Volume 3, Number 4
We will kill the ones that eat us and eat the ones we kill...Hello kids, Skip here with you again. I am once more among the masses, bringing nuggets of wisdom to lighten your daily load. Thank the Lord that he has seen fit to provide you with me, to give you direction in the dull gray haze that is the nineties. It was a near thing I can tell you. I am, even now, just moments from my deathbed, writhing in pain while I felt the juices in my brain pan boil with fever. Luckily for all of you, my loyal, bleating sheep, that I was able to beat back the virus which raged in my system lo these many days.
In my fever induced dementia I was comforted by the half-mad ramblings of a former hillbilly drunk named Hunter. Indulging in the apocryphal prose of the good doctor is not wise even for the healthiest of minds. Grown men have been known to weep openly upon gazing at his screeds. Young mothers have spontaneously combusted after merely being told about some his dark and twisted stories. To dive into his world while in the clutches of an hallucination-inducing fever is at best unwise. I did this though, for you, for all of you who look to me to make sense of the world around us in a way that even you can understand.
I think that Hunter must be tired now. He has fought the good fight for oh so many years against the hacks and the fixers and against the politicians who in his immortal words "are so crooked that they need a brace of secret service agents to screw their pants on in the morning." He has illuminated the darkness, he has exposed corruption and he has always set a reasonable betting line for those of us who like to pick up a little cash with our punditry. In short, to once again steal from the good doctor, "He stomped on the terra" and Lord! it was a sight to behold.
But it is hard to carry on the doctor's work nowadays. HST had targets like Johnson and Nixon and Muskie and Reagan and Bush. The crimes he railed against were corruption and secret police forces and selling arms to terrorists. Compared to that, what do we have? The possibility that the skirt-crazed redneck currently residing on Pennsylvania had sex with an intern who was over 18 at the time? The twisted ramblings of the failed hack author who is the Speaker of the House? An uninspiring collection of misfits and lightweights who even now are lining up to take a shot at becoming the most powerful figurehead in the world?
These are sad days for pundits, my friends. Oh, for the days when there were true and obscene criminals in the halls of power. Men for whom it meant nothing to trample the civil liberties of the populace at dawn and then use the constitution to start the breakfast fire. Dangerous nitwits like Ollie North and Adm. Poindexter who thought it a capital idea to sell a few missiles to terrorists to help out the freedom fighters in Nicaragua. (whatever became of the Sandinistas anyway?) Full-on insane operatives like G. Gordon Liddy and his parlor trick of lighting his own hand to prove a point. (what was that point, Gordo?) The crazies and the nut jobs and out and out loons have all gone away. Replaced by bright-eyed nice boys who know what's best and are bound and determined to do it.
Who am I to rage against? Am I supposed to care that the president got blown by an intern? Am I supposed to care that he told her to keep it quiet? Am I supposed to rail against the right wing for how they want to spend the budget surplus? The single most frightening specter on the horizon is that Dan Quayle will crank up a presidential campaign in the year 2000. Read that again - is this how far we've fallen? Dan Quayle as the national bogeyman? Nixon is rolling in his grave, if in fact he is dead, but that's another story altogether.
Yes, Nixon is probably dead. Reagan is well on his way to becoming a vegetable. Bush is a harmless old man. Liddy is a talk show host and North...seems to have disappeared entirely after the whipping he received in his Senate attempt. All of the villains are long gone now. The front is quiet, the guns are stilled, the populace on the whole is prosperous and content. That is all well and good for Joe Sixpack, but it wreaks hell on those of us that need something to rail against.
Sleep well Dr. Thompson, you have earned a long and peaceful rest...
Res ipsa locquitor