I wake up every morning with Newt. He is one of the banes of my life. He lives in my neck just above the thyroid, which also has a tumor which for the purposes of this post I will call Dubya, because fuck that piece of shit. (I swear I could stand on line at his book-signing somewhere, get somebody to record the exchange, walk straight up to him and say this: I would never buy this book. I would never give you a penny. You are a war criminal. You belong in the same jail bin Laden does. I wipe my ass with your “book.” And proceed to do precisely that right in front of him, hopefully before my arrest. I wish him no harm at all; but people do need to stand before him and declare their contempt for everything he’s done, since finally he’s offering himself on at least fairly pubic view; how many more chances would we get to perform a little righteous street theatre on his thin New England ass?)
Newt presses down on my airway like a hand. I think of all Republicans and Tories in quite the same way.
Every morning Newt makes me gag and vomit. I have the same reaction to Sarah Palin. She reminds me of the antithesis of the old “I Choked Linda Lovelace” T-thirt: THE PALINS GAG ME. And they’d gag any voice that disagreed with theirs. She’s true fascism in a tight skirt. Evil speaks with millions of voices; interrogate every last one.
I hate this tumor. I will not hate Newt Gingrich. I never will hate any of them and neither should you. Hatred means the other side should simply die, which is ridiculuous. I’d far rather convert Newt Gingrich by simple weight of logic than see anything untoward happen to him or indeed anyone else on the American political Right, for several reasons but among them should be the practical adage that one should never make martyrs of enemies. My own personal injunctions go beyond that to be sure; probably yours do as well; I just don’t see any justification for killing, ever.
Life in jail, however, is another option, isn’t it?
Granted, I have to resist falling into any trap of hatred, even regarding people like Bush/Cheney and bin Laden; as a matter of medical fact, patients should keep close watch on any negative thoughts as they could affect their physical health. So I try. However desperately I’d love to slap Dubya sideways, or Rove, or indeed Osama and Ayman (I’d just love to slice that ganglioneuroma off Ayman’s head and feed it back to the motherfucker, but anyway:), I have to know better. For me, it’s getting late for anger. I’ve lived my entire life marinating in it, and it should be time I finish with it. I have friends whose Zen sense of love and continuity is a perpetual inspiration and they’re the ones who help keep me at my labors.
As for the tumor named Newt, I feel like quoting a Russian dissident: “I wish you nothing.” Please, friends and anyone who reads this, you needn’t fear disease nor even the death sentence disease imposes. What shall you do with your life?
Hatred is the one true currency of evil. I refuse to truly, unalterably hate my enemies. I recommend the same to you, with love. But as for this tumor, you’re fucking dead, cocksucker. I will mash you with my bare hands, I will turn you into risole, I will make you look worse than Sarah Palin’s chances at becoming Pope.
Fuck you, Newt. You and everybody who looks like you, in my body and everyone else’s. You’re a political tumor, Newt. You lack balls as well. Certainly your ex-wives know that.