Our Ravingly Mad Big Dick

Our Ravingly Mad Big Dick
by P.M. Carpenter | Feb 26 2007 - 8:41am

If we can ever find the undisclosed hole under the rock that Dick Cheney crawled out of to preach his deranged ministry of malicious innuendo and destructive patriotism, some duty-minded soul in possession of an idle F-117 Nighthawk should drop a freshly minted, 5000-pound-laser-Guided Bomb Unit-28 on it -- or in it, or however the hell a bunker buster works -- to close it up for good. Geez, the man could have been breeding in there all this time. It could be lousy with genetically disturbed Little Dicks.

For sad to say, there's something seriously the matter with the Big one. This is hardly news to the free world, but the "something" has now risen to the level of white-coat, net-catching time. He left the traditional-sleaze field of partisan eye-gouging some time ago to enter a personal abyss of plain, simple hate -- irrational hate; irreparable, even delusional hate.

His latest rabidity began with the unbalanced frothing that Democratic alternatives to Americans being slaughtered in someone else's civil war(s) only "validate the al-Qaeda strategy" -- an intentional phrasing of intentional treason. Treason, mind you, committed by those seeking a way out of madness. It doesn't get more clinically bizarre than that.

To which the Democratic speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi, somewhat took offense, in response to which Big Dick said, "She accused me of questioning her patriotism. I didn't question her patriotism."

Mere Orwellian black-is-white, freedom-is-slavery rhetoric? Perhaps, but I think not. Much worse than that, his counterdefense reflected a certain, uncomprehending sincerity. Which is to say, he's living in a demented fog, a miasma of otherworldly detachment in which he's blind to what virtually everyone else sees clearly. Which is to say, he's nuts; that he's slipped into a kind of Strangelovian dementia from which he ain't coming out.

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