I Cogitate
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Joe Lieberman: hello, I must be going
Some people just don't know when it's time to acknowledge that the party is over and depart. Joe Lieberman has become a poster child for this illness of megalomania. Can't you hear him whining that "it's my seat and I won't let go"?
Apparently, Lieberman sees his Senate position as a birthright. He's working on Plans C, D, E, F, I and J until somehow he retains his seat.
Samantha Bee put it best on "The Daily Show" with her characterization that Lieberman has become a political stalker.Having a great satirical segment, she had Lieberman creating his own personal Senate where he is the single member and offering this: "If not nominated, I will run. If not elected, I will serve."
It will be curious how the various braindead Beltway pundits, political consultant-whores and corporate lobbyists continue to partisanly play Lieberman's loss throughout the media. It's simply another case of 'when you get too cozy and close' leading to myopia. If anyone upsets the long-established order in D.C. then yes, they must be bad. Bad meaning leftwing, liberal, socialist, communist (just keep adding to this list). Just wait, before much longer Ned Lamont will be described as a terrorist by some Lieberman-ite.
So, let's try this: go to your window, throw it open and sing a rousing rendition of Willie Nelson's "The Party's Over" (or at least the first few lines)
"Turn out the lights (Joe), the party's over, they say that, all good things must end..."
Maybe that will get Lieberman to sing these words, made famous in the film "Animal Crackers" by Groucho Marx:
"Hello, I must be going, I cannot stay, I came to say, I must be going, I'm glad I came, but just the same, I must be going..."
Actually, it seems Lieberman has been reading, but misinterpreting, the late Dylan Thomas:
DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHTtop
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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