Once upon a time in a special year known as 2008 in a magic land called the United States, a foundering political party had just lost its chance at a third term in the White House and at taking back the Senate and the House of Representatives. Worse, a brown-skinned minority man had been elected to serve as president. [Insert gasps here.] The wealthy power brokers had done all they could to ensure this would not happen, but too many of the “wrong kind” of people had turned out to vote at the polls on election day, and thus the gazillions of dollars and the hundreds of thousands of television ads were all for naught. The fear-mongering and the whispered smears had proven useless. What’s a declining political party to do?!?
The Republicans became a lonesome guy on a lonesome Saturday night with the hour edging closer to last call at the neighborhood watering hole. They looked across the bar in desperation, and then they saw her. She was old and missing some teeth, wearing a mismatched outfit, drinking cheap bourbon, and smoking no-name cigarettes. But what the hell! It was Saturday night, and they were lonely and you know the old song about all the girls getting prettier at closing time. So they decided to take a chance. Moseying over to the empty stool beside her, they struck up a conversation. She said her name was Miss Tea Bag, and it didn’t take long for them to figure out that her mental elevator didn’t quite make it to the penthouse. She even guffawed heartily through those few remaining teeth as they asked “If I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”
They took her home and let her crawl into bed with them. That was seven years ago, and they still can’t get rid of her.
She just flopped down on the couch (after determining she couldn’t fit into the recliner), took charge of the remote, and that was the end of it. She kept emptying the liquor cabinet and went through food like a swarm of ravenous locusts. She raided their wallet, then sent the neighbor kid down to the gas station to buy her more cheap smokes.
Oh, after the first three years, they still had hope they could turn her into a docile domesticated pet. They put lipstick on the pig, threw some glitter on her, and told her she looked right purty. She grinned that toothless grin, smacked her lips, and lit another cigarette. They introduced her to their new best friend Mitt, hoping she’d cozy up to him. Not a chance. She went through all their friends and acquaintances, before finally deciding to give poor Mitt a chance.
It didn’t work out; the electorate had a better idea and sent the brown-skinned man back to the presidency for four more years. Well, Miss Tea Bag never thought much of this Mitt guy to begin with and she sure didn’t cotton to no damned loser, especially one who let a colored man beat him. She told everyone she knew that he was the wrong man for her, and she couldn’t believe she let herself get talked into taking him. Poor Mitt was heartbroken.
So here it is seven years after they brought her home, and she still doesn’t show any signs of getting in line. They’ve brought in a new selection of possible suitors for her, all of whom promise more cheap whiskey and cigarettes as well as premium cable tv and guns with the serial numbers filed off. They each try to outdo the other: if one of them offers a half-gallon of Old Alky Bourbon, the next one offers that and ups his pledge to include a carton of Wheeze-N-Gag fine filtered cigarettes. The one after that says he’ll do all that plus take her out to the fast food franchise joint for fried baloney and velveeta biscuits every morning. Then one pledges that, plus he’ll take her down to the local Gun, Tattoo, Bible, and Doughnut Emporium and let her pick out a new gun once a month with her usual four dozen daily doughnuts. The next guy in line promises all that, except for a new gun once a week and a new tattoo once a month. It just goes downhill from there.
They still have hope. Yes, they do. However, no matter how desperately they keep pushing their favorite boy Jeb, Miss Tea Bag seems inclined at the moment to that loud-mouthed Donald guy with the cheesy comb-over hair, even though that Ted is kinda cute and he looks to be right smart. They keep telling her that unless she backs off and does as she’s told, Democrats will come take her guns, her dogs, her pick-up truck, and her single-wide trailer, then they’ll make her get gay-married, and put her into a FEMA re-education camp. She, however, is disinclined to budge and only sneers at Jeb over her fried baloney and velveeta biscuit. Her momma done told her that fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice you won’t get fooled again. Who can say how this will end?
The rest of us can see the train wreck that is inevitable. As the promises get more outlandish and bizarre, the opposition party is licking its chops mightily. The crazier Miss Tea Bag’s suitors get, the easier it will be for the Democrats to convince the sane majority of voters of their own candidate’s worth, whether it be the smart woman from New York or the smart man from Vermont. They know the smart money is on an electorate that is bright enough to recognize the distinct odor of sewage when they smell it.
The G.O.P. may not be in love with Miss Tea Bag anymore, but they let her climb into their king-sized bed and take over their once-happy home. She ain’t a-goin’ nowhere.