After Tuesday's offyear elections the voice of the electorate will be heard to say, "Time for all levels of gummint to put on their sensible shoes" -- or at least that's how they'll hear it up at DNC/DLC headquarters.
Just imagine the triumphant braying -- "Fellow citizens! The nightmare is ending... the 5 year elephant stampede is rounding its last bend and unstoppably headed for the cliff edge. The bums have just smashed a little too much of the nation's sacred crockery. The people through the ballot box will .... errr... in fact already are... calling 'Halt! Halt you brutes! We've had enough of your big brass banding. Bring back the lute and flute group!' "
Amazing, eh ???
Time for the pawl in the ratchet to fall into place. For every time there is a reason, to every cause a season -- or something like that. After all this nonstop big big flappy-eared fun and frolics, it's time to cool our jets from the Beltway to the green zone. Yup, here and abroad too, "it's cleanup time" -- a role that suits the self-confining subaltern jackass party to the last syllable of its recorded wonkery.
And just you poor folks watch -- all the big neoliberal Bullwinkles of the party will want in on the mission. From now till Christmas time they'll bob and bounce across your screens -- no screen wide enough to contain their gassed-up, ballooning self-importance. The bigger the rack, the bigger the stride, each one trying to look more sensible and stately then the last.
Let's pass over the obvious Senate hams (other than my pal Grack's pinup girl, our relentless holiday queen of tarts, lady Clintaxe). They're all burnt-out cases. What will prove really au courant, really so this year and holiday fashion, are not all these stale stentorian gas horns, but instead all those milktoast, sunbelt dembo governors we've got, stretching from Virginia to the Rio Grande.
Their cry will be some colorless variant on the legendary Camelot punch, one part 90 proof long-aged donkey nonsense to three parts citizen sacrifice -- and oh yeah, a sprinkle of GooGoo nutmeg.
So brace yourselves for endless choruses of their hook line: "steady ways and prudent hands can fix what ails this great great country of ours."
Ghoul's footnote:
Looming in the wings as next chief of fiscal surgery? -- who but Wall Street's own blended and bonded Bob Rubin, of course! And can old Doc Bob ever carve a mean budget.
Of course as usual, he'll leave the suturing to nobody special -- "I do the hacking, not the hackery."
