David Colburn

“I don’t make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts.” – Will Rogers

Will Rogers, a man of Cherokee lineage who was born and raised in Oklahoma’s Indian Territory, was a record-holding trick roper in Wild West shows and a talented vaudevillian and movie actor, but he is most remembered these days, some 88 years after his passing, for his humorous yet insightful social commentary. In its heyday, his regular newspaper column was published in over 500 newspapers nationwide.
“I am not a member of any organized political party, I am a Democrat,” Rogers once said, but were he alive today watching the circus act unfolding in the U.S. House of Representatives, he might well have said he was a Republican. Any description of the fight over the Speakership in the House would be kind to call it organized chaos. Someone should slap a sign up on the door of the room where the Republican caucus has been meeting renaming it “Dysfunction Junction” for its failed attempts to unify around an acceptable candidate.
Said Republicans have made a mighty effort in the days since to place the blame for their idiocy on the Democrats and Joe Biden, an entirely laughable attempt to distract the country from their highly visible and wholly ownable family feud. It’s ridiculous to try to blame the Hatfields when the McCoys have been relentlessly shooting themselves in their collective feet.
After Steve Scalise exited stage right after failing to attract the required 217 votes, the Republicans turned to an even less-desirable option, Rep. Jim Jordan, who finished second to Scalise in the initial balloting. Quite the ringing endorsement, although Jordan did get two small thumbs up from clanging gong and Mr. Dysfunction himself, Donald Trump. Nothing quite like having the blessing of a former president facing 91 felony charges and dozens of lawsuits and investigations. Of course, those things don’t matter to most Republicans, who simultaneously portray themselves as the party of law and order. Talk about a disconnect.
Jordan was up for a vote on Tuesday and fell short by 20 GOP votes, although he was pledging to try again at a later point. If he eventually wins, he owes a debt to, of all groups, Hamas, whose ruthless and despicable attack on Israel has spawned a Middle East crisis demanding congressional attention, increasing the urgency of resolving the GOP infighting and crowning a new Speaker.
Whoever is eventually crowned, it’s likely to be a Pyrrhic victory with the new Speaker handcuffed by the GOP clown caucus, like Matt Gaetz, Marjorie Taylor Greene, and Lauren Boebert, all of whom will be fighting over the steering wheel. There’s little likelihood of steering a successful course along a route filled with Republican potholes, where all roads lead back to Dysfunction Junction.
Which is why I’d like to give them a hand by helping them pick out their Halloween costumes this year. A little guidance might help them to actually make their selections before All Hallows Eve arrives in the once hallowed halls of Congress.
Sure to be a hit with limited takers in a party terrified of drag shows would be “Budget Balancing Barbie.” Jus imagine Steve Scalise in a pink wig and miniskirt. My apologies if you read that while trying to eat breakfast. But Boebert would surely go for it after her adventure at the theater, where her definition of “reaching across the aisle” was making out and heavy petting with a Democrat while surrounded by families with kids. Any normal person would be furiously searching for a wig to hide beneath after that. The costume itself would be a tapestry of imbalance – heavy makeup on one side, little on the other, a silver dollar for one earring and a sieve for the other, and a large pink purse with a gaping hole pouring out a stream of gold coins. The purse might just sway one or two to consider crossdressing for the night.
In a nod to one of their Senate colleagues – I’ll leave you to guess which one -- might I suggest a “Zombie Turtle” costume. A large shell provides the option of pulling one’s head inside rather that having to do the normal more awkward routine of hiding it someplace else, and carrying a road construction barrier will signify blocking anything and everything. Adding a slow shuffle and a thick Kentucky accent will represent the slow, labored pace of getting anything done, equally applicable in the House as in the Senate.
Of broader appeal to Republicans may be the “Climate Change Charlatan” costume. It’s a cardboard wearable facsimile of a 1973 Buick LeSabre equipped with long-lasting smoke cartridges and an oil-smudged t-shirt that reads “Electric is for sissies.” It’s topped off with a hat in the shape of an oil rig. A favorite accessory is sure to be a melting snowman that fits in the LeSabre’s passenger seat.
However, it would be unfair of me to leave out the opposition, and so for Democrats and Republicans alike I offer the “Bipartisan Unicorn,” which will have a shiny twisted horn with a point, because our representatives always have some twisted point they’re trying to make. The unicorn will be painted half blue, half red and it’s sure to generate a boatload of laughs since everyone knows unicorns, just like bipartisanship, don’t exist.
And finally, there’s the “George Santos” costume. This one is the most versatile of all, because it can be anything you want. The only caveat is that the George Santos costume has to be paid for with a campaign donor’s credit card.
I’ve purposefully restricted the number of choices because it’s abundantly clear that Republicans have a hard time choosing among alternatives, and they’ll likely pick something that they immediately want to change anyway. Of course, having fewer choices still doesn’t preclude the possibility that they’ll choose something neither they nor anyone else can live with for long. It really must be hard to be a Republican these days. Just like getting all those circus clowns to fit in one of those teeny tiny cars.