So, that's how it's to be, is it? We go off for a few measly days and everything goes down the tubes.
 
Well, there's a hell of a note.
 
In hopes of a brief respite from the hurly-burly and, we will go so far as to say, topsy-turvy of political discourse, we announced in June our simple intent to avail ourselves of a few month's sabbatical. Our purpose, to fortify ourselves for the upcoming epic electoral struggle in which our Beloved Leader must contend with an as yet unknown entree from the rapidly growing Democratic menu.
 
At such times we get in touch with our Inner Reactionary by immersing ourselves in bounteous nature--or at least what little of it former EPA Director Christine Todd Whitman hasn't polished off. Our dedication to this task is absolute; wherever the bee sucketh, or the host of golden daffodils flutters in the breeze, there sucketh and flutter we.
 
This is hard work and requires a good deal of diligent concentration. Thus, while sucketh-ing and flutter-ing like there was no tomorrow, little did we know that the conservative cause was in the process of going to the bow-wows in a hand basket.
 
It will take us several weeks fully to recount the various instances of hard fate that now appear to loom before us. They are all equally unsavory, but perhaps it would be best to proceed from the ridiculous to the merely disastrous. In that order we must first consider the California...oh, let's call it an "election."
 
A little background: In 2002, a calamitous spate of energy disasters caused California's already dire economic condition to accelerate downhill faster than the President's current approval ratings. But by the time of the Gubernatorial election the state's prognosis was generally considered to be improving.
 
The marginal winner of that contest was Gray Davis, the richly experienced albeit effervescence-challenged Democratic workhorse (one may distinguish between Mr. Davis and his photograph by observing that the photograph is more lifelike).
 
Barely hours on the heels of his victory, the Governor announced his sudden ''discovery'' that, earlier rosy economic projections aside, the state was actually in hock up to its widow's peak. This revelation energized a vigorous public discussion that may be characterized as two schools of thought: on one side those who believed that the Governor was a lying, four-flushing mountebank who should be horsewhipped in the public square; and those on the other who didn't like him quite that much.
 
As a result, the restless river of opportunity began to stir, and among the first to cast himself into its currents was California Representative Darrell Issa. Mr. Issa is a millionaire many times over due to his development of a successful line of car alarms. His success might fairly be thought due to a family expertise in the field of property crime--something of a franchise. The Congressman has himself been arrested several times on felony automotive fraud and weapons charges, and his brother served a five-year sentence for car theft. We have no information regarding the activities of his parents, but the mind somehow turns to thoughts of Ma Barker.
 
Devotees of the theory that crime does not pay will be saddened to learn that Mr. Issa is in fact rolling in the stuff.
 
Although he is of Lebanese descent, Issa's ideological roots can be traced to Attila the Hun. Sad to say, his own brush with crime has not resulted in noticeable empathy for the wayward. Having himself only narrowly eluded the bailiff's clutch, he is nonetheless famous for his advocacy of draconian criminal punishment. He is a firm believer in the social efficacy of the hoosegow--when applied to those other than himself.
 
And with these attitudes as his ensign--and the availability of a vast sea of spondulicks, the Congressman launched and underwrote an expensive recall campaign, the principal tenet of which was that those seeking a replacement need look no further than himself.
 
But his hopes--and his expenditures--were rendered irrelevant by the unexpected emergence of a dark horse candidate, a man who arose, as have so other Californian leaders, from the manic depths of the entertainment industry. The race was now commanded by the very spit and image of a champion, a magnetic and powerful man who fairly radiated competence, charm and vitality; and who by his mere aspect swept aside all who were merely mortal. In short, Gary Coleman.
 
Also joining the contest was the redoubtable Arnold ("Arnold the Silent") Schwartzenegger, a quasi-talented celebrity. Mr. Schwartzenegger, who represents the Visigoth wing of the Republican Party, adds new luster to the phrase "flip-flop." His earlier socio-political views, although not provably the result of a membership in the Nazi Jugenbund, would not have seemed out of place there. His electoral charm is further compromised by a past that includes admittedly frequent group sex, more recent charges of inappropriate fondling of female media personalities, and conspicuous womanizing (have you noticed, no one never speaks of women "mannizing"?)
 
And while Mr. Davis may or may not be beatable, it is by no means clear that the Austrian tragedian has the moxie to best the wily and highly experienced Democratic hedge-candidate, Cruz Bustamante. In the more far-sighted conservative circles this uncertainty has given rise to the fear that the recall toss might come up snake eyes.
 
Still, Mr. Schwartzenegger has succeeded in moderating his image to some little effect. Whether affected more by his subsequent marriage into the Kennedy clan, or by a deeper political instinct for the zeitgeist, His social and political perspectives appear to have broadened somewhat, and those of his views that were once regarded as asinine, are now thought to be only half-asinine.
 
Next week our review of the summer's activities continues with a look at the Little War that Could.