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COMBAT RADIO -- L.A. TALK RADIO -- ON THIS MORNING 10-12

TRUMP CAN’T BE STOPPED WITH CONVENTIONAL WEAPONS

Now that the general election is virtually underway, not a day goes by without some new bombshell. Some of them fired by Trump, like when he does his passive/aggressive “people are saying” routine by bringing up Vince Foster. And it works. It works because the media chews on how insane it is. But they talk about it. Which is why it works.

Although most of the on-air talk lately revolves around Trump and his travelling reality show – The Daily Contradiction. He contradicted himself once on climate change, twice on guns in schools -- in the same sentence. He’s being challenged on his alleged $1 million contribution to veterans, his refusal to release his tax returns, his flip-flopping on self-funding. The accusations were dead on, backed up by facts and research, and delivered with an air of finality, like a final checkmate move in which one’s opponent has no choice but to topple his king and admit defeat. And that might be true, if this were a chess game. But it’s not. It’s a street fight. And only Trump knows that, which is why he can’t be hurt by any conventional political weapons, like facts.

Contradictions bounce off the man like bricks off Superman. He doesn’t give a crap about hypocrisy. Accuse him of lying, he’ll call you a liar for accusing him. Attack the attacker. Just like Scientology.  Or he’ll strike back on Twitter, and you can’t beat him on Twitter. There’s no judge on Twitter. No ref. No fact-checkers.  And he’s not visible, which means he’s not vulnerable. Or he’ll call in to some friendly morning show to offer a one-sided rebuttal, where, in most cases, he won’t be challenged because the shows fear losing access.

You can’t expose Trump’s beliefs because he has no beliefs. Shit flows out of his mouth on an ad hoc basis, crafted to rile up the crowd. And it works, because they don’t know what he’s saying, they just love the way he says it. If he says to boo journalists, they boo. If he said to applaud them, they’d applaud. He’s a clown, pulling streams of colored handkerchiefs out of his sleeve at a children’s party. And the children are delighted. Their love for this guy isn’t rational. It’s emotional. Trump promises change, but has no ability to deliver it, nor any core philosophy to base it on. He treats the electorate like woman he’s trying to talk into bed. “It’s going to be fantastic!” “You’re gonna be so happy! “You’ll have so many orgasms it’ll make your head spin.“

The Trump train is running on smoke, mirrors, and bullshit, His rallies are partisan love fests. And the convention in Cleveland will have all the gravitas of halftime at the Super Bowl. It’s not a campaign. It’s a show. And the only way to reveal the inner workings of a show is to lift back the curtain. And that won’t happen until the debates, where he’ll be naked and exposed, and can be hit in his Achilles heel – his stupidity.

Trump is stupid. Yes, he’s rich, and clever and shrewd and ruthless. But he’s stupid. A dunce. An imbecile. An ignoramus. That’s why he claims to be so smart. You know who goes around saying, “I’m smart?” Stupid people who don’t want to get found out. Who else would proudly say, “I love the poorly educated!” He claims to have an amazing vocabulary yet speaks in simple sentences. Noun, verb, superlative. “My bank account is huge!” “My rallies are fantastic!” He’s also a flagrant liar. He’s not a clever, debating team liar like Cruz, who hides his lies inside careful language. Trump is the guy who’s caught in bed with another woman by his wife, and denies it with a “who you gonna believe, me or your lyin’ eyes?” Protestors in Jersey City after 9/11? Absolutely. Climate change a Chinese plot? Why the hell not. He can say all this shit now, then just double down on the lie, and wait for the news cycle to run to the next shiny object.

But that act won’t fly on a debate stage. Unless he makes up some outrageous excuse to duck them, he’ll have to go head-to-head against Hillary, and face questions by real moderators who won’t let him slide. And this will be the game change. He’ll have to give substantive answers to real questions, and follow-up questions. He’ll have to go head to head with someone who has knowledge, facts and experience on her side.

If she’s smart, which she is, that’s where she will take him apart, and then take him down. He can yell Benghazi, and Vince Foster, and Monica until he turns whatever color he turns next when he’s pissed off. It just won’t fly. This will bring out all his insecurities and he’ll get mean and implode. He’ll be embarrassed on national TV, by a woman, his worst nightmare. This will make him look weak and lose face. And then, his supporters will lose faith.

For the moment, the media can have a field day exposing his lies and contradictions, but they won’t land. Right now, he’s invulnerable which, to his supporters, makes him look like Superman. But the debates should be his Kryptonite.

IS TRUMP'S HAIR HIDING THE MARK OF THE DEVIL?

For the last year, people have been struggling to comprehend the Trump phenomenon. Not just why he's winning, but what does he want? He's already rich, so it can't be money. Fame? He's got that. Power? He's got that, too. But perhaps it's not enough power. What would this odious, ignorant, malevolent, misogynistic, misanthropic, xenophobic piece of shit want that he doesn't already have? Why would he amass legions of devoted followers who hang on his every word? Who would behave like the personification of pure evil... other than the personification of evil itself.

There have been whispers on closed circles for some time that Donald J. Trump is not who he claims to be. People are saying that the man's singleminded quest for power has actually been a smokescreen to hide his true mission: world domination. In short, people are saying  that Trump... is the Antichrist.

Of course, most reasonable people say that's ludicrous. That there is no devil. No Satan. That it's just a metaphor for the evil that exists in the heart of man. Or is that itself a meme that has been floated into the world to distract people from his true agenda? Now, many say that this is just a wild accusation. After all, where is the evidence? Where is the proof? The proof is on his head. The mark of the devil: 666.

It's a well-known fact that the mark of the devil -- 666 -- is imprinted on the head of his spawn. This is documented in the Book of Revelations, Verse 18: "Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six." The Bible also says that the Antichrist will first accrue great wealth as a steppingstone to political power. But where is the proof that it applies to Trump? The proof is in the man himself. The proof... is in the hair.

Trump is an egomaniac. He's rich. Arrogant. Vain. For some ungodly reason, he takes pride in his appearance. However, no man with even a modicum of self-respect would orchestrate a ridiculous front and side-whip cotton candy confection like he's rocking on that head. Why would he go to such ridiculous lengths, unless he's hiding something. Something... like the mark of the devil. Trump obviously suffers from male-pattern baldness. And while baldness has been the bane of existence for men over the ages, recently the shaved head has established itself in the culture as a legitimate fashion choice. So, why hasn't he shaved his head? Or gotten hair transplants? He can certainly afford the best. Some say it's because he can't risk anyone seeing what has been imprinted on his head. 666. The mark of the devil.

Still, some apologists counter that this is mere conjecture. Maybe so. But it's not the only evidence. There is Trump's birthday itself. Donald John Trump was born June 14, 1946 in Queens, New York.  New York. June 14, 1946. 6/14/46. The first number: 6. The last number: 6.  And the middle: 144. 1+4+4=9. And 9 upside-down... is 6. 666. The mark of the devil.

Yes, it's shocking. Bone chilling. People shudder to think that someone who has accrued vast wealth, and has plastered his name all over the world on phallic ego palaces may be the personification of evil. Others will argue that this is idiotic. Just a cheap shot, a cowardly attack on a man's background and character to score points in a political fight. But until it is put to rest we will never know the truth.  And the American people need to know the truth. They need to know the true identity of someone who is trying to become the most powerful person on Earth.

That is why it is necessary for Mr. Trump to settle this once and for all in the only way possible: by shaving his head, live, on national television. It would certainly be a fantastic, tremendous, terrific, event, watched by, using Trumpian metrics, tens of trillions of people. But it's the only way to put this controversy to rest and ease the minds of God-fearing Americans who need to know that a man who is running to be the leader of the free world is not the spawn of Satan. It's up to you, Mr. Trump. In the name of all that is holy -- show us your head!

RUN, JEB, RUN!

Dear Jeb: I'm a Democrat. I dislike your policies. They hurt the country, and bring misery to the lives of regular Americans. However, I do feel your pain. Because Democrats are compassionate. Not from of any religious dictate, but from basic human decency. So, I know what you're going through. Having to sit back and watch that bloviating parade float Donald Trump become your nominee -- America's Berlusconi, turning your precious GOP into the Bunga Bunga party. Having to listen to his moronic statements on serious issues without cringing. Or weeping. It must be like seeing an ex-girlfriend ride off on the back of some guy's Harley, after he stole the bike from your garage, punched out your mother, and violated your dog.

I know how humiliated you must feel. He mocked you. Taunted you. Called you low energy. Insulted your wife. And all you could do was stand there and take it, incapable of lowering yourself to his level to slam him back. Not that you didn't try. You were just incapable. And it was just sad. The man gutted you on national TV. He broke you. And all you wanted was to give America another Bush presidency. Not that we wanted it. The last one was sufficient, thank you very much.

Still, I know it hurt. And I know you think there's nothing you can do but sit back and watch Trump cut a swath of destruction through the country, like a tornado ripping through a trailer park. But there is something you can do, something that would really hurt him. Run. Run as a third party candidate. Yes, I know there's talk of Ben Sasse getting in. But, c'mon, there's no irony in Ben Sasse. You need to do it.

All through the primaries Trump taunted the party by refusing to sign the pledge. Then he signed it. Then he flirted with backing out. He thought he was the one with the third party power. But now you've got it. Do the very thing he taunted you with. Stick it to him. Cut him with his own sword. You must have a few bucks in the coffers. Go Green Party. Libertarian. Bull Moose. Or, given the intellectual level of the debates, the Know-Nothing Party.

Think about it. You'd siphon off enough old-school Republican votes to make sure he'd go down in flames. Sure, Trump will probably screw himself eventually, but who wants to take that chance? We all know he's shrewd, and ruthless. But he's dumb. Way too dumb to actually be president. On a debate stage, Hillary will stomp him like, well, like a protestor at a Trump rally. She'll dazzle him with facts and he'll lose his shit because he won't be able to respond intelligently, and he can't deal with being attacked, especially by a woman. But why take that chance? You're the one who could hurt him now. You know you want to. Imagine the sweet, sweet taste of Jeb's revenge. But if you're just too hurt, too wounded to get back on the campaign trail, I get it. It might be too hard to summon up the facial muscles needed to force out that sad clown smile. Then, do the rest of us a favor, pass this on to the other losers in the Sweet 16.

Carly. He mocked your face. Christie. You endorsed the son of a bitch, then he dragged you around like a pug on a leash. And if he didn't call you fat, he was thinking it. And Marco. Little sweaty Marco. I know you're saving your reputation for 2020. But get out there now and talk some shit. Hit him with the small hands thing again. Lindsey. You're a fun guy. Have a Mint Julep and let that acid tongue loose on the trail. Kasich. For a brief, shining moment, you were the least ugly guy in the bar at last call. Get back out there and stuff your face with ethnic food. And Ted. Lyin' Ted. Instead of venting your anger by forearm smashing your wife in the face, take that evil that swirls around you like Fukushima fallout and channel it for some good, old-fashioned revenge.

Or maybe all of you do it together. I know that sounds socialist, but you'd be uniting to defeat a common enemy. Like when FDR and Churchill met with Stalin at Yalta. Imagine the look on Trump's face when you steal his votes. Jeb can sting him in Florida. Cruz can kneecap him in Texas. Pataki and Christie can nail him in the northeast. Carly can screw him in California. Someone must like her there. Jindal and Lindsey can take the south. It would be like the ending in Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile. The suspects' hatred for the victim ran so deep they all killed him. C'mon. Don't do it for the country. Don't do it for the party. Do it for the most Republican reason of all: political payback. Hook yourselves together like rats pulling a ratfuck Santa sleigh. Now Kasich! Now Walker! Now Graham! Now Carly! On Ted! On Bobby! On Marco! On Christie! It will truly be Christmas when that cocky smirk is wiped off that asshole's fat face, replaced by a befuddled "what in the heck just happened?!"

It would be the perfectly insane ending to an insane year. You're Republicans. Even though some of you are displaying an uncharacteristic sense of honor by refusing to support the man, most will follow party orthodoxy and fall in line like good little apparatchiks. But don't do it. Don't unite! Rebel! Go rogue and gut the arrogant son of a bitch. 'Cause you know damn well he would have done it to you.

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NEW POST ON HUFFINGTON POST

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ian-gurvitz/run-jeb-run_b_9861992.html

NICE BOOK REVIEW ON GOODREADS.

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show?id=1612541828

If you have ever yelled at the tv news or newspapers like The Post , then Gurvitz's new rant is a must read. He tackles issues: health care, freedoms, American culture, politics, religion, and even cigarette addiction. 

Gurvitz is not shy or delicate as he scolds the Dumbfuckistans for falling for Conservative rhetoric. He uses facts and figures (which are not footnoted, but are fact-checked) to colorfully prove that Civilization Is barbaric, uninformed and DUMB. If his audience buys his premise they will cheer his breadth of knowledge and irreverence . If the reader is a Dumbfuckistan, before burning this book, he/she will have an apoplectic fit. The red neck, Bible toting reader who carries his/her gun and pack of unfiltered cigarettes to the PTA meeting and demands that Creationism is just as true Evolution and that Earth Science and Biology are just tools of the Devil will want this book banned from stores or at least libraries and Walmarts.

He sees the world as divided: dumb and smart, like him. As a writer, his voice is strident and righteous. Though Gurvitz studied Buddhism and lived in Japan, his New York swagger and Hollywood schmooze are much more evident in his vibrant and profane prose than any zen politeness. If you're like me, you will have underlined some of his arguments to warm up or possibly incense a dinner party.

INTERVIEW ON ATTBN.COM ON WELCOME TO DUMBFUCKISTAN

http://www.attn.com/stories/7274/ian-gurvitz-welcome-to-dumbfuckistan-q-and-a

WELCOME TO DUMBFUCKISTAN -- NEW BOOK ON AMAZON

RIP JJ CALE

Dave Brubeck Quartet - Take Five (Belgium 1964) RIP

THE GOP'S "COME TO JESUS" MOMENT

As the Schnook of Mormon continues to tour the country in his ongoing effort to self-deport what's left of his political future, other Republicans have taken to the public highways to admit that; yes, we got our asses kicked. And, yes, we need to rethink, retool, and readjust. But what is fascinating about all this is that, had they prevailed in the election, they would have come out guns blazing and mercilessly whacked so-called entitlement programs, all in the name of fiscal responsibility. But they didn't win. They lost. They lost bad. So, now the, I guess you could call them, less unreasonable members of the party, have come out and admitted that they need to reach out to non-white voters, whose numbers are sadly increasing. Even with their horrendous polling job during the last election, this has become a stark reality for them.

But as they come forward, all reasonable, penitent, and reflective -- this following four years of stonewalling and intransigence -- one thing becomes obvious: they still don't get it. Their revelation is more of a "Come to Hey-soos" moment. It's about the appearance, not the reality. The presentation, not the policy. For Bobby Jindal, who at one point was the GOP's 'they got an ethnic guy, we'll get us an ethnic guy" to state that "for minorities to like us, we've got to like them" is all well and good. But it's not about being liked. It's not about putting a kinder, gentler, or darker face on the same old dickish policies. It's not about trotting out Marco Rubio to explain how trickle down economics is good for everyone and sell the same rising tide bullshit that didn't work during the Bush years. "We're turning Medicare into a voucher program" sucks just as bad in Spanish as in English.

For all the lessons of the past two presidential elections, they still don't get it. The "gifts" that Romney lamented weren't handouts. Democrats weren't giving out free cheese and condoms out of the back of a panel truck. These were programs that made people's lives better. The one lesson they just won't learn is that it's not about coming off more compassionate. It's about being more compassionate.

Mitt Romney can make an appearance with an African-American group and bust out into "Who let the dogs out" because in his stick-up-his-ass Caucasian mind, he thinks that would be a good way to connect with these people. "I'll sing one of their songs."

As the GOP prepares to retool for 2014 and 2016, I'm sure they're looking to the ethnic bench to see who might be a better mouthpiece. Jindal? Maybe. Most people will have forgotten how pathetically stiff he was in his State of the Union rebuttal. Rubio? Could be. Though the one thing he'll never shake is that he just looks like a dick. Even when he smiles, it's the smile of an 8-year-old who just burned a trail of ants on the sidewalk. Christie? Maybe. And of course there are the gals of the party, who can reach out to women voters. Though their success would necessitate the silencing of the "God planned rape babies" crowd.

So, as they move off the last four years of giving blow jobs to Grover Norquist and take one in the shorts on taxes, while secretly laying in plans to take the government back in the midterms, my advice would be to keep thinking the way you do. Let Rubio visit Iowa. Let Jindal tour the country. You don't need a new product. You just need to retool the brand and find a new spokesperson to reach out to that growing Latino population to esplain how deeply you care. Who knows, maybe Sophia Vergara or the Frito Bandito have political ambitions. And by all means, keep Reince Priebus in the job. What better guy to advance dickish policies, than a guy whose own name is an anagram for pubic sneer.

Oh, and one more thing: to the smug, dick-faced asshole I met at a birthday party a year ago, who bet me $500 that Obama would lose the election, I've been holding this in for a year: FUCK YOU!!!

GO AHEAD -- MAKE MY LUNCH!

Go ahead -- make my lunch! A tuna sandwich on white. I like white. It's not chewy like wheat, so I don't need my teeth. And use the water tuna. Not oil. It's greasy. And cut the crusts off, I don't like the crust. And no lettuce. With a glass of milk. Skim, not whole. Whole milk makes me gassy. And put it on the tray by my chair by the tv. It's a new tv. My kids gave it to me so I could watch baseball. I like baseball. How about that Willie Mays, can he play, or what? Hey, it's not on baseball! I think the night nurse changes it to the Spanish stations when I'm asleep. I don't like the Spanish stations. The men all have thick mustaches and the women are fat and show their big breasts. And I don't understand what they're saying. Where are my pants? I left them on the chair. Who stole my pants!? Oh, there they are. Check the pockets. I had seven dollars in there. Make sure it's there. I think the night nurse took it. Where's my sandwich!? It's Tuesday. I know that. I have to make. Action! Why can't I bring my gun here? I have my rights. It was a gift from the Iti fella I made a western with last century. Besides, it's not loaded. I'm not loaded. They don't let you drink here. The night nurse drinks. I can smell it on her when she rolls me to change the sheets. She thinks I can't but I can. She also looks at my pecker. She thinks I don't notice. But I do.  Where are my pants? The blue ones with the buttons. I don't like a zipper. My pecker gets caught in it. Hurts like the dickens. Dickens? Ha. Where's that sandwich already?! Oh, I'm eating it. Yum. Where's the bathroom, I have to make. Never mind. Go ahead -- change my pants.

A Song to Describe How it Felt to Learn of Andrew Breitbart's Death -- And, yes, I know this is petty but it's a tough fucking world and you're supposed to make it more sane, honest, loving, and compassionate -- not less.

 -

Saintorum

It's ironic for a guy who hates sex as much as Santorum to so deliberately and gleefully fuck himself. But that's what he's doing. Having sat out much of the early rounds in this Star Wars bar of a Republican primary as one goon after another dissolved into irrelevancy, now that someone's actually glanced over at the sad, pear-shaped, weak-chinned gnome nursing a soda pop and walked over to chat him up, suddenly he thinks he's pretty. Suddenly, he actually thinks the world wants to hear his vision for America instead of just getting a hand job in the parking lot. And so he's gleefully shooting his mouth off.

No public education, because it puts un-Godly ideas in people's heads and is "an anachronism." As opposed to schoolin' based on a literal interpretation of a 2000-year-old book. No pre-natal testing because it detects Down Syndrome fetuses so they can be sucked out before they can enter society and smile adorably. No birth control because it interferes with God's plan to mass produce Christians. No pre-marital sex because it doesn't mass produce Christians. No gay sex because it doesn't mass produce Christians. Someone needs to explain something to Ricky -- Nobody cares! To most of us living here in the 21st century, these are non-issues. We're past that. The culture wars are a dodge. Political misdirection. Something Karl Rove and company dreamed up to fire up the hicks and propel themselves into office so they could go about the real business of Republican rule: making themselves and their friends rich. Like the so-called "fair tax." Everyone pays the same. Sounds fair. And Americans believe in fairness. But the trick is that the rich simply want to pay less and if the price is other people getting to pay less as well; well, who gives a fuck?

So for a quick, shining moment, the media took a look at Rick -- A guy who was born too late to follow his true calling as a judge at the Salem witch trials. One look at that smug, patrician scowl and you can see him leaning over his bench, pointing an accusing finger at some poor waif and shrieking "burn her!" And while the thought of him anywhere near actual power sends a cold shiver down one's spine, there's a part of me that would like to see him get the nomination. First off, just to wipe the sense of entitlement off Romney's face and that Nero-like sneer off Gingrich's. And as for Ron Paul -- who cares? He's a primary skin tag. Yet, he has the unique distinction of being the one Republican candidate who, if you listen to him for 5 minutes, he makes a lot of sense. But when you listen for 10, you realize he's out of his fucking mind.

So, if by some fluke the Republican faithful become so enthralled with their pet culture warrior that they drip Santorum on one another and nominate the weasel -- well, then -- great. I'd love to see the little shit on a debate stage with the president. It's one thing to preach to the retarded choir that attends these debates about the president's private "environmental theology." It's another to stand on a stage and debate the man, at which point the country will see him for who he is -- the mealy mouthed kid who talks tough on the team bus on the way to the game, then gets into the game and gets his ass kicked.

But that fantasy will probably have to remain as such because as Santorum continues to fuck himself via the act of talking, the punditocracy has once again focused on Romney, a guy whose calling in life is to sip a ginger ale in the clubhouse of a restricted country club. So instead of another round of culture wars, we'll have to endure another half-year of Mitt standing on stage in his mom jeans, flashing that excruciating smile as he painfully and pathetically tries to connect with actual people while firing up the base with the boogeyman du jour -- Obama's war on the rich! Obama's war on religion! Iran getting the bomb! Government taking your freedom! Immigrants taking your jobs! Be afraid of the intelligent black guy in the white house! But pay no attention to the Mormon behind the curtain.

Though maybe Santorum will take the Veep slot under Romney where he can fight the culture wars to his sanctimonious little heart's content and take his rightful place in history as the second coming of Dan Quayle. Heads up to the gay couple on Modern Family -- you've been served.

IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE FAILURE...

Only this "fucking asshole," as an Iowa voter called him to his face, could stick up a spot like this. A spot that is, at one and the same time, unctuously Christmassy, and blatantly cynical. The sight of Newt's smug, jowly mush next to his Plasticine Pat Nixon clone of a 3rd wife waxing all "from our family to yours -- best of the holiday season" is as vomit-inducing as watching Nixon in the Oval Office with James Brown. For all the jingle-jangle holiday horseshit, there's nothing this toad does that isn't politically calculated and motivated, particularly his recent entreaty to Mitt to lay off the negative ads. 

Newt knows that his recent surge has been beaten back through negative ads dragging out his warehouse full of baggage, so to call for a return to civility and "let's debate the issues" is a blatant attempt to neutralize his opponents' best weapon. On every right wing issue, he's vulnerable as shit. An anti-government crusader who took gobs of cash as a lobbyist, then has the arrogance and audacity to claim it was for his expertise as an historian. A three-times married unfaithful husband calling for a return to old-fashioned values. A man running for the Presidency who would arrest judges whose opinions he doesn't agree with. That he can trot out these lies with a straight face only demonstrates his utter contempt for the rest of us. The people. The press. Everyone. Even O'Reilly called him out on it. How full-tilt gonzo do you have to get before Bill O'Reilly goes "ok, now wait a minute, you can't be serious"?

As to Newt's momentary comeback from pussy-whipped, Aegean-cruising, Tiffany buying newtered hubby to the head of the GOP wolf pack, to the point where he even declared himself the "presumptive nominee" I am decidedly mixed. While the consensus is that he'll lose to the President in the general election, putting this pompous dictator-wannabe that close to executive power is a frightening prospect, especially to a country just getting over the soul shivers from Sarah Palin's potential irregular heartbeat away from the Oval Office. 

Still, as amusing at it is to watch the pack go at each other, the one point I don't hear from Democrats is that, while it may matter politically who the nominee is, from a policy point of view it doesn't. They need to make the point that the policies advocated by the GOP are the same policies that put the country into financial freefall. Putting aside the culture wars and their attempt to drag us back to the 19th century, or perhaps the 1st century, it is the economy -- first, last and always. Even this week's political maneuvering in the house over the Payroll Tax bill shows that the GOP is so obsessed with beating the President in 2012 they would deny him any success, even when it's based on a bi-partisan compromise that already passed through the Senate. Even when it means fucking the rest of us in the bargain. And even though "the rest of us" includes Democrats and Republicans. If you're Boehner, I can't imagine how you spin this one. 

For all the comic moments the GOP pre-season has brought -- the gaffes, the goofs, the mistresses, the oops moments -- someone needs to make it clear that it isn't their incompetence or their desperation that's making them look like a collection of  -- to quote that Iowa voter-- fucking assholes.  It's the paucity, and frankly the danger, of their ideas. 

Coincidence?