Sunday, bloody Sunday

You can imagine how thrilled Phillipe and Jorge were as we watched the GOP celebrate in Washington, DC, during Inauguration weekend. First, we had Ricky Martin, the newly nominated secretary of thong underwear, coaxing the little pinhead into shaking his booty, making it look as if Dubya had his own taste of the lethal injections that he was so fond of administering in Texas. And whose heart wouldn't be warmed by the sight of Junior's Stetson-wearing, "all hat and no cowboy" chums from the Lone Star State, lurching and bellowing through the streets of Georgetown on Saturday night? Meanwhile, vodka-and-Viagra-infused CEOs from Big Oil, and the mining, logging, and pharmaceutical industries, with fur-clad trophy wives hanging on the arms of their sugar daddy pinstriped suits, were backslapping with "Big Time" Cheney and figuring out where their desks will go in the Oval Office, alongside Chuck Heston's central command post, with Junior's playpen in the corner.

Watching Dubya handlers Karl Rove, Kathleen Hughes, and Mary Matalin making the rounds of the chattering heads shows Sunday morning was both depressing and frightening. The scariest part is that these creeps finally flaunted their true colors -- displaying not compassionate conservatism, but the crackpot conservatism that many people knew lay behind Junior's false façade even as Trent Lott, Tom DeLay, and their reptile hordes, lay low in the tall grass during the campaign.

One needed only to look at Cheney and his little dope sidekick on the steps of the Capitol during and after the induction ceremonies to twig to what was going on. Big Time couldn't wait to get out of camera range and call a CEO board meeting with his business pals, while Dubya went out and danced with his bride at so many balls that he actually took the next day off -- a trick that will often be repeated during this faux president's administration. While Big Time whipped the storm troopers into line, Dubya was still wandering the hallways of the White House, wondering where he he can take a good soak with his little rubber ducky. But every time Big Time takes a break to go to the gent's room, Poppy's Boy reveals startling things, like his outright desire to overturn Roe v. Wade and drill for oil in Alaskan forest reserves.

Maybe it's time to start borrowing some materials from the Steinway after all.

What are we thinking?

Brown University's Darrell West, the Biggest Little's peerless pundit & pollmaster general, has a new book out, written in conjunction with Thomas Anton and Jack Combs. It reviews many of the surveys that West, Anton, and Combs have conducted over the years on various political and policy issues.

While the book sounds like a valuable resource, we can't help thinking that with a title like What Are Rhode Islanders Thinking?, there's a whole different sociological direction that Professor West and his cohorts could pursue. All chapters would begin with the question, "What are Rhode Islanders thinking . . . " and continue with the remainder of the query, such as " . . . when they rush to the Stop & Shop, based on prodding of the ever-dubious Gary Ley, to buy massive quantities of bread and milk?"

Or, "What are Rhode Islanders thinking . . . when they believe they've fooled a friend by claiming to have `connections' at Twin Oaks, but still end up waiting two hours for a table?" Or, how about, "What are Rhode Islanders thinking . . . when they can more readily identify NiRoPe than any three members of Bush's cabinet (or Clinton's, for that matter)?" And, indeed, "What are Rhode Islanders thinking . . . when they begin to approach a yellow light?" Anyone who can answer that one gets a free stuffie, courtesy of your superior correspondents, at Nick-a-Nee's.

Punky & Pathetic

Phillipe and Jorge used to call him "Pucky," but perhaps "Punky" should be the nickname now that House Speaker John Harwood is behaving like an absolute punk, helping relatives and friends get top government positions with little public input -- shamelessness that is reminiscent of Vo Dilun's disgraceful days of the early 1900s. Not to mention that the lifetime appointment he orchestrated for his wife, Patty, as a Superior Court magistrate, brings an extra $75K a year into the household.

P&J are still waiting for Chief Justice Joe Weisberger, the most shilled-out supreme since Diana Ross, to make public full the list of candidates for the magistrate's post, as both Pathetic . . . er, Patty Harwood and Operation Clean Government have requested. Hey Joe, no worries about doing it now -- as a crony of Punky's, your reputation can't get much worse. Yep, in the Biggest Little we get the best judges money can buy.

And while Punky's old law partner, Daniel McKinnon, dropped out of consideration to replace Patty, shuffling parking tickets for a few hours each week to earn an annual $20,000, he did so with all the grace that one has come to expect from Punky's pals. We love how he claimed those "would-be reformers" are "keeping good people out of politics." And who might that be, Danny?

Finally, we come to Punky's ice hockey pal, former Representative Edward In(sider)man, who was foisted on the citizenry as secretary of state by the speaker. After reading a glowing article about his teaching ability in the Other Paper, we wonder how In(sider)man might explain to his former middle schoolers what ethics in government means.

Gubernatorial sweepstakes

P&J would suggest to Representative Tony Pires, chairman of the House Finance Committee, and an ally of Punky's, to check the label on that bottle he's been swigging from before he starts announcing his desire to run for governor. Pires has been in the tank for the House leadership for so long he has grown gills, and has name recognition is somewhat lower than that of the State House custodian. Back to P'tucket, Tony -- at least that way Punky can get you a job without the hassle of public scrutiny or votes.

But regardless of how unlikely it may seem at this moment for Representative Pires to be making noises about a gubernatorial bid, the notion may not be as far-fetched as it seems. Despite the fact that higher profile Democrats, like Whitehouse, Weygand, and Fogarty, are all interested and presumed to be running (along with a few surprise turkeys, like Aram Garabedian), the sheer number of contenders would offer some benefit to Pires. He will have the time to get better known while the perceived frontrunner, AG Whitebread, is in a truly vulnerable, high-risk position. This is truly a job where bad things happen to good people. Chronically. (One need not take our word for this -- just give Jeff Pine or Jim O'Neil a call).

Actually, Fogarty is in the most enviable position. As lieutenant governor, he pretty much can create his own agenda and pursue it as he wishes. The frequency with which we've seen Charlie's adorable bulging forehead on the news in the past couple of years indicates that he's making the most of his opportunities, crusading for a variety of issues. Weygand can keep a low profile for a while and then pop up (undoubtedly looking 10 years younger, due to his presumed pact with Satan to to fulfill Oscar Wilde's fictive prophecy) just in time to remind everyone of his long and distinguished record.

And what's the deal with Garabedian? If he's successful in running, we suggest he remove that speed bump in front of the State House (which has slowed passing traffic to a crawl since a Urinal scribe began writing about it) and relocate it in the general vicinity of his ego.

Upping the ante

With the murder of young Katherine Brown, allegedly by her boyfriend, in Barrington, we think once again of how lightly we treat domestic abuse, especially when the hand-wringing begins over crack smoking or heroin use (although our memory of the slayings in that town of Barbara Conway Cundy and the Brendels puts the lie to the "It can't happen here" kind of thinking).

It also makes us think of the rap, hip-hop and pro wrestling culture, in which calling a woman a "ho" is blithely accepted not just by society in general, but the the younger generation of teenagers. While P&J are big fans of artistic license and freedom, the fault lies with those who readily produce this crap, such as record company executives and their (excuse us while we vomit) "artists." If calling a woman a "ho" is deemed acceptable, then perhaps we should start referring to the black artists who do so as "niggers," twisted punks like Eminem as "white trash" and Jewish record company executives as "kikes." We're sure they would find that just as enjoyable as women do when they're denigrated and defiled as "hos."

Doing the right thing

It wasn't exactly an Earth-shattering surprise to hear Senator Jack Reed explain that he wouldn't be supporting the nomination of right-wing nutbag John Ashcroft for attorney general. Your superior correspondents expected Jack to do the right thing (which he almost always does) by refusing to do the far right thing. Sadly, the same cannot be said for Linc "Monkey In the Middle" Chafee. We do appreciate, though, that Trent Lott has probably already displayed for Linc photos of the giant GOP vise that would be used on young Chafee's cojones if he didn't come around for the Crisco Kid.

At the same time, Linc is left with no reason to support Ashcroft, other than the philosophical belief that a president should be able to select the cabinet heads he wants, resulting in sotto voce "advice" and rubber stamp "consent."

After wasting far too many hours of our adult lives watching TV cop shows (especially the amazing CHiPs), P&J recognize that Jack is unwittingly playing "good cop/bad cop" with his Capitol colleague, Patrick "the Sailor Man" Kennedy. Although they work in different chambers, on different legislative packages, the two are, philosophically, nearly twins. The main difference is that Patrick plays "bad cop" by going for the jugular against yahoos like Ashcroft, while Jack lays back, exudes a contemplative demeanor, and, in the end, takes the exact same position that Patrick espoused earlier. Patrick may get the headlines, but he also gets the headaches. By being out front too soon, he appears to be brash, shrill and immature. Wonder if all those folks who badmouth Patrick while openly admiring Senator Reed (as well they should) have ever thought of that?

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