Chuck Haralson and Ken Smith were inducted into the Arkansas Tourism Hall of Fame during the 43rd annual Governor’s Conference on Tourism
You'll recall him as the ex-Bro. ex-Gov. CheezWhizaholic, always with his hand out grasping for additional earthly treasures to lay up, now hired Murdoch throat and bass guitar in a Xian rock band that, if it isn't named the Fox Dicks, ought to be. His latest gig has been helping mainstream Republican rape apologists get elected to high public office.
He was in the news last week warning us that we'd be going to Hell when we die if we didn't vote Republican in this week's election. He said later that his remarks on this matter had been misinterpreted or misconstrued or taken out of context or some damned thing, that he wasn't even talking about Hell fire or the Last Judgment. But he was. You know he was, I know he was, and the American people know he was. And the Catholic bishops, who were saying pretty much the same thing. Vote GOP or burn in Hell. Read his exact words.
"Your vote will affect the future and be recorded in eternity. Will you vote the values that will stand the test of fire? This is Mike Huckabee asking you to join me November the 6th and vote based on values that will stand the test of fire."
Vote Republican-platform "values" and it'll be recorded in eternity and you pass the test of fire. Is there any other way to interpret this petulant idiot foolishness except as a threat of eternal damnation?
The only other "test of fire" that I know of is the inquisitorial one that authorized the collared Fox Dicks of olden times to burn you at the stake for holding or expressing opinions they didn't approve of. Survive, you passed the test. Perish, you flunked.
But surely Fox Dick Huck wasn't pining for a test of fire so cruel and unfair. He'd want a fair and balanced test of fire, and you'd need some good old-fashioned Bible-approved Hell fire to bring that off.
Two thoughts on this:
1. Voting GOP in 2012 is actually more likely to get you sent to Hell than to keep you out. When the panel of fate judges meets to render a verdict on your particular case, one of them is bound to say, "Well, the Lord said when you do it unto the least of these, you do it unto me, and a 2012 Republican vote was doing it to a whole slew of leasts."
2. The suggestion that there'll be fewer Republicans in Hell than voters of a different bent or stripe is just plain wrong. I know this for a fact because I was in Hell not long ago and kept a sort of running tally of the political affiliations of the suffering souls there who voted in American elections back when they were alive and kicking. I found Hell was just covered up with Republicans. Or with the charred shadows of those who had been Republicans back when they still had the option of being something else. Something better. Something salvageable.
It's very rare that a still-living person gets a free round-trip guided tour of Hell. Mine came about by accident — I was out in the deer woods, just down the road from here, and shooting at some food like Jed Clampitt, and my musket ball perforated a camouflaged portal guarding the sharp descent into the underworld. The shade of a poet dead nigh 700 years misted up through the bullet hole and invited me to come on in, take my shoes off, have a look around. Nothing on my calendar so I bit. Turned out to be quite a trek.
Today's Hell is geographically unchanged, the concentric circles wending down to a central pit where, according to "South Park," Satan dens up to hookah hash and watch DVD porn with his longtime buttboy Sadaam Hussein. The landscapes that were once ruined wilderness now feature tattoo parlors, car lots with Corvairs and Edsels predominating, tobacco superstores (everybody in Hell still smokes), and boot shops where everything comes only in rattlesnake. The place is as cheerless as Rumania, as agoraphobic as Nebraska. Zombies wander the streets of Pandemonium and Dis, Nixon being one of them.
The residents or detainees are much different characters from those in the old epics, ensconced here for a much different variety of crimes and sins. The reigning aboriginal devils and demons are much less gothic and canine and, while still lizard-eyed and forked-tongued, resemble Hermann Goring and Jim Bruton more than gargoyle doorknockers out of bad dreams.
The up-to-date damned are grim-visaged pasty-faced ex-people who live lives of quiet desperation, the difference being that they know the desperation will last forever. They'd spend much of their time masturbating if there was anything there to do it with. They watch the same TV shows as upper-worlders, and in the background there's piped-in country music that they can't ever get away from or turn off. Despite being colonless, they are required to get a colonoscopy every day. When they go out to eat, it has to be at Chick-fil-A. And even then the chicken has no substantiality. Nothing to sink their teeth into. If they had teeth.
Such scenes of desolation! Such torment everlasting! And all of it contingent to how you voted in one stupid election. Which hellacious names you X'ed. Which damnable levers you pulled.
Bob Lancaster, one of the Arkansas Times longest and most valued contributors, retired from writing his column last week. We’ll miss his his contributions mightily. Look out, in the weeks to come, for a look back at some of his greatest hits. In the meantime, here's a good place to start.
Well, when the Bull was first put up there, it meant one thing, and that…