Liberals are cornered and gravely wounded

A wounded and cornered liberal is a curious thing. The thought of present escape has left, perhaps even the thought of survival is gone. All that remains is the lonely thought that if it dies true to its convictions, then surely it will receive some benefit from a God that does not exist, surely its death struggle will be told and retold thus inspiring more to rise in its wake.

The liberals will be honest about their present political plight in a decade or so, when the writing on the wall no longer needs Daniel to explain to King Belshazzar what it means. But for now, we need to listen to their claptrap. Never lose, however, even for a moment, the view before us: a cornered and gravely wounded animal.

The current idol of their eye is Michael Moore. It is wrong, I guess, to condemn someone based upon their physical appearance. But must it be ignored in toto? Doesn't the outside give some insight to the inside? Doesn't an overweight, unshaven, disheveled outside lay peaceably with an overweight, unshaven, and disheveled inside?

In one of this loser's books, he writes of an interview with Fred Barnes. It is so banal. Barnes makes a literary reference on a talk show one night - referring to two classic books - and, so the story goes, Moore calls him the next day and asks him what those books were. Barnes, according to Moore, did not know. In real life, the phone call never took place. Further, Barnes did know - he read them as a freshman in college.

Has Moore been called out as a fraud? Certainly this Barnes incident is not isolated. And if Moore is going to lie that badly ...

I have two kids - 13 and 14. They are good kids. They don't make a habit of lying, but c'mon, they're kids. They do stuff, get caught, and try to lie their sorry butts out of trouble. As a parent, I do not approve; as a former kid, I evaluate the novelty and ability-to-be-true-under-certain-but-not-present-circumstances of the lie. I found myself years ago telling my son - if you are going to lie, do it better. Then I would go about deconstructing his statement and showing him where he contradicted himself and deviated from known fact. If you are going to lie, son, always always survive the first frontal assault.

Moore should not lie so badly. Have you ever listened to Fred Barnes speak? The guy is a tri-syllable-or-more-walking-dictionary. I'm 45. When I grow up, I want to be just like Fred Barnes. Does he speak beyond himself? Make literary references that he doesn't understand? Uh, "what is 'no,' Alex."

But Moore survives to fight another day because the liberal animal is cornered and mortally wounded. If it were not, the animal would tend to its own, would act from strength and correct this guy's wanderings. But it cannot. "Any wandering is better than no wandering at all," goes the liberal mantra.

The other recent example of liberal hysteria is chronicled by Peggy Noonan. She seems angry. Some clown gives a commencement speech at a university and uses the opportunity to bash W. The students boo; the faculty give a standing o. An aging author with no recordable sales in 30 years. Truly, a gravely wounded, panting, no-longer-able-to-constructively-move liberal. "Die bravely!" the faculty yells. How sad; how pathetic; how joyful to be a conservative.

The South will be virtually swept by the pubs in the Senate. Pubs will not just hold but will expand its grip in both chambers. W will leave 300 EVs in the dust - he will not only hold everything he had in 2000, but will make significant in-roads in large cities. History will write of the death of the liberals being marked by the 2004 election. The libs will be reborn, they will be back. But a house-cleaning will happen first - Bubba, his present wife, Gore, Pelosi, Daschle ... names that will be shunned for an extended period.

The liberal animal will fight ugly for the next 5 months. Then its vision will blur; its motor control will lessen; its thinking will circle back upon itself, no longer able to observe and process new information; recollections of times gone by will occupy it - defending the "good" name of Alger Hiss; placing flowers in guns; defending oppressed inmates in a prison in Attica, NY; defending an adulterer and possible rapist because, after all, his personal life is his own; and finally fighting the good fight against a God-fearing POTUS.

But then the vision will go from blurred to narrowed. Then a feeling of being detached from the body will occur. "I'm looking down at me!" the startled lib thinks. "Look at those nasty republicans, circled around me, growling and throwing spittle, how uncivilized." But then the focus changes from where it was to where it is going. A neon sign flickers in the distance.

"On a dark desert highway. Cool wind in my hair. Warm smell of colitas. Rising up through the air. Up ahead in the distance. I saw a shimmering light. My head grew heavy, and my sight grew dim. I had to stop for the night. There she stood in the doorway. I heard the mission bell. And I was thinking to myself. This could be Heaven or this could be Hell."*

No, trust me, oh dying lib, it ain't Heaven. Bu-bye!!!!!!

(Lyrics copyright whomever - Hotel California, The Eagles)