It has been brought to my attention that, earlier today, my husband posted derogatory remarks about the current leader of the Republican party, Rush Limbaugh.
While I have nothing but love and respect for Chris, I want to state for the record that I regard his behavior as grossly irresponsible in light of his role as father of two young children and guardian of one incredibly needy Great Dane puppy whom I have absolutely no intention of taking for her nightly walk in this brutally frigid March weather.
Although not an especially religious woman, and so loath to believe the rumors that Limbaugh sold his soul to
Dick Cheney Beelzebub, I too have periodically wondered how a thrice-divorced one-time drug addict remains the unchallenged Messiah of the usually highly judgmental conservative base. Sadly, I can think of no benign explanation that offers adequate reassurance in the face of Chris's rash comments.
And so, while it pains me as a left-leaning political journalist, I find myself moved to ask Mr. Limbaugh to spare my mate: Hold back your winged monkeys or lightning bolts or dark magic or whatever it is that you dispatched to reduce Steele and Gingrey to jelly with such breath-taking speed. Don't think of it as an act of compassion (we all know how you feel about compassionate conservatism) so much as a strategic conservation of power. Why waste time smiting one smart-ass liberal blogger when you have so many squabbling children in your own house to jerk back into line? I know it seems inconceivable now, but someday, someone in your pathetic shell of a party may actually grow a pair and take a hard stand against your delightfully piquant brand of demoagogery. Best to keep yourself sharp and focused on that coming battle.
Or, at the very least, please reserve your wrath until I get this damn puppy housebroken.