Grand Old Problem

It would be an understatement to say that things weren't going too swimmingly up in the Grand Old Party's ivory tower.

Ira T. Wagstaff coughed into his embroidered hankie and set his steely eyes on his compatriots in the roomy board room. "Gentleman, let's get down to brass tacks. We have got ourselves a problem with a capitol p."

All eyes were at flinty attention as I.T. spoke.

"The party is in a serious mess," the rheumatic banker bellowed. "Frankly fellows, we don't know who to hate anymore."

The board fidgeted and eyed their chairmen, fidgeting, some incessantly twirling their french cuffs.

"Do we go after the heretics, the poor or the women? I tell you, we got ourselves a real conundrum here."

"Well Ira, why don't we just round up the usual suspects?" offered one of the nameless party operatives. "You know, the unions, the liberals at the colleges, the activist judges."

"Or those damn cultural elites that think a guy has to finish high school to be somebody. Snobs, I tell you."

"I say we go after the women, boss," said another.""It all started to go to hell when women insisted on working on the job instead of staying home and homeschooling their children about intelligent design while poppa worked his fingers to the bone on the assembly line." "Never should have given them the vote if you ask me. You know what it says in the good book? Nobody wants to say it but we were a hell of a lot better off when we kept them baking cookies in the kitchen where they belong."

"I agree, I.T. . Look at all the whining and crying about Rush. These women just want to have free birth control so that they can engage in indiscriminate sex. Like men do. A woman isn't supposed to enjoy sex, for christ sakes. They're supposed to grit their teeth and get it over with and then pop out a family, like the good lord intended."

Amongst a chorus of assents another man offered, "I think its the damn working class that's the problem. We treated them too good for too damn long. Things went to hell with all of this minimum wage, forty hour work week crap. "There will always be sheep and shepherds and damnit we are the wolves that keep this barnyard soap opera moving. Got to have predators for the system to work. Read your Darwin."

"That's right I.T.. We need another tax cut so that we can create more jobs. In Sri Lanka. Sumbitches will come crawling back to us with their hats in their hands. If they haven't tried to eat them first."

"I don't care, Romney shouldn't have let on about driving the cadillacs. People don't want it rubbed in their faces. Make a note, next ad, we film him in a Ford Escort."

The room shook with bellicose laughter as the fat cats slapped their corpulent armani covered thighs in approval.

Wagstaff shook his fat finger at his underlings. "Well we better figure this damn thing out posthaste. You got Santorum running like it's a Pentecostal revival meeting and pissing off the women, Romney has got all the pizzazz of a big eight actuary, Gingrich won't stop apologizing for all those marriages with that "failed sinner" crap and Paul wanting to take us back to the good old days of Jim Crow and American isolationism. If these guys don't stop shooting at each other there ain't going to be a body left in the barnyard by election day.

"Get Roger Ailes on the phone. The people at Fox have to start talking about the Republican big tent again before the whole thing is in shambles. We have to remember the one thing that defines us as a party."

'What's that, boss?"

"We hate Obama."