True to Form, Dept.

Every song, no matter good or crap, eventually comes true.

Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash girlchild in the dark
Comes in bells, your servant, don't forsake him
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart[1]

The dramaturges of the Absurd could not have crafted a better scenario than this. Allison Meyers, the twit-twat director of the Republican National Committee's "Young Eagles" program for post-pubescent, pre-sclerotic conservatives, was shitcanned for approving a two grand reimbursement for a donor event at a high-end bondage club in West Hollywood that features an Eyes Wide Shut vibe and faux-girl-on-girl action.

I mean, really, it's just too goddamn easy. Obvious, even. Were this a screenplay, it'd be bluepenciled to death. The far-right conservatives who, on the DL, indulge in decadent, kinky fun...CLICHÉ!! And, yet, it's twue, oh so vewwy twue.

Meyers has thrown herself in a hole and pulled it in after her, deleting her Facebook, LinkedIn and other social media profiles. No photos of her are known to exist. She hunts by night and sleeps by day. Mothers tie leeks around their children's necks to ward off her long and gory teeth. Her real name is known only to her Dark Master, the Lord of the Flies.

Naaah...I'm just foolin'...she's a subcompetent gladhander who attended Florida State and who maybe thought she'd figured out how to get ahead in the doubtless-womyn-friendly RNC. She's fucked for now, but maybe she'll "reinvent" herself and run for governor of Alaska.

Hey, it worked for the stupidest woman north of the 49th parallel.

Oh, and Michael Steele is so clowny, Ringling Brothers is considering suing him for IP theft.

1. Lou Reed, 1967.