Or, rather, speaking of an enormous, mendacious, disembodied anus: The existential predicament shared by the "assholes" in the Conservative "movement," the assholes who'd attack a 12-year-old-boy [Down, Mark, dammit!] has been anticipated by--who else--William Burroughs. As always, the lunch is naked:

BENWAY: "Don't take it so hard, kid.... Jeder macht eine kleine Dummheit." (Everyone makes a little dumbness. )

SCHAFER: "I tell you I can't escape a feeling... well, of evil about this."

BENWAY: "Balderdash, my boy... We're scientists. ...Pure scientists. Disinterested research and damned be him who cries 'Hold,too much !' Such people are no better than party poops."

SCHAFER: "Yes, yes, of course... and yet... I can't get that stench out of my lungs...."

BENWAY (irritably): "None of us can.... Never smelled anything remotely like it.... [...]

Schafer is not listening. "You know," he says impulsively, "I think I'll go back to plain old- fashioned surgery. The human body is scandalously inefficient. Instead of a mouth and an anus to get out of order why not have one all-purpose hole to eat and eliminate? We could seal up nose and mouth, fill in the stomach, make an air hole direct into the lungs where it should have been in the first place...."

BENWAY: "Why not one all-purpose blob? Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? His whole abdomen would move up and down you dig farting out the words. It was unlike anything I ever heard.

Burroughs was ahead of his time. We've heard that sound plenty. You know what it is. It's the sound of The Mighty Wurlitzer, isn't it?

"This ass talk had a sort of gut frequency. It hit you right down there like you gotta go. You know when the old colon gives you the elbow and it feels sorta cold inside, and you know all you have to do is turn loose? Well this talking hit you right down there, a bubbly, thick stagnant sound, a sound you could smell.

"This man worked for a carnival you dig, and to start with it was like a novelty ventriloquist act.

Heh. Limbaugh, I would think?

[...] "After a while the ass started talking on its own. He would go in without anything prepared and his ass would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time.

"Then it developed sort of teeth-like little raspy incurving hooks and started eating. He thought this was cute at first and built an act around it, but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street, shouting out it wanted equal rights. It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags nobody loved it and it wanted to be kissed same as any other mouth. Finally it talked all the time day and night, you could hear him for blocks screaming at it to shut up, and beating it with his fist, and sticking candles up it, but nothing did any good and the asshole said to him: 'It's you who will shut up in the end. Not me. Because we don't need you around here any more. I can talk and eat and shit.'

"After that he began waking up in the morning with a transparent jelly like a tadpole's tail all over his mouth. This jelly was what the scientists call un-D.T., Undifferentiated Tissue, which can grow into any kind of flesh on the human body. He would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands like burning gasoline jelly and grow there, grow anywhere on him a glob of it fell. So finally his mouth sealed over, and the whole head would have amputated spontaneous ... except for the eyes you dig. That's one thing the asshole couldn't do was see. It needed the eyes. But nerve connections were blocked and infiltrated and atrophied so the brain couldn't give orders any more. It was trapped in the skull, sealed off. For a while you could see the silent, helpless suffering of the brain behind the eyes, then finally the brain must have died, because the eyes went out, and there was no more feeling in them than a crab's eye on the end of a stalk.

Heh.

"... No more feeling in them than a crab's eye on the end of a stalk."

Yes, I'd say that about sums up the spiritual state of our friends on the other side of the aisle. Burroughs makes Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail look like "Hello Kitty", doesn't he?

But what I want to know: What's sluttish, pouty-lipped, autocoprophagic concentration advocate Michelle Malkin wearing under the Catholic schoolgirl fetish uniform? If anything.

Reach me that bucket, wouldja hon?