What's a liberal critic to do without his most beloved target?
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2009/01/30/notes013009.DTL&nl=fixOft is the question asked of me of late, either a bit sneeringly and with a spittle-flecked tone of right-wing "take that"-ism, or gently and ironically, with prodding humor and genuine curiosity overlaid with all sorts of Obamafied goodvibes: Now what, Mr. Liberal Columnist?
The Bumbling One has left the building. The banal demon has been forcibly sucked back into the horror-movie canister from whence he escaped eight years ago, and reburied in the back yard of your darkest Ann Coulter nightmare. Dubya, W, Shrub, the Decider, Chimp, Junior, Boy King, Smirk, he ambles no longer across the stage of our collective outrage. The easy punch line is no more.
It raises the ultimate question for anyone in my line of work: What's a left-leaning columnist (or satirist, political cartoonist, opinionator, et al) to do without the best and finest target in a lifetime? How will I ever survive without the Shrubster to kick around so effortlessly? Where, pray tell, will I ever find such a wicked wealth of material again?
It is no trivial query. As everyone from Jon Stewart to Steven Colbert to Maureen Dowd knows, Bush and his cadre of flying monkeys presented a beautifully, frighteningly, wondrously easy target, so rich with absurdities and shamefulness and uncanny, phlegmy evil, it was a bit like a foot fetishist at a pedicure expo, an alcoholic strolling through Oktoberfest. How could you not get completely drunk on the whole obscene spectacle of it? ...