Roger Gray

Darn! We Were Counting on That John Worldpeace Juggernaut Gathering Speed

Open the bar, the primaries are over – well, almost. And what an embarrassment for a couple of prominent Democrats. Dan Morales started sounding like David Duke there for a while, ranting on about Spanish actually being used in a debate. Frankly, I think he was momentarily deluded into thinking it was a Republican primary. For Dan (who would understand all this if he were Hispanic) and the brownshirts on talk radio, here’s the deal: If you lived in France and were a responsible newly minted citizen, you would make it your business to be pretty fluent in French. But would a political debate in English help you understand some nuances that might escape you in your adopted tongue? Of course, and it probably wouldn’t undermine the Republic. Of course, the French wouldn’t care. But we do. It’s no more complicated than that. Dan’s hysterically desperate charges about racism and Tony Sanchez somehow facilitating Sept. 11 were the loopy capstones to a once promising political career. Dan now joins the Henry Cisneros – I blew my chance to be an Hispanic Kennedy- Club, and any talk of running again should be chalked up to exposure to ground-level ozone or something.

And you’d think that being handed a revered and honorable political name like Bentsen at birth and then actually making it to the U.S. Congress ought to be enough to get a minimally competent politico onto the next level. But our boy Ken, a man who can walk across a beach and leave no footprints, couldn’t rouse enough enthusiasm about his performance in D.C. to best a schoolteacher in a mini-pickup so he could face a man known primarily in Dallas. When Uncle Lloyd stops slapping his forehead, he should slap Ken silly.

David Dewhurst, whose presence in Austin has been imperceptible, trounced a guy who I suspect from his picture is really Mickey Gilley. Dewhurst and Tony Sanchez are that new breed of rich guy who is just plain bored, puts his wealth on autopilot and takes a flyer at politics. The thought of a Sanchez/Perry race is better than Sominex and bodes well for Texas in that none of these guys will do anything they are promising. It’s the office that counts. Meanwhile, search teams with dogs have fanned out in quest of detectable personalities in this bunch.

Our First “In Your Face” Put a Cork in it-  Awards

Bush spokesloon Ari “I’m in over my head” Fleischer sought to rationalize administration inaction on the Israeli-Palestinian issue by blaming the violence on Bill Clinton and his push for a peace settlement – obviously the result of too much Limbaugh piped into the White House intercom system.

Russell Yates, who ought to be sharing a cell with his homicidal nutlog helpmate, actually blamed everyone but himself for her life sentence. Among his regrets –

“We won’t be able to have more children.” Expect tubal ligation rates to soar.

Jeffrey Skilling, the amnesiac former head of that daisy chain of offshore pseudo-commerce known as Enron, apparently used Chico Marx as his model for testimony before a salivating Congress.

“Heeeyy! I’ma don’ know noting about dis!” Too bad Ken Lay chose Harpo – “Datsa my partner. He don- speak!” Skilling was so slimy, his own mother didn’t buy it, which probably cost her an invite to his wedding to an Enron vice president. Here’s hoping that VP will be allowed conjugal visits.

And a preemptive award for Anna Nicole Smith, the pneumatic widow of the late, randy but overmatched J. Howard Marshall. She finally got $88 mil from his estate, and here’s hoping she will confine future appearances to Playboy. If Marshall’s son Pierce has any brains at all, he’ll leave well enough alone. Don’t worry, she’ll blow it all on pizza and silicone.