This Is Where the Party Ends

It's been a long time since I saw anything this vile.

That clever man is a representative of the State of Florida on the floor of the Republican National Convention. I could go out on a limb and say that suit's probably not this gentleman's favorite evening attire, but why speculate about this one fellow when evidently more than one cognitively impaired douchebag thought this was excellent party gear? What is it?

It's an alligator hat, with a likeness of Presidential candidate Barack Obama clutched between its jaws. I'll admit: at first I didn't recognize the image, since I'm from New Jersey, where we don't know the difference between alligators and crocodiles because we know herpetologists who do, and they throw some steeeamin' soirees. But ignorance of ignorance is a fleeting privilege, and this bliss left on the wings of Mercury.

I've lived in the South but I'd never to my recollection heard the words gator bait. What is this? Hunting alligators is dangerous. For a certain segment of the swamp-neighboring white population, it was a common practice to use black children to lure alligators out of hiding. How?

It is with regret and through clenched teeth that I inform you some people look upon this horror with such amusement and nostalgia that whole hosts of kitchy goddamn memorabilia exist to satisfy those longings for the Bad Old Days. And now, jackasses from Florida have aired this blot on American history as hilarious headgear. Not only am I proud to be an American in the twenty-first fucking century, but I am thrilled that no mainstream media outlet said shit about this to shame the shameless. It's a beautiful goddamn world.




By the way, I've seen the fifties health film with the lady on fire. It warns against washing your clothes with gasoline.

No comment.


hat tip: Melissa, Petulant and InfamousQBert, who presumably have better hats.