, there’s no qualitative difference between the United States and, say, Burkina Faso. However, as Mark Steyn notes, when the next tsunami hits Sri Lanka, they’ll be calling on America, not Burkina Faso.

Consider the rambling, incoherent speech by Muammar Gaddafi. The Colonel—or, as he was introduced by the General Assembly President, Ali Treki, the “king of kings”—took to the podium looking like some creepy cartoon character in silly garb who’d survived multiple cosmetic surgeries and who’d, prior to his speech, taken one-too-many hits off his hookah back at the tent. The Bedouin regaled his audience for the next hour and a half with one outrageous claim after another—at one point warning of the coming “fish flu” pandemic—and finally calling for the JFK assassination to be reinvestigated because, as everybody knows, the Jews were behind the hit.

But Muammar was just the warm-up act. The headliner was Mahmoud Ahmadine-a-wackjob who landed the gig after it turned out Michael Moore was already booked. The diminutive simian did not disappoint. He had most of the delegates—the Third World delegates, anyway—rolling in the aisles in delightful hysterics. But a few in the audience walked out when it became obvious that Persia’s Bill Maher had failed to come up with any fresh comedic material.

The next day, Benjamin Netanyahu ascended the dais. What a refreshing, though sobering, dose of no-nonsense clarity. His mere presence restored dignity to the fetid swamp of narcissism and moral turpitude. He forcefully, deliberately pressed the case for Israel and its basic right to existence. He lamented the pathetic joke that’s the UN. Under its own charter, for one nation to merely threaten genocide against another is to be considered a war crime. Yet this den of thieves, tin horn dictators, corrupt weasels and moral cowards just sit on their hands while Iran vows to obliterate a member state. Bebe, with Holocaust documents in hand, launched a stinging rebuke of Mahmoud The Denier. Netanyahu’s indictment of Iran was powerful and compelling. Unlike those other two juvenile delinquents, the prime minister, an adult, spoke with moral force and, yes, moral superiority.

In life, we make distinctions all the time. We’re all familiar with “apples to oranges” logic. Human beings discriminate every waking moment. That’s the basis of making decisions, whether pedestrian or epic. So why should it be any different when considering nations, cultures, religions or ideologies? It’s true that God has bestowed a common dignity upon humankind. But beyond that—and in the matrix of free will—all bets are off.

Permit me to shift my focus from New York to Pittsburg. The zealots, protesting the G20 Summit, didn’t take long to start trashing parked cars and Starbucks stores. Can anyone cite a single leftist rally or protest that hasn’t devolved into anarchy and violence—or at least unseemly behavior? Now recall the Tea Party rally of September 12^th. We can quibble about the attendance numbers but it was a big crowd. Despite the hysterical rants from Chris Matthews, Keith Olbermann and Ed Schulz warning of right-wing assassination plots, church picnickers couldn’t have behaved better. In egress, the “unruly mob” not only picked up after itself but left the place looking better than they’d found it.

Moral equivalence? Nyet. By any sane, objective standard, our team behaves better.

I should hasten to point out that I bear no personal animus toward the honorable Robert Byrd, the elder statesman from the great state of West Virginia. And I take no pleasure in the news that the distinguished nonagenarian suffered a fall that has landed him in the hospital. But the time has come for the Senate chamber to clear out its oldest bit of detritus.

Perhaps some might find my lobbying for Senator Byrd’s early demise to be shocking and in bad taste. But I assure you, I merely beseech the good West Virginian in the spirit of the new ethos emerging from the mists of leftist thinking which (unfortunately) suffuses the culture at large, a culture which, after three decades of willful oblivion to mass abortion, has been desensitized to all the pleasantries of Thanatos. Just this week Newsweek’s cover splashed this headline: The Case For Killing Granny. (For a nuanced thinker, that Evan Thomas certainly does not mince words.) From the public health policy pronouncements of Ezekiel Emanuel to the euthanasia-tinged workbook promoted by the Department of Veterans Affairs to the de facto “death panels” contained in any iteration of ObamaCare—advocacy for “pulling the plug” on the geezers has seeped into “mainstream” thinking. So I’m just spouting the “nuanced” conventional wisdom; and if you’re offended, how déclassé.

Senator Byrd has served his country. (I was going to add “admirably” but just couldn’t quite bring myself to do so.) More to the point, he’s served his purpose. It was fun while it lasted—that stint as a KKK kleagle was a hoot—but it’s time to wrap it up. After all, the technocrats will soon be nudging citizens considerably younger than the good senator to fulfill their patriotic duty by shuffling off.

Let’s face it, the befuddled, rambling old Byrd has outlived his usefulness and should fly to coop. Well, not quite, maybe. Come to think of it, the Democrats can ill-afford to lose a vote in the Senate with health care reform in the docket. I’ll bet the cagey old codger will probably hang on just long enough to cast his last vote—for ObamaCare, no doubt—even as he’s drawing his last wheezing breath. Now that would be a dramatic CSPAN moment.

Still, I must persist in imploring Robert “Sheets” Byrd to do the right thing and seriously consider checking out sooner than later. After all, it’s only fair. In fact, given that those Massachusetts Dems are cheating—again—by rewriting state law—again—to ensure, to their advantage, that Teddy’s U.S. Senate seat won’t get cold, I believe karma would dictate that Senator Bob should exit this mortal coil before the next roll call. (There’s an old hymn with the refrain, “when the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.” Well, that should be music to saint Bob’s ears—he hates to miss a roll call—unless he’s lost his hearing.)

First He threw the racialist, Van Jones, under the Obama Bus. (The carnage keeps mounting.) Then Barry called Kanye a "jackas_". Then He leaned on the governor of New York, David Patterson—who’s one of only two black governors—urging him to not seek re-election in 2010. Wuz up?

By today’s inflexible standard—questioning the ability or integrity of a prominent black is taboo—Barry should be outed as the racist He is. There is, however, one little technicality. It seems only whites are prohibited from criticizing or second-guessing people of color. So Barry’s off the hook—at least half way, thanks to Barack Senior’s genetic contribution.

Finally, a Republican with real gonads standing up to Team Obama’s propaganda machine which, during the decorous joint session of the august Congress, was still spewing the same old cow dung! One lone patriot dared to publically call out the dissembling Obama on one of many lies. And, for that, he was excoriated for violating the solemn decorum of the occasion. (How is slinging bovine excretions, itself, not a breach of decorum?) I applaud the patriotic Representative Joe Wilson (R-SC) who should be right up there with Paul Revere, Nathan Hale and Joe The Plumber.

Meanwhile, another Joe, pompous buffoon Joe Biden, is lamenting this disgraceful disruption of the pomp and circumstance of Barry’s big moment. Moreover, the renegade terrorist from South Carolina had demeaned the dignity of a great institution, had sullied the beauty of the Congress which the vice-president so loves. A conservative being scolded and chastened by a Democrat for their “uncivil” behavior is always rich in irony. These are the folks who will win at any cost and happily sanction lying, stealing, distortions, vote fraud, extortion, disinformation, blackmail, corruption, smear campaigns, under-the-table payolas, check kiting, kickbacks, intimidation, physical assaults and, in Bill and Bernadine’s case, blowing up federal buildings. But how dare a Republican be so uncivil as to interrupt Barry’s mojo while He’s casting His spell.

But, honestly, why should our lawmakers have to check their emotions at the door when they enter the hallowed chambers of Congress? There’s something disingenuous about 24/7 down-and-dirty politics suddenly having to take a powder for Barry’s prime-time dramedy. I happen to like Britain’s parliamentary approach: the prime minister steps into the “hot box”, so to speak, and the opposition begins pelting him with piercing probes, stinging rebukes and questions so incisive as to draw blood—or maybe that’s just juice from the occasionally hurled ripe tomato. The prime minister, of course, may then reply in his own defense only to be assaulted all over again with the next volley. And, they get to wear goofy-looking wigs while having all this fun!

Come to think of it, our Founding Fathers had a thing for wigs, too. Maybe the idea was to make the politicians less easily recognizable on YouTube. And, come to think of it, some of those congressional conclaves of yesteryear could really kick up a ruckus. It’s a wonder—and deliciously ironic—that bewigged men in drag could crank out so much testosterone. Maybe it’s time for our elected officials to start wearing wigs again. (Alternatively, Nancy Pelosi might consider a Dr. Evil latex skull covering for that menacing bald look.)

Personally, I’d like to take partisan politics and dissentious discourse to a whole new level. I’d like to see mud pits and vats of Jell-O installed in the House and Senate chambers. But, then, I’m a radical.

Joe Wilson’s raw, spontaneous outburst, in the midst of a decadent aristocracy in the thrall of their young monarch, was a refreshing jolt of reality, a shot of adrenaline injecting itself into the stultifying atmosphere of the tightly scripted and controlled event. Hurray! It was a “Mustafa The Shoe-Chucker” moment.