why the molotovs, you ask

In my unending search for truth in a fair democracy, I am often asked by friends and thought colleagues why I resort to ugliness and bile to communicate my thoughts.

Simply, I don't preach to the choir. And if you are in the choir, you don't realllllly need to listen. But you need to bring your friends, because, hell, we're all sinners.

But they - you know, the CAPITAL T "THEY", don't think they're sinning. And we know that they're the filthiest fucking lot of them all.

JOKE: How many wealthy conservatives are on welfare?

ANSWER: The entire top 2%.

Sad - but if this is how we phrase the joke, then it's not funny at all. Sure there are plenty of people starving in America. But not the top 2%, who probably receive more welfare from the system, all on our sweat. Is this how it's supposed to be?

IMAGINE: We re-paint the national portrait of the typical welfare-mother to look like a 90-year-old, square-legged, whitey battleaxe with a blue dress, white puffy hair, and big baubles called pearls. With an uber-fey hubby and a passle of coke-snorting, S&L looting no-goodniks. We advance the argument. We're on the offensive and in the right, and offensive enough to get noticed. Those in the choir know I'm talking about Barbara "Gubment Teat" Bush. Those not in the choir snicker and agree, cleansed. Or they bring the fight back to us to dirty our noses and have theirs rubbed a bit more.

And we can liberate them from their filth and lies because we have the truth and stand to make no profit off it.

But we have to re-structure the argument and pose real policies as solutions. We can't simply disagree timidly (see Tom Daschle...).

They have the idiot soundbite and the media megaphone in their favor. We have humor, intelligence, wit and the truth on our side.