I have a genuine nomination coming up in the next day or two, and another one coming fast on the heels, and they're both doozies. I don't want to blow anything, though...man this is getting exciting...and Mountain Dew Warm has generously agreed to fly one very lucky Crushed by Inertia reader to HOLLYWOOD for the big Braffy Award ceremony (Hosted by Cedric the Entertainer!!!! And you just know Velvet Revolver is gonna show up! Those guys rock! They don't at all make heroin addiction look sexy and glamorous!)
But I digress. This post is about how Bill Frist is a ridiculous, preening phony. Here's a photo of Frist demonstrating his favored technique for massaging Dick Cheney's scrotum:
Bill has messed up over and over again recently. First, he tried to keep that comatose Schiavo woman alive for no good reason, going so far as to diagnose her condition on the floor of the Senate based on some video footage of her.
From a medical standpoint, I wanted to know a little bit more about the case itself, so I've had the opportunity to review the initial tapes that were made, the examination, the physical examination on which the case was ultimately based, the fact that she was in a persistent vegatative state, a lot of neurologists, scores of neurologists have come forward and said that it doesn't look like that she is in a persistent vegatative state. That is - it's a strange word, this vegatative state that connotes all sorts of things to lay people. But it is a medical term, and it means that she is not in a coma.
Okay, so here Bill's saying that, because he was a heart surgeon, he can look at a video of a passed-out chick and determine the level of her vegatative state. And that we people wouldn't understand, because to us, she just looks like some weird passed-out chick.
Right.
So the question is: should we allow her to be starved to death. I mention that because it is a very important case. It has to do with the culture of life. And I believe this body is going to have to speak on this particular matter before we leave for recess.
Bill doesn't care if prisoners are executed, or if people in the inner city die of hunger or exposure or gun violence, or if Iraqis die from bombs or if American soldiers die from mines or explosions or friendly fire. Only women who have been passed out for 14 years and embryos that have attached themselves to a uterine wall. That's it. Everyone else, go fuck yourself.
Okay, so Bill Frist is ridiculous. But a preening phony? Isn't that a bit harsh?
Let's not forget his whole "nuclear option" stop the fillibuster disaster, that led members of his own party to defect and make a deal with moderate Democrats. Granted, it wasn't a terrifically lucrative deal. But Republicans hate making deals with Democrats under any circumstances. Remember, we hate America. And Michael Moore is very, very fat, let's not forget that.
So, basically, Republicans are taking major chances just for the opportunity to publicly humiliate Bill Frist. It's pretty sweet.
But now for my favorite part of all. See, Billy Bob's desperately trying to regain some popularity among his core supporters. Namely, rednecks. So he went last weekend to the NASCAR Coca-Cola 600 in Concord, North Carolina. You know, to really get in touch with the people.
He began by comparing the experience of attending a NASCAR event to his childhood, spent flying small planes. (NOTE: Frist grew up in a wealthy family that partially owned a massive chain of hospitals, and is one of the richest men in the Senate...Think about that...one of the richest men...in the Senate.)
"I grew up in Nashville, Tennessee," he said. "Nashville Speedway was about, probably, four miles from my house. My first recollections of stock car racing were being in my house on Bowling Avenue, and on warm summer nights, when I was 7, 8 years old, listening to the sounds of cars."
Frist also pointed out that he "has spent a lot of time around engines, and grew up flying small planes."
You know, it's like Lennon said. "A working class hero is something to be."
Frist proceeded to compare the experience of NASCAR to his own life experience as, gulp, a surgeon.
"You have a team of about eight to nine people, working on a car, preparing to race tonight -- everything from tires to suspension to engine to appropriate panel size to weight, all coming together almost like a symphony in preparation for a run of 600 miles tonight," he said. "So from a technical aspect, my years as a surgeon who has worked with artificial hearts and lasers and mechanical devices is sort of an innate identification."
Oh, man, this is truly the work of a ridiculous, preening phony. But the story gets even better. Frist, who had now spent all this time talking about what a big NASCAR fan he was and how much he liked and respected stock car racing, fucked up the names of one of the drivers!
On race day, Frist stumbled during an appearance in the massive media center, referring to Tennessean Sterling Marlin as "Sterling Martin," and failed to correct himself.
Way to go, Bing Bong!
Oh, and before I go, here's a picture of Bill doing his best Skeletor impression.
Oh, and my thanks to Salon for the tip-off on the NASCAR story.
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