Welcome to the world of the politics of personal destruction, you tubthumping, chin-jutting, Bush humping gits. Welcome to the nasty and partisan world that Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter, Michelle Malkin, Hugh Hewitt, Grover Norquist, Newt Gingrich, Tom DeLay, and a legion of insignificant lowest-rung toadies like yourselves nurtured into fruition daily with eager, grubby hands, and now look upon with dull-faced faux horror.
I know you hate me, and anyone else who dares disturb the thin strands of alternate reality in which George W. Bush is an intellectual giant, Saddam really was responsible for 9/11, the economy is getting better by the minute, and we capture the most very important members of al Qaeda on a weekly basis.
But here's some advice. You'd better start hating me more. This is the world you forged and, unfortunately for you, I'm beginning to take a fancy for it. Welcome to the politics of your own party, finally sprouting from the ground on which you planted the seeds and shat upon them.
Step back from the edge? You poor boy, asleep in the back of the car the whole trip, finally waking up and wondering where you're at.
Swift boats. Aluminum tubes. Niger uranium. "Mushroom clouds". Whitewater.
Vince Fucking Foster.
You can't even see the edge from here. You left it behind a hundred miles back.
A bit over the top? Perhaps. But I gotta say, anyone who now whines for decency on behalf of Tom DeLay after advancing the slander that Bill Clinton called out a hit on Vince Foster deserves, at the very least, to be bitch-slapped and have a cup of hot coffee thrown in their face. And by "coffee," of course, I mean "battery acid."
Welcome to the world you helped create, Tommy. Sucks, don't it?