As to the February 23rd Republican blabberfest, er, primary debate… to a man, those pompous idiots seemed deeply insecure in their own masculinity, afraid of women, black and brown people of either sex, and cowards in the face of love. It's difficult for me to figure out which was the most odious of the sordid lot.

Whatever. If Santorum does get the nomination, I'm looking forward to Obama finally becoming fed up with the ghastly tactics of his Republican rivals. He finally does the angry black dude-thing and just punches the runt in the snoot during a live TV debate. It'll be like that scene where Eddy Haskell finally pushes Beaver Cleaver a tad to far and winds up with a bloody nose. The President will then loom over the little creep, fists clenched, and shouts down like Moses from on top of the mountain, "Hey, punk! I am the President of these United States. When I stand, everybody stands in my presence. Get your skinny ass off the floor!!!"

Itty-bitty Ricky then crawls with what alacrity his jellified limbs can summon. He is sobbing, snot and tears and shame running down his squirrel-like and busted mug as he scrambles, weeping, off to the wings of the stage where he wails for G-d in High Heaven to rescue him from the Black Demon sent on the Black Throated Wind swirling out of ancient nights in the Arabian desert. No help is forthcoming. Off camera the audience can hear the merciless pounding of our President's heels upon the punk's neck and wretched cries for mercy for the doomed. Then there is silence.

The President returns to his podium. He straightens his tie. There is the merest blemish of sweat glinting upon his brow. He smiles broadly and addresses a grateful nation. He asks, quite calmly: "Do you have any questions?"

Res Ipsa Loquitur,

S