I have been reading through the reports of the disarray of the House Republican leadership and the resulting fall-outs since the weekend. Foley-Gate keeps growing and pulling in more players. I suddenly became aware that I am sitting here grinning.
This is such a pleasure to watch.
Now I do feel a twinge of regret for Mark Foley who has some real problems that if he were straight or a Democrat would probably have been taken care of by a friend getting him into the counseling he needs. Apparently, no Pages were hurt. I mean, for a young hetrosexual male it is a real shock to be hit on by another male, but that's life. It happens and you deal with it, just as girls do [well - except that it is harder for guys to learn to deal with since guys don't talk to each other.]
But all the fallout in the Republican Party!! It is like they are the reincarnation of the Keystone Kops, all brought together into a big room wearing conservative suits and funny hats. Everyone comes in, looks around with apprehension, then nervously stakes out a chunk of wall to stand against so no one can get behind them. Then they all watch each other suspiciously, while hoping that the media does not call on them to speak. They'll be there for the entertainment - they just don't know how bad the entertainment might be.
If someone anonymously yells "Who did it?" or "Who knew?" they each glance wildly around and point to someone else, hoping to deflect attention from themself, then glance uneasily at the people close to them to see if someone is pointing at them. Some are pointing blatantly. Some, instead, try to catch your eyes and then surreptiously glance at Hastert, hoping no one will notice what they are doing or who they gave up.
No one goes near the window or the balcony, doubtless fearing defenestration. Everyone is afraid to go near the door because it they leave, they will be the person blamed, so they can't leave the party. They've made it to the party where everyone who is anyone in the House Republican Party is, but they really, really don't want to stay for the entertainment. Someone will pay dearly for the entertainment.
It's a paranoid's circus, conducted in the Hell they built themselves. Somewhere Hieronymous Bosch is unlimbering his paints and brushes as he gets new inspiration for his paintings of horrors.
I'm sitting here watching it through a darkened window, grinning, and loving every minute of it. It's about time.