Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Goodbye, Karl-O.

And I'd beware of James Baker if he's sitting in the rear seat directly behind you.

I heard about the Rove “resignation” yesterday at around a quarter to seven a.m., and knew there would be a frenzy for much of the day, creating a total vacuum effect—drawing all the air out of the room as far as political analysis goes for the day.

I went through all the permutations—“Was he pushed?”, “Who's he gonna be working for?”, “Did one of the investigations evidentiary 'luminol' sprays turn up 'blood' he thought had been long-bleached away?” Found that I had to step away for a minute and look at the strange—in it's timing and tone—announcement, holistically, to get a true grasp of what it meant.

Think I got it, too.

The clunkiness, mixed-messages for leaving, and odd sudden-ness leads me to believe that while Rove may have had leaving in mind as an idea, forces with more ooomph than him, most certainly handed him the golden parachute, while also giving him a base-of-the-palm "nudge" out of the plane. If you trot out the euphemistic "I want to spend more time with my family.”, and then, just as quickly switch to "There was a Labor Day 'go now—or ride it out' deadline.”, all while the party is openly seething at your fealty to one man, while costing it Congressional control, and even seeing a state the GOP controlled as recently as last November have it's Republican party nearly broke , well...it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that maybe—just maybe some pissed-off people of influence pushed your wattled ass on out.

I see the long-ignored, Old School “Dons” like James Baker's hands all over this thing. That embarrassment of the Maryland GOP—where if you think about it, many GOP Beltway insiders actually live—being Samuel L. Jackson-in-“Jungle Fever”-broke, 16 months out of a huge election season is a borderline killing offense for a party supposedly fighting its way back to relevance. And Rove—lightning rod, nexus of hate and Bush fatigue, and reverse fund-raising tool for a super-majority crazed Democratic party out to put a boot on the GOP's neck come the next cycle, is as toxic for Republican candidates as his patron is.

There's going to be quite a bit of earth-salting, to purge what this short-sighted crew has done. You see it already in the re-emergence of tongue-clucking "Man...you fucked us up!” wingers like Gingrich and Armey on the public scene. Those guys are foresworn to the old "Dons"—not Rove, and for all their faults, are far more zealous on the idea of boosting the party as opposed to celebrating the “Cult of Personality” that Rove was so wedded to in his boy Bushie.

Rove had no intention, or clue of how to help the party proper regain its power, because that was never his game. He was the Blitzkrieg. The late 80's Tyson, with a cyclone of stunning, fearsome punches in the opening rounds.

Air Coryell.

Throwin', throwin', throwinbut in the end...no real ground game to keep things going.

And as his patron—Prexydent Mushferbrains, is mired with numbers that O.J. at a Klan rally could best—numbers that Rove can't turn around—and has a now dead legislative agenda for the remainder of his term/our sentence, there was no reason to fight for him any more.

What positives could he possibly bring at this point in the game?

None. In fact—he could only hurt Bush and the party in hanging around till the end. The law of averages was working against him. With the numerous investigations swirling about, sooner or later—in spite of the draconian levels of cover-up/record destruction/hiding behind privilege—one of those boils was gonna pop. At some point, after a long period of things going one way exclusively, you will get a “Sox in '04” moment. So, with Rove's being at the nexus of almost all of the probes, the best thing to do was to cut bait, lest that “Sox in '04” moment take the whole party down—because of their knee-jerk need to defend the President, the party's standard-bearer for the last six years. A helluva sacrifice when you think about it—because his ability to “rat-fuck” electorally from the White House is much more devastating from within than what it is from without. Executive Privilege is one bomb-ass perk—especially when you have use every exploitable element of the government at your fingertips. But they don't care about that anymore. The Republicans are right now, a wounded animal just trying to quietly limp back home where it can rest awhile and heal. Rove's lingering around is like a spotlight and klaxon trailing the beast's every wincing step through the forest.

“Woo-hooooo! Here I am! Come n' git me!”

These people are cutting their losses. '08's gonna be an absolute pig-fuck for 'em, and they know it. So someone's gotta pay. Desperate times and all that, dontcha'know? They're ragging Bush openly, and don't fear Rove anymore, as his “genius” has exposed him as much more “Archies-esque” than the “Beatles” he would have you think him to be.

And I seriously doubt he'll openly operate as the next GOP "Chosen One's” brain during the campaign season. They're running away from Bush. Having the man most closely allied with that which is anathema is pretty stupid politics, considering the jam the wingnuts are in. This is the guy who when Bush heard the voices in his head saying “Invade Iraq” let him listen to them, instead of strapping him down and force feeding him Paxil and Haldol—bottles and fucking all.

That's not the dude—who would also be under investigation for his various misdeeds— that any sane motherfucker would want within a light year of his campaign. (My caveat here, being the phrase, “sane motherfucker”—after all, this is the GOP we're talking about.)

So, it's bye-bye Karl-O...and off to repose in ol' Texas, where the babies are of course, bigger, and more succulent than the little, Eastern seaboard variety you sadly got so used to noshing on.

Enjoy your “resignation”, br'uh. Your self-decided “walk-away”. (Note how no one's wildly yelling "Come back, Shane!” as you go. )You've worked hard. But a word to the wise...

Stay off massage tables, out of elevators, revolving doors, out of bed with your wife and your buddy Jeff Gannon, and off hard, granite courthouse steps.

And I reiterate...don't sit in front of James Baker on the passenger side of the ol' Navigator either. It never ends well.