The collective wit and wisdom of the clientele here is what makes us the Worlds Most Dangerous Beauty Salon – dangerous, at least, to the anti-progress forces which threaten to take civilization back into the Dark Ages.   Words and ideas have always been sword and buckler against such recidivism.  Long-time customer Micr has been credited with my favorite example of this: “snacilbupeR.”  In one clever inversion, he has captured the essence of the perversion of what used to be a fine upstanding member of America’s two-party system.  But it is a term that people have stumbled over, a time or two, and has never been fully fleshed out for the casual patron, so I have taken a whack at describing the genus, here, in verse.  And so without further ado, I hereby dedicate  to Micr:

The Ballad of the snacilbupeR
by Primo Encarnación

We stood on the Hill with our hands out
With a lead in the Senate and House.
We offered to work well in harness
(Can you harness a horse to a louse?)
The country had spoken quite clearly
But now found themselves in a stupor:
The minority GOP party
Had turned into snacilbupeR.

Tradition’s conservative party
Likes all of their changes quite slow:
They keep one foot on the brake pedal
And prefer “Caution” to “Go!”
But lately they’ve slowed so completely
That “progress” to them is a curse.
The people we call snacilbupeR
Are Republicans stuck in reverse.

They’re taking their country back with them
To a land that time has forgot,
When white Jesus bronc-busted T-Rex,
With sodomites busted by Lot,
And blah people knew well their places,
And wives? Well they were just super:
Barefoot and pregnant while cooking
Is the gal for a snacilbupeR!

And guns, well sir, don’t get them started!
This country was always its best
When a man who went out on a Sunday
Was never considered well-dressed
Without he had strapped on his pistol,
To shoot someone inside a church.
The Christian and armed snacilbupeR
Is the saintliest man since John Birch.

As far back in time as they long for,
The old time they tend to forget
Is when all of the Indians lived here,
And white peoples’ backs were all wet.
Columbus and all his successors,
Each good snacilbupeR believes,
Were white Christian action-film heroes,
Not manifest destiny thieves.

Then poor benighted electors,
In twenty-first century ten,
Gave back Congress to snacilbupeR,
Then did it again and again.
The districts are so gerrymandered,
Minority votes so suppressed,
That unless all you good folks are voting
Then all progress will be regressed.

snacilbupeR – what care they for science
Unless it is factually free
In order to serve the agenda
Of the fossilized fuel industry?
For polar bears, people and coastlines,
For the Atlantic Goliath Grouper,
For anyone who’s not a Koch-head,
Your murderer is snacilbupeR.

No matter your views this election –
“Go Hill!” or “Feel the Bern” –
The death of Judge snacilbupeR
Means we need all your votes for this turn.
And now that this ditty is finished
And you’ve all stuck it out like a trooper
We’ve learned the true meaning of evil:
Not each other – snacilbupeR.