Move Along, Folks...

When Jerry Falwell died, I snarkily wondered how many GOP candidates would show up at his funeral.

The answer is—let me see here—ah yes, none (although we apparently almost had one semi-incompetent right-wing bomber).

I guess I had failed to grasp that Falwell is, well dead. And that, no matter what they say or what we perceived, these Churchy Entrepreneurs are all really free-lancers with no more interest in each others’ fortunes than the girls outside of the cribs in a port-city bordello (hey, sailor—goin’ my way?). The movement as a whole has no more stake in Falwell than it had in, well, say, James Bakker, once it became clear that he was/is a political busted flush. Nothin’ to see here, folks, just move along—ooh, look, there’s a dandy brimstone show just across the street.

I made another snarky crack about recycling old death jokes. Here’s another: on the day Stalin died this guy kept calling the newspaper to say “is it true--?”

“Yes, yes, yes, said the editor, why do you keep calling to ask?”

“Oh, I just like to hear you say it…”