“There are two things you don’t want to see being made – sausage and legislation.”

Otto von Bismark said that. (It seems he had a thing for sausage, because he said virtually the same thing in conjunction with “justice.”)

He also said; “God has a special providence for fools, drunks, and the United States of America.”

Well the Republicans, emboldened by their glorious trifecta of divine providences, went all medieval-in-the-night at the sausage factory on the Hill when they produced:

<Wait for it>……..

The American Health Care Act of 2017 (H.R. 1628)

< Ta-da-a-a!>

Earlier in the week, GOP Conference staffers set about raiding the pantries and think tank burn-bags at the Heritage Foundation and the Club for Growth — even ransacking the trunk of Grover Norquist‘s car — looking for the moldiest, most rancid arcane health-care-related proposals they could find; and ultimately dumping them all into the House Committees’ hoppers.  While that whole mess was on a slow, chunky-grind cycle, the Majority Whip’s team was out with bloodhounds and torches, beating the bushes to flush out fugitive “yes” votes.

House leadership sweetened the deal for the Gohmerts and Gooberts of the Freedom Caucus with some choice floor sweepings of primal grue still lying around the GOP’s factory floor, and finally signed off on the quality assurance certificates.

The resulting putrid concoction was lovingly hand-packed into a humanoid cellulose casing and injected with a long pour of savory vintage Bitch’s Brew.  Then they dabbed some aromatic Pine Sol behind its “ears” and hit the bastard a few good licks with a taser gun.

Pressing in, Paul Ryan leaned over to examine his handiwork with those photogenic Basset Hound eyes of his.  Oh….so…..slowly….elevating his gaze to the ceiling fresco of “Ayn Rand  Sitting Astride a Unicorn,” he triumphantly bellowed, “It’s alive, Mommy!  It’s ali-i-i-iv-v-uh!”

The entire scene was positively……cinematic.

After buttoning it into a custom-fitted tuxedo and hoisting it onto their shoulders, they hustled their creation out through the parking lot and unceremoniously dumped it on the doorstep of the Senate office building.

“Okay, it’s halftime boys; and we put some points on the board. Victory-y-y!  Hoo-rah!  It’s Miller time!

During the short jog back to the locker room, in military cadence they chanted: “Newt! Newt! Newt! Newt!”  They all knew it made no sense at all, but agreed that it sounded awesome!

An unamused and sober Sen. Bob Corker later stepped in front of press cameras, declaring;

“Huh uh. No way. That fucking thing — whatever the hell it is — was dead when we found it. We need to start over from scratch in the Senate where we have some fresh ideas of our own.”

When pressed to elaborate, Corker flashed his trademark smirk and drawled;                          

“Well, we’ve discussed conscripting a couple-or-three Hieronymus Bosch hellscapes and running them through a photo-shop program until we get a Norman Rockwell painting we can pass through the Senate, then sell to the House and to the suits and skirts over at Fox.”

Next, the caravan of frat House delegates from Dogpatch embarked on a slow procession down Pennsylvania Avenue through a ticker tape reception sponsored by the beltway press; finally arriving at the White House for a celebratory kegger and some giddy speechifyin’ with their host; President  Bashington T. Bullmoose.

All fresh and radiant from the televised Rose Garden signing of his “large print giveth; small print taketh away” promissory note to the Christofascist wing of the Party; “President” Bullmoose was down for some jiggy high-fivin’ for the cameras and some jocular back-slapping with the Capitol Hill chuckle-heads.

Here’s a closing twist of ironic happenstance.  It turns out that sausage ruminator and German Chancellor, Otto von Bismark, setting aside his conservative impulses in the 1880’s, became the first European leader to establish national healthcare, accident insurance, and old age pensions.

How do you like them wienerwursts?


[author’s note:]
If I am flogging my metaphors, it’s only because there are so few to work with since emerging at this end of that post-election wormhole, carrying only as many as I could toss into a pillow case before the gravitational vortex reached me.  All the old ones don’t work too well in this strange New Universe of interdimensional absurdity.

But I am working on it.

(A tip of the hat to Imbecile for this space and to Patton Oswalt for inspiration)