scrapiana

I wander disconsolately 'round the web, clicking here and there to find my way in these troubled times. America's current political play is on the brink of some extreme change or other, but I can't tell whether this damn show is a comedy, or tragedy, or one of those newspeak corporate 'dramedy' things I keep seeing on TV.

Yet I sense in the trembling threads of the web, a catch has been made and the spider of public opinion is rushing to tangle up the victim's wings, then wrap and suck him dry.

Suddenly, in my peregrinating dreams, an electric sheep has given me a script! Quickly, I skim through the pages, riffling up to the present.

The first act of the show saw the fearless Bushboy tumbled into a mighty war and the second saw him successfully struggling to overcome his enemies..then came a summer intermission where we all enjoyed shocking lobby entertainment with a Kali-esque skit called 'Acts of Mother Nature'...complete with chorus of grieving mothers wailing on the mall...ahhh, but the intermission lights have just dimmed. The audience is called to return to their seats.

As in any good theatre, the majority of the audience continues with their conversations, getting that last bit of nosh from the reception tables or just running off to take a quick leak before the ushers decide to close the doors and the curtains rise once again. Everyone wonders what Act III will bring...will the fearless Bushboy be undone by his slimy advisors? Where has his old man Cheney been? What shocking revelation will be tossed at the audience in the upcoming scenes?

There have been some rather interesting predictions made, from well considered establishment politicos to the odd psychic renderings of the far, far outers. I am neither, but I do have a suspicion to present, gleaned from the ephemeral pages given to me by Maaaaa, the chief sheep to this little Babe in the (ahh, ferget it)...Let's just take our seats now.

The scene opens downstage right - with all of us in the dark, a powerful stench is brewing...Something big is going to blow! I'm talking some real political nukular fallout up onstage, spilling from the beltway. Nations downwind take note....

Shhhh! the main curtain rises - Act III, Scene 1. Amid the wisps of a stinking fog and the yammer of a dissatisfied chorus- Harriet's nomination flops, (The script notes reveal that she was a red (state) herring anyway, designed to cause pressure and distress to make way for a more powerful and radical rightwing candidate that a worn out Senate would approve in desperation.) With dignity, Bushboy moves to stage right and reaches out his hand to take his cue and announce the ....

But wait, there is a noise coming from just off-stage left...a new set of actors emerge to take center stage! Bushboy and his doughty allies are faced with a feisty little terrier by the name of Fitzgerald, who pulls back a curtain in the corner. Revealed to all are the intricate machinations of the old man and his Roving gang of neo-cons. Party players in the chorus call for blood, running to and fro to cast off their pledges of allegience and don their cloaks of righteous indignation.

Bushboy is aghast, just as he was reaching to pull out a plum from the pie...his panties are threatening to fall! He calls out to his Raven tressed rIce-maiden, Condi! Casting aside her modesty, the valiant warrior-princess...the stately wonder-woman capable of taking on the vile oil-drenched demons of the east, answers his operatic call to take up the flag of the fallen vice-man and shield her beloved Bushboy from the glare of publicity! ...

The pages of my dream script crumble...alas, I have no idea what is going on!

At least, I think this is one scenario that could be played out, but I may be wrong. Lots of other folks have been hinting that they have seen this script too, but then again, the actors are playing a deep, deep game.

Next time...I want to propose a new rubric for determining the Bushboy's depth of political doo-doo...Brownie Points!