Every time I look up from what I'm doing, another Republican is charging off into some self-made fray, seated backwards, on a mechanical pony -- the kind bolted to the floor, requiring a quarter to rock back and forth -- shouting incoherently, trying to make the metal animal charge faster, trying to make it back up, all the way.
The screeching and screeds are usually about mandating religion in the schools and some neo-creationist harangue, or else revising the history books to show how wonderful and not-at-all demented they themselves are, or about GOP men's rights to dictating vaginal probes into women's vaginas and their God-given rights in specifying women's health care, or else it's some frothy meringue regarding how the non-job-creating but-still-so-called "job creators," corporations and the rich, should be spared paying any taxes as their forbears once gladly did.
They yelp madly astride the pony, rocking back and forth on their overly-meaty haunches, until it's time to feed in another quarter when they discover they haven't gone anywhere.
The Democrats usually opt for the 25-cent boat ride, next to the pony, and let this blather from next door all glide about, let it push them around on their little ship of state, making them slip and slide like mad, all over the soaped and pitching main deck in a hurricane -- a real bad one out there, they imagine it must be, not ever really knowing, all of them forever and always, safely back in home port -- and are hurtful slapstick to see, all out at sea, falling over, crashing around, dancing with deck chairs by the faceful, while believing they're successfully piloting, one-handed, highly mirrored, eerily becalmed seas.