Graham Crackin’

The extraterrestrials who are assembling candidates for the 2016 Republican presidential contest just can’t stop themselves from ceaselessly churning out ever more freaks, frauds, mutants, and monsters. These extraterrestrials had so much fun breeding and building candidates for the 2012 campaign, I guess, that this oh ashleytime they are adhering to no limits at all. For, with still some 22 months to go until election day 2016, already they have introduced some 617 separate weirdsmobiles vying for the GOoPer nomination. Every freakin’ day, it seems—and this is without exaggeration—they roll out some new ludicrous loonbin to heave his or her cracked cranium into the ring.

Today’s balderdash was Ashley Wilkes, senior senator from the Confederate state of South Carolina. Wilkes was previously profiled here on red. As what he is: the otherwise perfectly useless plantation son, unfit for the really important things, like riding to the hounds, or diddling cousins, but who can be depended upon to serve the Lost Cause there in the legislature, keeping the Yankees at bay.

Every one of these extraterrestrial roll-outs is programmed with his or her own private personal hallucinatory vision of how it shall be s/he who will successfully ride the white horse into the White House. Wilkes today shared his particular hallucination. And a hallucination it surely is.

John “Old Man Shouts At Cloud” McCain had previously wished to name Wilkes as his vice-presidential running mate in the doomed GOoPer jihad for the presidency in 2008. However, party elders vetoed Wilkes, for the same reason they vetoed Charlie Crist, another McCain fave: because these are closeted gay men. (Poor Crist had even gone out and got himself a wife; but, alas, all for nought.) The elders also vetoed a third McCain fave, Joe Lieberman, on the grounds he was a Democrat, which the elders considered a perversion nearly as anathema as being gay.

It was after this triple whammy of refusal that McCain famously exploded into one of his titanic tantrums, and rashly announced that he would accept instead, as his would-be VP, Meth Mouth, a crank-controlled tundra-termagant that Science Men have proved conclusively is Literally and Measurably dumber than dirt. But whom influential GOoPer brain-trains like William Kristol desperately wished to penetrate with their penises. The Kristol-naught theory was that, if he succeeded in elevating Meth Mouth to the VP spot, she would, in gratitude, permit him to slip his wee shaft into her bottomless slot. Alas, Kristol was unaware that Meth Mouth prefers penises that are black, and which enter her flesh after she has snorted cocaine off a 55-gallon oil drum.

It is because the 2008 GOoPer presidential jihad was Doomed that the nation was spared a Meth Mouth presidency, which would have occurred as soon as McCain was informed by the generals that he could not, as he wished, attack Russia over Georgia. At which time he would have stroked out, and gone under the ground. Allowing the Meth Mouth crime-family to pee freely in the rounded corners of the Oval Office, and indulge in crazed drunken brawls on the White House lawn, until she—soon—succeeded in searing the entire planet to a cinder.

It is only because humans are rapidly evolving—notwithstanding all seeming evidence to the contrary—that Wilkes this go-round is rolled out as a potential presidential assembly-liner.

For whereas but seven years ago GOoPer gayness was considered among GOoPers an Unholy Crime against God and Man, rendering unacceptable, on gayness alone, any GOoPer so inclined, today no GOoPer gives a shit, so long as the gayyep GOoPer promises to bomb and strafe and stab and slit. And this, surely, Wilkes, he has promised to do.

Some may object that Wilkes is not gay. These people consult the true-life non-fiction tome Gone With The Wind, and protest that Wilkes was married to Melanie, the former Hamilton, with whom he produced children.

Uh-huh. Sure. Gotcha. Right.

That Wilkes is gay is such an open secret that Runt Limprod has for years aired a parody riffing off Brokeback Mountain, called “Return To Saddlesore Canyon,” which broadly, no hints at all, presents a gay-blading involving Wilkes and McCain.

Too, a close reading of Gone With The Wind reveals that the children produced out of Melanie, allegedly sired by Wilkes, were in truth planted in her womb by Rhett Butler.

Don’t believe me? Read it again. Still not satisfied, we’ll then go to the DNA evidence.

Ashley Wilkes was simply too otherwise occupied, to ever create—and upon a woman, ugh—a child.  He needed to try—and fail—to ride to the hounds. To diddle—male—cousins. And to keep the Yankees—cursed Yankees—at bay. There in politics. Confederate States of America. Uber alles.

Ride it, Ashley. This time—even the extraterrestrials do say—is your time. The time is right. Feelin’ hot. Feel it now. Much harder now. Get on top more. Do the right thing.


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