Friday, July 22, 2011, 9:30 p.m. EST.
Well that was a fun news conference tonight. Fuck my life. Walking out in front of those damn reporters after Mr. Law Professor hits it out of the park, and presents me as Casper Milquetoast, unable to control the lunatics in my party who won't compromise on their beliefs for anything. "Can they say yes to anything?" Jesus H. Christ. I'll give him that one, although never publicly. It isn't even a matter of control, I can't even influence those bastards. Worse was marching out there and acting confident, and pretending that I don't know my Speakership is essentially over. Fuck my life. I did my best. People don't know this, but you don't go before the press and say what you really think. You stick to the script, no matter how tired and stale it has become. Now I watch the news and read shit online, and everyone fawns over Obama, and what do I get? Speculation that I was drunk. Sure, I took a couple of shots. You find yourself choosing between your political future and the economic stability of the fucking world, and see if you want a drink. In fact, time for another one.
Now let's see, should I drink enough so that I can't fall asleep tonight, or should I drink so much that I pass out? That's a nightly choice these days, but with Mr. President ordering me to the White House in the morning, I'd better take it easy.
Fuck my life, and fuck the house freshmen. I mean, sooner or later, every idealist who comes to congress realizes that they have to play ball to get anything done. But not those tea-party freshmen. Those little fuckers don't know their place, and Cantor's been no help.
Speaking of Cantor, that twit can go fuck himself. I swear that for the longest time, I thought that stuffed shirt had some sort of man-crush on me. It was the way he looked at me. You can go back through the press photographs of our joint appearances, and he is always looking, or gazing at me while I speak with a sort of beautific, attentive expression on his face. That's the same expression he had when we talked one on one. I couldn't maintain eye contact for long, because I got uncomfortable.
Cantor's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he saw an opportunity with those fucking tea-baggers. He saw that they perceived me as a traitor for dealing with Obama at all, and he fanned that fire. That's fine for him, it is a lot easier to be Majority Leader and strut around in front of a bunch of eager freshmen than it is to be Speaker. He doesn't have the responsible to govern, or the responsibility for our record of achievement. I do. And like I give a shit about the fucking social issue dog-whistles or absolutism those fucks preach.
I'll never get credit for this, but I let that prick Cantor take the spotlight for awhile. Oh, how the press loved chewing me up and spitting me out, speculating that I was no longer the de facto leader of House Republicans, and that Eric had to take charge. But Cantor was so fucking full of himself, preening like a peacock in front of those neophyte freshman zealots and the press, and undermining my efforts. Reinforcing the no revenues of any fucking kind idea over and over and over, making any compromise unthinkable. As thought I was in some easy position to begin with. I was on the way to a Republican victory while we only controlled the House. I still think I could have convinced those freshman nitwits that some revenue increases had to happen, and that I would cover them at election time. But super genius Eric steps in and snatches defeat from the jaws of victory. When Norquist is giving you cover on taxes, you know things are bad. Thanks, Eric. Oh, I won't forget, Eric.
No one would believe this, but I met with Republicans I won't name here, Steny Hoyer, Turtle-Face and Pelosi, and agreed to leak to the press that Cantor was the impediment to a deal. God how he embarrassed us in those meetings with the president. God's petulant gift to teabaggers, interrupting the president and acting like he was in charge. Then we all sit in silence, afraid to even look at Obama, who was in fact furious, and justifiably so. It was though if there was any sign of progress, Eric would derail it. So we leak that Cantor's the problem, hoping to shift the playing field to get the fanatics off balance so we can do a deal. It didn't all go as we planned, but that prick's credibility was destroyed. We haven't heard much from him since. I'll bet that wasn't fun, wasn't it, Eric? Not so much fun to be blamed for being an asshole, was it, Eric?
But I also had to deal with major power-brokers from Wall Street. Now that I've had a few drinks, I'm going to get a few things off my chest. Anyone who thinks that all is harmony in the Republican party, or that we all get along, is deluding themselves. Does any family even all get along? There are plenty of assholes in my party. But few rival the arrogance and entitlement of the Wall Street Gods who think they own us. Fuck, they do own us. But I don't have to like it. A week ago, I had a major Wall Street "power broker" come to my office and chew me out as if I were a child. This guy is major, everyone is afraid of him. But I had a couple of shots before he came. So this fuck is telling me to get my house in order, as though that's clever or something, or as if I don't know how catastrophic a default would be on the markets. Fuck him. I just lost it, and told him that he and his friends were the ones that agreed to Rove's plans to mobilize the uneducated Bible-bangers to vote on hillbilly social issues, and vote pro-Wall Street while they were at it. Hell, I know I was in on it, and didn't object. But we just pushed and pushed on the social issues that frankly, I don't give a shit about.
So Obama gets elected, and the Wall Street types conclude that we can harness these racist yahoos to get whatever we want. Then it just explodes, and we have local Republicans sending out shit with pictures of Obama with a bone in his nose, and with watermelon gardens at the White House. The fucking bottom line truth is that while we wanted these morons to vote for us, we didn't expect to find them actually holding office. But 2010 comes and goes, and I take the Speakership, but with a freshman class of fucking zealots. Boehner's first rule of governance: Zealots don't compromise. Yeah, we're all a bunch of geniuses.
I'm tired working with idiots. A day can't pass without Gohmert proving yet again that yes, a human being can live without a brain. And Bachmann. Campaigning to run for president on the "never raise the debt ceiling" platform. Just great. Did you learn that kind of strategy at your "law school" Michele? I'm sure Wall Street bill bankroll your campaign with that motto. And what a lovely First Family you would make, a Jesus-freak woman with 16th Century beliefs as President and her closet case husband as First Whatever. But he's a fine dancer. . .
Obama's got me over a barrel now. Oh, I can scream about how he has no plan, but we all know who will take the blame if we default. Republicans in the House, and I am the Speaker. He's proposing these huge cuts to the Big 3, but always including tax hikes, knowing my freshmen will never allow it. I know how this will likely end. There's no point in some kind of small deal that my freshmen temper-tantrum toddlers will pass. So I will have to crawl to the House Democrats to deliver a clean bill to raise the debt ceiling to avoid default, and lose my speakership. Fuck my life.
I don't even want to go to sleep, because that will make tomorrow come so much faster. We'll have to send some message to Wall Street over the weekend, to stabilize the world financial markets Monday morning. Hey Wall Street, I've got your message right here.
The hell with this. I need a break. Maybe Under Siege II is on again.