Are these not the hallowed letters of that great man known as Chickpea? (In which I unveil new plans to post and fail miserably)

January 21, 2009

Salve, o loyal readers of the finest fakest fulsome fawning felicities! YS has in many ways grown without tirades and there are those who seem to believe that the greatest days of YS are long past. The question of true greatness is one that requires much caution and a mind not untouched by the brilliance known to the stars alone. Shall it not be said that in an hour in which a man who appears great to the masses, to the huddled ones lurching around on the lawns, drunk on their own power and misled by a foul band of miscreants that call themselves the political elite, that YS, a bastion of oligarchy and wit and whimsy, with a touch of snark, did not stand against these encroaching forces of populist joy? DS wishes us not to be an imagined community of right wing fantasy, but can we afford to be anything else? Will all these deliberative questions eventually be answered?
The question that brings us here tonight is one of slight. YS staff held a conference about various things of salady nature, such as movies, Obama, and inane literary criticism. While such things are inevitably not interesting to a Republican such as myself, I resent not being invited. But indeed who would wish to gather with such a clucking mob, salivating over such slight scraps? Well, perhaps I would, for I was at one point a haruspex myself and could doubtless have contributed to such a conversation. I can truly watch for birds and dismember livers in ways that are too great and shining to really express through even the glowing rhetoric to which I am accustomed. So, indeed, I was slighted and my invective shall not cease to ring until a formal apology is issued from those parties who perpetrate ills against their star orator.
Some surprise came upon me this day, when I heard commentators speaking about the unprecedented nature of the American handover of power. We did, after all, have the Civil War (Does it bother anyone else that the Civil War is capitalized as if there were no other civil wars? Clearly, the Union needs to vote on a better name. It could perhaps be more aptly merged with the Reconstruction and we could have just one long period of Northern restructuring of the South.) This is, like most things American, stolen from the Romans. Our inauguration was originally in March, patterned after the bizarre Roman calendar, in which the consuls took office March 15. This is possibly the result of Romulus’ strange construction which had only the months from March to December (Why December, November, October, and September are 10, 9, 8, 7). More convincingly, quite a bit of work, most noticeably Harris, War and Imperialism in Republican Rome, has remarked on the biological nature of the Roman war machine. Consuls came to power March 15, because crops would already be planted and it was time to kill. A law in 158 BC changed the assumption of consular duties to January 1st. We have gone through a similar shift, from March 4 to January 20th since the Twentieth Amendment. From now on, you can expect biting rhetoric combined with useful parallels between ourselves and the Romans which are not to be pushed too far, as well as some overcompensation for personal insecurities. I leave with the stunning statistic which illustrates the profound gap between our own nation and that great Republic of the Romani, it took 4 farmers to feed 1 urban dweller in the Roman empire. In America, the ratio is 1 to 70.

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