Dead on the Fourth of July
Now that the reptilian and reprobate Jesse Helms is finally dead, there’s just a touch less old-fashioned, Dixie®-brand bigotry, corruption, and evil in the world. Prostate cancer and senile dementia never happened to a more deserving guy.
He was, unfortunately, a demonstration of the adage that only the good die young.
Helms, on the other hand, had a long life that he didn’t deserve and too many decades in which to permanently dismantle the National Endowment for the Arts, scorching the earth for American performers, visual artists, and writers for all time; block every attempt to fund AIDS research, treatment, and prevention efforts from 1984 onward, thus playing a leading role, along with his fellow miserable son of a bitch, Ronald Reagan, in presiding over hundreds of thousands of deaths; and generally oppose every attempt to drag the United States out of the days of Jim Crow and the big fun of attending public lynchings.
Helms was a despicable racist and a loathsome homophobe who spread misery and suffering wherever he went. The fact that there are still people in America who tell pollsters that they would “never vote for a black man as president” is an enduring tribute to Helms’ proud legacy of ignorance and divisiveness.
Few politicians have done more to dismantle democracy, promote liberty and justice for good ole (straight) (white) boys, and encourage Americans to live in some antidiluvian fantasy in which there are no queers, immigrants, ACLU members, or non-pink people. His life was a hate crime.
Roast, Jesse, roast.