Hair of a Dog

Ever wonder why wingnuts don't hang around here much? Well, it's quite simple really. They don't have a collective hair on their spit-shined asses. Think about it. These pansies only know how to buck up when some shit-for-brains conservative "intellectual" gives them plenty of water and sunshine. When it comes to the simple, true elbow-grease of life, they could no more field a simple ground ball than Bill Buckner did on that infamous 25th day of October, 1986.

Yeah, they don't come around here because they know they couldn't scoop up even the sloppiest of bloopers hugging the base line. Not even in their wildest of dreams! So they cower like the Tories they are, in a corner, conniving and what not, only to be slapped down like the fools they are over and over again.

And that slapping down is just what happens to them in normal everyday life.

So, when a wingnut stumbles along and gets too close around this way, he/she/it shits their pants. They cannot handle reality in its clearest form. Hell, they can't handle reality in its foggiest form. Reality is like being too close to molten lava for wingnuts. And when they come around here, it's like being damned to eternal hell!

But wingnuts are dreaming, and in their dreams it is raining. The rain is so cooling and nurturing, life giving, they can't get enough. Their conservative ideals are loved by everyone, and they work...really...

Then they wake up in the morning, to the Hair of a Dog.