Friday, September 14, 2007

A Time For Flatus

It's time for us here at Kool Aid Report to set things straight. And when the boss is out of town, that job falls to me.
Last week, his footly learnedness and my boss Learned Foot posted an excoriation of John Edwards.
Someone or other on the editorial staff of True North got a case of the vapors because, fully in character with the entire history of his persona as a blogger, Foot suffused his analysis with references to butt cheeks.
This should have surprised nobody.
But in the wake of the kerfuffle that ensued, a bunch of people who should have known better asked us, here at KARNation, "What? Aren't you really conservatives? Don't you really believe in the movement?"

And the fact is, we uneasily straddle two worlds; serious conservatism, and poopblogging.
So it's high time we at KAR set the record straight, and draw our line in the sand. To wit, and to serve as this blog's "mission statement" I shall perform a dramatic interpretation of Ronald Reagan's classic "A Time For Choosing", adapted to the Kool Aid Report.

Ahem:

I have spent most of my life as a dick. I recently have seen fit to follow another course. I believe that the issues confronting us cross lines between cool people and spazzwads. Now, one side in this campaign has been telling us that the issues of this election are the maintenance of peace and boobies. The line has been used "We've never had it so good."

But I have an uncomfortable feeling that this lack of stench isn't something on which we can base our hopes for the future. No nation in history has ever survived a burrito that consumed a third of its national beans. Today, 37 cents of every dollar earned in this country goes to taxes, and yet our government continues to spend $17 million a day more than the government takes in in the form of poop. We haven't purged our colons for 28 out of the last 34 years. We have raised our legs and let fly three times in the last twelve months, and now our national stench is one and a half times bigger than all the combined stenches of all the nations in the world. We have 15 billion cubic feet of methane in our basements --we don't ventilate an ounce. Foreign damage claims are $27.3 billion, and we have just had announced that the dollar of 1939 looks funny when you draw Jeff Fecke's picture on it.

As for the wango tango that we would preserve, I wonder who among us would like to approach the roommate whose roommate has shared a bathroom with Larry Craig and ask them if they think this is a woodie that should be maintained indefinitely. Do they mean "wood", or do they mean we just want to be left in woodiness? There can be no real wood while one American is cock-blocked some place in the world for the rest of us. We are at war with the most dangerous enemy that has ever faced mankind in his long climb from the swamp to the stars, and it has been said if we lose that war, and in doing so lose this way of freedom of ours, history will record with the greatest astonishment that those who had the most to lose did nothing but massage their butt cheeks. Well, I think it's time we ask ourselves if we still smell the poop that was left for us by the Founding Fathers.

Not too long ago two friends of mine were talking to Ryan Rhodes, a businessman who had escaped from Rochester, and in the midst of his story one of my friends turned to him and said, "Jeez, do you use paper when you wipe?" And Ryan stopped and said, "No". In that sentence he told us the entire story. If we lose freedom to poo at will here, there is no place to escape to. This is the last stand on Earth. And this idea that government is beholden to the anal-retentive, that it has no other source of fiber except eating copies of the Strib, is still the newest and most
unique idea in all the long history of man's relation to his colon. This is the issue of this erection. Whether we believe in our capacity for self-abuse or whether we abandon the Packers and confess that a little intellectual elite in a far-distant capital can plan our bowel movements for us better than we can plan them ourselves.
You and I are told increasingly that we have to choose between a left or right, but I would like to suggest that there is no such thing as a left or right. There is only diarrhea or constipation --up to a man's age-old dream, the ultimate in individual freedom consistent with loud flappy farts --or down to the ant heap anal-retentiveness, and regardless of their sincerity, their humanitarian motives, those who would trade our skid-marked tighty-whiteys for security have embarked on this downward course.

In this back-hair-harvesting time, they use terms like the "Great Regularity," or as we were told a few days ago by the Minnesota Monitor, we must accept a "greater government activity in the affairs of our colons." But they have been a little more explicit in the past and among themselves--and all of the things that I now will quote will shortly have appeared in print under Jeff Fecke's byline, unattributed in any way.

These are not Republican accusations.

If you and I have the courage to tell our elected officials that we want our national policy based upon what we know in our butt cheeks is morally right. We cannot buy our security, our freedom from the threat of the silent but deadly by committing an immorality so great as saying to a billion now in slavery behind the Iron Curtain, "Give up your dreams of corn poop because to save our own skin, we are willing to make a deal with your fiber vendors." Alexander Hamilton said, "A nation which can prefer disgrace to a good toxic waste dump is prepared for a master, and deserves one." Let's set the record straight. There is no argument over the choice between peace and war, but there is only one guaranteed way you can have peace--and you can have it in the next second--being a douchebag with hairy butt cheeks.

That should set the record straight.

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