Eight and a half years after Tom Delay illegally funneled corporate money to his Texas colleagues, eight years after they took over the Texas house, seven years after they used their new majority to push through his redistricting plan (allowing them to take even more seats), five years after he was indicted for conspiracy to violate state election laws and forced to step down as House Majority Leader, four years after he left Congress rather than face the voters, and one year after he was eliminated from 'Dancing With The Stars', The Hammer has finally been convicted of money laundering. That's Texas justice, folks, and it's been a long time coming.
"This is an abuse of power," Delay predictably told reporters. "It's a miscarriage of justice and I still maintain that I am innocent," he continued with a straight face. "The criminalization of politics undermines our very system, and I am very disappointed in the outcome."
Well, of course you're going to be disappointed in any outcome that carries a penalty of five years to life, although apparently Texas justice would allow the judge to reduce the sentence to probation.
It's hard to remember through the criminal haze of the Bush years, but Tom Delay was such a master of political demagoguery that he made his successor John Boehner look like a model of reasonableness by comparison. He was also a hell of a lot of fun to write about, and I indulged myself at least thirty times during the years of his downfall and exile. So come on along, let's take a trip down memory lane.
"By now, you have surely read about House Majority Leader Tom DeLay's ethics troubles. Probably, too, you aren't entirely clear as to what those troubles are--something to do with questionable junkets, Indian casino money, funny business on the House Ethics Committee, stuff down in Texas. In Beltway-speak, what this means is that Mr. DeLay has an 'odor': nothing too incriminating, nothing actually criminal, just an unsavory whiff that could have GOP loyalists reaching for the political Glade if it gets any worse. The Beltway wisdom is right. Mr. DeLay does have odor issues. Increasingly, he smells just like the Beltway itself." WSJ 3/28
The Wall Street Journal, huh? Cocksuckers. They don't know a fight. Me, I could care less. They're roaches, and that's something I know more than a little about. Conservative, liberal, they're all press, they're all cockroaches. What did they ever do for me that didn't help themselves? Not a goddamn thing, that's what, we roll 'em, check behind the fridge, the stove, it's filth, best thing to do is burn the whole place down.
"Whether Mr. DeLay violated the small print of House Ethics or campaign-finance rules is thus largely beside the point. His real fault lies in betraying the broader set of principles that brought him into office, and which, if he continues as before, sooner or later will sweep him out."
Those are some pretty big words for a glasses wearing little faggot, don't you think? Their hair all smells like peaches and their fingernails, they shine. These media guy never get their pants dirty, they never have to get down into the real world where there ain't a hell of a lot of difference between shit and shinola. That's where the action is, baby doll, and that's where the world gets reshaped like a boxer's broken nose.
And I tell you what. The ones that aren't evil and corrupt are plain stupid, like that pill popper Rush. Gonna defend me, asshole? How much do you think your pea-brained audience even knew about my family until you started yammering about it?
Leave me alone, all of you. Maybe you'll manage to bring down the hammer, maybe not, but in the end, you still got to stand before God and make him believe that you're something more than a bug to be squashed.
|Lashing out... |
Just get the hell out of here with your idle threats, Pelosi. You think you can drop a dime on Tom DeLay and get away with it? Better men than you have tried it, Nancy. Yeah, you heard right. That was no slip of the tongue. You know I got some real good friends, don't you? Like your homeboy, Randy Cunningham, the one from 'Happy Days'. He's from your own state, Nancy, and he's been keeping his eyes on you.
"If they're going to go after Tom DeLay, we're going to go after Nancy Pelosi," that's what he said, girl, at least that's the cleaned up version. Something about reaming you a new asshole for free. That's not me speaking, that's someone who's got my back, and there's a lot of people in that army. Yeah, good old Ritchie Cunningham, angry man with an angry knife, and even better with a camera. You didn't think anyone would ever find out about Luella Hotpanteski, did you? HA! TAKE A LOOK AT THESE PICTURES!
Oh. That's you're daughter? Well, she looks like a little tramp to me, and Tom DeLay has seen plenty of little tramps in his life, believe you me. And what the hell are you doing kissing her? Don't you liberals know how to shake hands? Okay, forget Cunningham, he's small potatoes anyway. I've exterminated bigger potatoes than that. But don't be surprised if you wake up in the morning and see a picture of you and THIS MAN, SPLATTERED ACROSS THE FRONT OF THE MORNING PAPERS.
Well yes, I know that's Joe Lieberman, but he's a funny looking squirt, isn't he? And wouldn't all your colleagues like to know what's going on in the cloakroom... heh, heh, inquiring minds, I'm sure. Because if this picture wasn't cropped at the waist, I'm pretty sure that we could all see JOE'S HAND ON YOUR ASS.
And that ass is something you better watch real close, Pelosi. I don't suppose you've met Cunningham's little friend, have you? The Fonz? No, not the frigging Friends of the National Zoo, I'm talking about Arthur Fonzarelli. Yeah, that's right, The Fonz, brutal warrior of the socio-political arena, good with his fists, better with a chain letter. He's working for me now, so be careful where you go poking that nose of yours. Now get the hell out of here, and don't let the door knock you... uh... don't let your ass hit the door... uh... don't let the doorknob hit you where the good lord split you. Yeah...
|Paranoia sets in... |
Fe-fe, fi-fi, fo-fo, fum
Sleazy and corrupt, vulgar and dumb
Tom Delay, that's what I say
He might be gay, that Tom Delay
He's gonna get caught
Just you wait and see -
"Why's everybody always pickin' on me"
So I'm heading up to the Hill this morning, reading the papers. I usually just scan the Post, the Times, and the Wall Street Journal, but with all the shit going down lately I've got one of my girls picking up another eight or ten papers for me. You know, just cull out the salient parts for me so I don't have to worry about surprises.
Thirty minute ride and my driver has the radio set to WBIG, the 'Good Time Oldies' station. My favorite. Good stuff they play - Elvis, the Beatles, a lot of the good old vocal groups. I hear the Coasters and I ask the driver to turn it up, cause I love that 'Charlie Brown' song, and I need a little lift, you know? He just shrugs.
It takes about fifteen seconds to hit me. I can't believe what I'm hearing. That's not the Coasters, it's some goddam parody record and they're singing about me. That will not stand, I tell you. Tom Delay deserves respect. This is slander, pure and simple, and somebody is gonna pay for it.
Who walks to the House floor, cool and slow
Who calls Nancy Pelosi a ho
It's Tom Delay, that's what I say
He's not afraid, not Tom Delay
He'll never get caught
Even though it looks grim -
Why's everybody always picking on him?
Heh. That was pretty funny. What the hell is this - a bipartisan parody? Jesus, this country is getting weird. I don't even want to hear what's coming up next.
"Turn that shit off, Watkins."
Oh man, I guess I need some sleep. Watkins is telling me he doesn't even have the radio on. That's not a good sign...
I remember the last time I heard imaginary song parodies in my head. It was back when I used to own Albo Pest Control in Houston. All that bug spray got to me, I guess, went to my brain. And then when the IRS came after me, my head just went BLOOYEE. I'm glad I went into politics.
Yeah, yeah, disco, I hated it, but it was operative. The ladies loved it, almost as much as they loved me. I mean, they didn't call me 'Hot-Tub Tom' for nothing. But all those Gloria Gaynor hallucinations...
What now? They're trying to put me away, man, fight fight fight, they can't take down The Hammer. Yeah, hammer time. Praise the Lord that sonofabitch didn't have a longer career. 'You can't touch this'. How many times did I hear that joke? A million too many, that's for sure, and now Ronnie Earle has stooped to a new low with his brand of prosecutorial abuse. Well, Ron-boy, you can't touch this. I'm the Intimidator. I'll squash you like a bug, burn you out like cancer.
The Intimidator. Huh. Maybe I should have paid more attention to NASCAR. The people love that. But screw it, I'm a golf jockey. Hole in one. Hole in Ronnie Earle, I wish. And I wish I had my secret service guys back. Roy Blunt, what a prick. And if he thinks he's going to keep my job he's gonna get hammered. Sure wouldn't mind a little help from the Prez, though, not that he's got a lot of political capitol left. Still...
"Hey, Watkins, put on some music, would you?"
...Just turn around Tom
Cause you're not welcome anymore
Weren't you the one who tried to bleed the people dry
You're gonna crumble
You're gonna lay right down and die
And wonder why
You won't survive
As long as...
Oh, man, it's going to be a long day.
|The lost years... |
Marginalized? Damn right, I'm marginalized. I'm marginalized as a son of a bitch. It was yesterday, yesterday three years ago, but it seems like it was yesterday yesterday, fucking groundhog day 2006, and the oversized rodent from Punxsutawney sure as fuck didn't see his shadow on that day of infamy either.
Yeah, that was the day those wiseacres in the House felt a momentary twinge of testosterone that lasted for just long enough for them to replace Tom Delay as House Majority Leader. They proceeded to put on the pink panties of submissiveness that day, old hoss, and they voted for one of the most effete losers in all of Congress, John 'Crybaby' Boehner.
Did you read that paragraph? No you didn't, because I'm pretty damn sure that you missed something. The words I used were House Majority Leader, not House Minority Loser, and I knew at that moment that it was all over but the gravedigging for those bozos; they were gonna spend a generation in the wilderness, and fuck me if The Hammer didn't hit that nail right on the head. I was out of that pit of vipers as quick as I could clean out all of my accounts. I hightailed it home to the still red state of Texas, and never looked back, other than to laugh in vindictive righteousness once in a while.
'So, whatcha doing back?' you ask, to which I reply shut your fucking mouth and listen to what The Hammer has to tell you. Never once have I voiced a proposition without you moronic citizens forefront on my mind, and today I've got a message for that lamebrained Messiah you've elected as your Comforter-in-Chief.
Hey Barack, you love Frankie Roosevelt so much, let me teach you a little history. Your boy Teddy took office on March 3, 1933, right? Google it. So, guess what did he do on his ninth day in office? This ain't a Jeopardy question, partner, so don't think about it too damn long. He repealed fucking prohibition, that's what the fuck he did.
Yeah, nine days in, and happy days were here again, at least as happy as could be expected in the middle of a goddamn depression, which, last time I checked, is the exact same shit pit that you're standing in about now. Did repealing prohibition somehow pull the country out of financial despair? Hell no, but at least you could drink a goddamn beer in public without worrying about John Law getting all over your shit.
You see where I'm going with this, compadre? You might have happened to notice the outraged reaction all across the country when Olympic Boy got exposed for toking on his bong...
Did he get banned from all future Olympic games? Fuck no, get outta here, he didn't even get an asterisk. Well then, maybe he lost all his lucrative endorsement deals, huh? Fuck no, are you insane? If anything, he's going to pick up a whole new demographic. Yeah, and as far as getting slammed in the court of popular opinion, right here is what the people are asking: "Can you imagine how much dew he inhaled, with his world-class lung capacity?"
Legalize it, Mister President, and that's the only time I'm ever gonna call you by your title unless you put some quality hemp on the street pronto. I'll tell you something, front and clear, because Tom Delay isn't afraid to admit anything to anybody. The Hammer likes to get hammered just as much as everybody else in Washington does. Why else would they keep forgetting to pay their taxes if it wasn't for the wacky weed? Tom Delay likes a good Texas-sized bong load of reefer along with his morning coffee, and he doesn't care who knows about it.
You know who else likes a little ganja? You do, Obama, it's written all over your face - how the fuck else can you put up with three hours of marching bands, answer me that. And don't give me this 'when I was young' bullshit, once you develop a taste, you've always got a taste. Bill Clinton is still smoking weed, although he has to keep his bowl hidden from Hillary. Bush? Play that one in reverse, son; he has to borrow his bowl back from Laura. Are you kidding me? The fool was fraternity brothers with Root Boy Slim, for chrissake, he hasn't been straight a day since 1965 (which is just about the time that Ronnie Reagan started hanging out with the Rat Pack, if you get my drift).
So give America a break and legalize it, why doncha? The government's been seriously fucked up ever since The Hammer left town, and The Hammer isn't coming back, not unless you want me to head up the Bureau for Reefer, Alcohol, Firearms and Tobacco. (RAFT, a much better acronym. My gift to you.)
The U.S. of A. has fallen on hard times, Obama, and we're going to be pinching those pennies for a long time to come, so it would be real nice if we could see a little Roosevelt in your actions to help us all get by. Just remember the words of Freewheelin' Franklin who wisely observed that 'Dope will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no dope'.
|Cast from the Stars... |
Get outta here, all of you, get the fuck out. Leaving, yeah I'm leaving, and you know what? In my mind I fucking won. I danced my goddamn feet to splinters. You got the balls to do that? You don't have the balls to do that.
I did the Tango, the Cha-cha, Meringue, the Mambo, it didn't matter to me, whatever the fuck they wanted to throw my way, they couldn't fluster Tom Delay. I'm an exterminator and I do my job. My job is my habit, and old habits die hard, just like the rumors of how the Hammer's time is over. Those cockroaches in the the media were gunning for me from Day 1, thinking they could call my number. They couldn't call my number.
The high heels called my number. Yeah, it was those Capezio shoes with the two inch heels, that's what kicked Tom Delay's ass to the curb. Nobody warns you about that part of show business, all it says in the contract is is that the fucking shoes are provided by the production company. A perk, I think, a little kickback.
Listen, if you wanna keep a high profile in this town, sometimes you've got to get out there and shake you booty. But on my mother's grave, no real man will shake his booty while wearing 2" Capezios. But I was cornered. I had already signed the sonofabitch contract, and no real man ever breaks a contract. A social contract, maybe, but a legal contract, never.
So I did it. I danced until my goddamn feet were crippled with stress fractures and I did it all brilliantly. I knew that either way I was doomed for a short period of time to the fate of not being a real man, so I chose the more lucrative of two sordid paths and I gave it all I had. I would have won, too, but for those fucking Capezios. People could not believe my animal grace. Some say that I was the best dancing Congressman ever, and I for one would not disagree.
The cockroaches ask 'is this it for the Hammer? Have we finally seen him dance his last?' In your dreams, cockroaches, Tom Delay is the man who always comes back. And I'll be back for the season finale to dance the Texas Two-Step on your pauper's grave. In my own goddamn cowboy boots.
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