The Slow, Painful & Thoroughly Enjoyable Death of the Republican Party

Washington, DC.  We are living in the end times. No, not those end times, when Jesus floats around in the sky, Christians leave their empty clothes on the sidewalks and the rest of us get seven years of permanent Black Friday at Walmart. I'm talking about the end times of the Republican Party.

The Four Horsemen of this impending Republican Apocalypse, the inevitable, malevolent spawn of the incestuous coupling of Fear and Stupidity (a match made in hell by Fox News) appear unstoppable and have the party regulars in a sweaty panic, as at least 50% of GOP voters prefer these four unelectable maniacs over traditional less obviously maniacal candidates. They are Trump, Carson, Fiorina and Cruz. Okay, Cruz is riding a Shetland pony but for the sake of beating this analogy to death it's a fucking horse.

On the first horse is Trump, the very embodiment of Pride. His narcissism forbids acknowledging any personal wrongdoing. Ever. About anything. He is reckless, tactless, racist and if intelligent hides it exceedingly well. These are all qualities admired by the 25% of Republicans who think he should be the leader of the Free World. That almost everything he promises is highly unlikely to occur means nothing to them. He's rich. That's everything.

On the second horse is Dr. Ben Carson, who exists in this contest solely to allow his fellow Republicans to hear their own racism come out of the mouth of a Black man and feel justified about their bigotry. Carson once said, "You know, Obamacare is really I think the worst thing that has happened in this nation since slavery." Were Carson Jewish, he would likely compare free community college to the Holocaust. Conservatives eat this shit up.

On the third horse rides Carly Fiorina. While all Republican candidates are certainly liars, she has a special talent for it and obviously enjoys her craft. Widely regarded by anyone who has any knowledge whatsoever of business as an absolutely miserable CEO, Fiornia contends that her experience burning Hewlett-Packard to the ground makes her the prefect choice for president. And she does so with all the charm of Ann Coulter. Republicans assume she can compete with Hillary (just as they did with Palin), as she has a vagina. No one will notice the difference.

Finally on the fourth (very small) horse rides Ted Cruz, the poor man's Joe McCarthy. Tail Gunner Ted has managed to alienate just about every "normal" Republican in Congress, which is a nice way of saying they hate his fucking guts and wish he would get hit by a bus. Cruz brings an oily mixture of phony religiosity, ersatz patriotism and seething anti-government hatred to the contest. He has a popsicle's chance in hell of getting the nomination, but is jockeying for a possible VP nod. It will not help with the Latino vote any more than wearing a sombrero with dingle balls and playing maracas during his next speech will.

This is the perfect, apocalyptic storm for the GOP. It's not just the four candidates that spell doom, but the confluence of disastrous candidates and a base that has been decades in the dumbing-down. It's a can't lose recipe for total disaster.

Now some will look at these four sand say, "Well, it's a diverse group, more diverse than what the Democrats are offering. You've got a Black man, a woman, a Latino and a pasty-faced, puffy white guy."

True enough. They do have those physical characteristics. But they're all peddling the same failed, dangerous, hawkish, racist, pro-rich, anti-middle class policies. Blacks and Latinos will not be fooled into voting for them. Women will not mistake Carly Fiorina for Hillary Clinton, essentially comparable lady parts notwithstanding.

Republicans have made fear their best friend. They have spent years creating an embarrassingly, willfully ignorant base. They have made government a dirty word. They no longer deem intelligence, education, reason, diplomacy, and empathy to be virtues, but flaws to be sneered at and mocked. They have alienated almost every demographic that isn't old, Southern and white.

I hear the sound of hoof beats, and it's growing nearer and more urgent, the thundering tattoo of four horses galloping madly. Okay, three horses and a pony.

©2015 Kona Lowell