The timing is impeccable: Tonight's GOP debate is the 26th such frightful encounter; Edvard Munch's "The Scream," a portrayal of fright, is to be offered, it was said today.
This is one of our most recognizable human-made images on the planet -- the chilling figure in the foreground, hands up to head, mouth forming an elongated O, background swirls in blue and red.
That's our reaction to another one of these harrowing, hellish, wretched political events -- the artist's work, come to think of it now, is also about a figure, screaming. It has always been easy to form an instant, human bond with this piece of art, much more so since began this unending parade of inhuman, GOP zombie-pet-trick displays.
You have to be patient and wait until May to tender a bid on Munch's work; on the other hand, you will feel almost immediately munched and bit-on, somewhere tender, by watching the politcos' at their so-called work this very night.
Of course, to call these feces-flinging events "debates" is to continue to debase the language a bit more, further muddy the already heavily sullied and over-saturated air, and fully murder out in the open any notion of a thoughtful exchange of ideas based on merits.
It is a carny show only, all sawdust underfoot, these penny-a-dozen nitwits, dime-a-herd mental-midgets tusslin' and wrasslin' in a square ring -- and, making every bit as much sense as does the concept of a squared circle.
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