The I-Man's Blog: John Boehner

Well, that didn’t take long.  A few blogs ago, talking about the new congress, I wrote something along these lines:  “You thought Nancy Pelosi was a long day?  They’ll have to come up with a new method of telling time to measure John Boehner’s capacity to wear you out.”

I’m there.  Pelosi hasn’t even handed the Speaker’s gavel to him yet and he’s completely worn me out.  What is it with this crazy bastard?  If John Boehner ever actually manages to climb the stairs to the Speaker’s platform without dissolving into a blubbering puddle of lacrimal psychosis disorders, I’ll be astonished.  Along with a host of other unenviable traits, the sonofabitch cries at anything and it’s creeping me out.

What the hell is that?  If you look at him cross-eyed he disintegrates. Can’t function. And I don’t mean just a tear or two you dab away with a quick application of a corner of Kleenex.  No, no.  This is street-screamer crazy.  It starts with a quaver in his voice.  Then there’s the eye shift followed by the lip bite and the horridly long pause as he struggles to keep it together. Then total, estrogen-fueled, moon-pie implosion as words choke out in ragged squeaks and his hands wave around helplessly. Jesus god. It makes you want to dig a hole and die it’s so embarrassing. And this could be our President should something horrible happen that decapitated America’s top leadership?  That’s not so farfetched, either, given how screwed up everything is.  Wikileaks, as just one example, getting a digital download from an Army buck private, for godssake, of every intelligence secret we ever had short of our damn nuclear codes.  How the hell could we operate with a “commander in chief” who couldn’t be permitted to get two feet away from a “handkerchief”? 

Our Edmund Muskie on steroids says he no longer can even visit a school without having a meltdown, because he can’t handle “seeing all those little children pursuing the American Dream.” Gag me. You know what he can’t handle?  He can’t handle the fact that you can’t smoke in school. Even in the boys’ room. Not that he might not want to hang out in the boys’ room whether he’s smoking in there or not. I don’t know. I do know that John Boehner brings fresh intensity to the word, “phony.”  If he’s so concerned about kids in school running after the American Dream, then he might want to set an example for them so that they’re able to run by knocking off the kind of cigarette habit we haven’t seen since the late Marlboro man turned his lungs into charcoal deposits. It also might enhance Boehner’s believability to a degree if he stopped his addiction to buckets of “fat-cat cash” from Big Tobacco for a few minutes.

One final thing Mr. Boehner might do to get some of the shuck-and-jive off him; come clean on the tanning deal.  To this point he flatly denies that he’s a regular at the local Irradiation Cancer Salon.  Actually, it could be that he’s not.  Those things just turn you “uranium red” and make your skin flake off in sheets.  I don’t think you can achieve Boehner’s particular hue unless you run yourself through one of those Earl Scheib chambers that “spray” on the sham color. Either way, the bottom line is who does he think he’s fooling?  If he can’t just say, “Yes, to go along with my utterly phony concern for others I also fake a year-round tan,” what else is he willing to lie to us about?

So, here’s what I’m predicting, and you know I’m not often wrong sizing up this kind of thing:  I’m saying that when we all get a full dose of this stilted stiff…as god-awful synthetic, pretentious and counterfeit as she was, we’ll soon be chanting, “Bring back Nancy.” For Mr. Boehner not only drank the Kool Aid, he marinated in it.  And it was orange.