Today, with much fanfare, Strom Thurmond turned 100 years old. I was reminded of the Simpsons episode where they had a newspaper story about Burns, and the subhead read “Credits long life to Satan.” Did you see the Marylin Monroe impersonator who sang him “Happy Birthday”? And did you see him reach out and grab her as if she were a giant turkey leg? Poor bastard.
And of course I say “poor bastard” because I feel for the guy. Mostly I feel vague hatred, because he’s such a vile old wallet of a man. He’s a steak from Denny’s left forgotten under the broiler and then absentmindedy dressed in a waiter’s revenge of pork fat, lemon juice and graft. Now, it is, of course, easy sport to make fun of this guy any more. Thank goodness. In an age where spin and doubletalk increasingly insulate politicians from good old mean-spirited cock-twisting just for the fun of it, old Strom still makes it easy for jerkoffs like me: he’s never done any single good thing in his political life, so I can have at it, and it requires virtually no effort.
Thank you, Strom. Thank you for being such an awful person. I’ll never forget you, no matter how hard I try. Because I’m pretty sure that someday, someone will name a fucking airport after you.