Have you ever heard a teabagger talk and wondered what kind of infection could cause the human brain to suffer so much reason-bleed?
When the debate was raging about whether the feds should rescue the auto industry, afflicted teabagger types argued that President Obama wanted to “bail out” car makers because he wanted to take over Detroit’s decision-making and run the car companies himself.
At the time, I asked myself what kind of grassy knoller could think that Barack Obama ran for President of the United States so he could run car companies. Who would run for an office the attainment of which would render him the most powerful human being on the planet and then, with the world’s most potent military and a globe full of fans behind him, decide that he’d like to spend his time on Pennsylvania Avenue picking colors for the Ford Focus? This notion is insane.
More recently I was wondering how much differently my brain would have to be wired for me to believe that climate change is a progressive conspiracy the aim of which is to establish global socialist hegemony. The number of implausible clandestine folds in that galactic accordion of intrigue would be staggering—and yet there are tens of millions of stooges who believe it.
Around the time that George W. Bush was appointed president, I began to change my view of Republicanism. Whereas I have never agreed with overarching Republican policy objectives, there was a time when I at least regarded conservatives as serious people with serious arguments they brought to bear.
But it began to occur to me with the ascendency of a barefaced buffoon to the apex of right-wing politics that maybe conservatism was not just a political disposition. And as George W. Bush’s corporate-Jesus coalition evolved into a throng that could call Sarah Palin and Michele Bachmann its own, Republicanism completed its transition from political ideology into psychological disorder