The Fumes Of Blair House

As I type these few words in my supposedly safe corner of The Ether, I notice a dark cloud rising on the horizon.  It is the noxious cloud of tedium, whose origins lie in the Blair House in Washington, D.C., where blowhards and bloviators were about their little affairs serene in the assurance of their dominion over this small, spinning fragment of solar driftwood which, by chance or design, man has inherited out of the dark mystery of Time and Space.

Yet across an immense river gulf, a mind that is to our minds as ours are to the beasts in the jungle — an intellect vast, cool, and unsympathetic, regarded those in Blair House with cynical eyes and slowly and surely drew his plans against them.

In the early afternoon hours of 25 February, he, Robert Stacy McCain, spake:

…Democrats want to scream that the “system is broken,” and regale us with sob stories – “A killer whale with a pre-existing condition ate that poor girl’s deductible!” — in order to push through a plan that, (a) won’t necessarily fix these issues, (b) could harm the overall system, (c) is overwhelmingly opposed by voters, and (d) would cause umpteen kazillion dollars.

Allow me to suggest an innovative health-care solution that won’t require endless blathering on national TV:

KILL THE DAMN BILL!

Kill it dead, like Nancy Pelosi’s face muscles.