Dear Mrs. Vera,
Is there any way to stop Karl Rove from making-up stuff?
Andrea “Tokyo Rose” Breitbart
Dear Endora Bombay,
Thank you for your inquiry into the chicken-egg philosophical mystery of cracked Super-Liars. I normally write this column while waiting for hours in the wind and rain for a series of busses that take me away from my house then eventually back to it so, often, this column can be quite wordy, but thanks to your question and the 22-Fillmore being less than a block away, I’m going to wrap up early and just go with “no”.
Did everyone like Iron Man 3? Kim Kardashian did it. I had the best strawberry yesterday. My feet are — huh? What? Not long enough? Really? Ok. Ok. No, I don’t mind. 800 words, got it.
I went to the experts at making fanciful things up out of ridiculous nonsense while looking great doing it, the ghost of Samantha Stevens from “Bewitched”, and Barbara Eden, who played Jeannie on “I Dream Of Jeannie”, and I showed them a bunch of photos of Karl’s work from when he was studying at Miss Xerxes Cosmetology Institute in 1979, before he failed and became a beauty school dropout fit only for a life in politics if it didn’t require getting anyone to actually vote for him.
They both agreed with me that all of Karl’s attempts to make unattractive packages appear more palatable through the careful application of make-up were abysmal failures. They most often resulted in divorce for the unfortunate ladies trusting their evening looks to the canny ideologue. Barbara Eden disdainfully but authoritatively nodded her head, with her arms folded in sorrow, blinking hard to hold back the tears at the sight of one pleasant enough looking matron whose face Rove turned into the very spit-upon image of a topographical map of the state of Texas, with very unfortunate longhorn lips.
Ms. Stevens, who I’m sure you recall professionally, hoovered around up in the rafters wailing like a banshee at a series of 8 x 10 glamour head shots featuring The 1980 Ladies Of The Republican Caucasian sorority shindig/calendar release party that Karl himself painted up, tartly, shortly before the organization’s bankruptcy later that night. All three of us had a good wail at those, actually, and you would, too, unless your eyeglasses cracked, which definitely helped me view his challenging drag self-portraits. Those were so far out there that they were almost good, and if only he had submitted them to the NEA for a grant he would be America’s Most Irritating Artist today, instead of just being today’s Most Irritating American.
These days, the ever-inventive Rove is spending his costly time and the hundreds of millions of dollars he was paid last year to lose all the elections his super wealthy friends hired him to win on crafting tiny little wigs and doing make-up faces on gallon-size bottles of bleach, and sewing lips onto crocheted Kleenex™ box covers that look like dusty Southern Belles – Outdated, faded, disgraced Southern Belles. Then, into his harvest gold Amana™ Trash Compactor they all go. Depressing.
He is also engaged in the running of his non-profit enterprise, American Cross-the-Roads™. This is an organization that helps those very loaded Americans who are too chicken to spend their money publicly but want to take it with them to the other side when they go. Its mission is to have him help them to help themselves help him to help them to let him help himself to their wealth, for America. American Cross-the-Roads™, Inc. hopes to bring spare change to nearly all our citizens, now! Especially since all of the paper money got eaten up by that guy from Citizen’s United™ with all the tape worms – remember him? He should really see a physician about that. Too bad private luxury-jet doctors aren’t covered by Obamacare™, thanks a lot to all the selfish takers who claim they need food and milk for starving babies. “Karl Rove don’t pay for no co-pay,” the pudgy ideologue rapped in a video response to my request for an interview, while wearing an ill-advised minstrel costume and blackface. However, he did not follow that line with a rhyme or dope jam, instead calling an ambulance for an Arrhythmia-related embolism – Which is covered by the Affordable Care Act™! Unfortunately.
When not doing that stuff, he is busy supervising final construction on the new Petting Zoo being built behind the Bush Pwesidential Liberry, which is to house all sorts of top-level figures from the GWB Administration, also the GWB War Coven, many past Republican leaders from the Congressional All-Night Fart-Forums held in his honor (once they are released from prison), as well as, fingers crossed, Ann Coulter, pending the removal of all the mirrors from a suitable enclosure so that she might finally stop attacking her reflection and thrive. I wish them well. A really deep one, preferably.
Karl Rove is also still the leader of the Republican Party, of course, because why not?
Mrs. Vera Newman is a San Francisco absurdist character, humorist, artist, writer, community organizer, clothes horse and co-founder, with Mister Tina, of The Verasphere. She has been answering the unasked questions she receives from the lonely, empty rooms of America’s heart-shaped circulatory pump room ever since it began beating. Nestled in the politically bent bowels of the Nation since she was a young girl babysitting the very same newborn Nation, her ability to self-reflect about anyone else’s embarrassing shortcomings, inept fumblings or lousy recipes has enabled her invisible rise as a modern-day Cassandra, whatever that means. Feel free to dispose of all your worries by leaving them on her doorstep!