BURN: On Buzzard Sex, Michael Steele, And The RNC

It's spring time in Texas!  One of the perennial rites of spring is the mating ritual of buzzards, which I can't avoid seeing I get to observe from my rural home.  I suppose it is wonderful to a buzzard.  I guess it may even serve the greater good, in the grand, cosmic scheme of things.  But from my point of view, necessary as it may be, it is never pretty.  Never.

I was pondering this the other day as I passed a trio of amorous buzzards in mid...er...courtship.  Not at all strangely, my mind was immediately drawn to comparisons of the RNC, and to Michael Steele.

Now, it must be understood that I do not know Mr. Steele, though I have at times past thought very well of him.  I am not a denizen of the DC swamp, nor even the Tidewater of anyplace east of the Sabine.  So, I cannot claim to have ever rubbed elbows with any RNC types of any rank whatsoever.  That is my blessing and my curse, I suppose.  I bear it with perverse pride.

Nor would it be true to say that I hold anything but sort of neutral views of Mr. Steele even now.  Or that I deplore his helmsmanship over the RNC vessel, even while recognizing it has had its ups and downs.

But it would be fair to say that buzzard sex naturally calls to my mind the RNC in its present iteration.  It may be wonderful to the species.  I guess it may even serve the greater good, in the grand, cosmic scheme of things.  But it is ALMOST never pretty, and sometimes it's down-right unpleasant to observe.

I think The Daily Caller FAILED the other day in publishing the story about the bondage-themed expenditures.  I'm satisfied that Mr. Steele had no direct connection to the whole, sordid deal.

But...in a day when so VERY many of us are just sick to death of the ruling class spending our money like it's THEIR water...the atmospherics were just rotten.

Think about it, Mr. Steele...