Whither the Lowly Incandescent?

At the stroke of midnight, September 1, 2009 -- a moment that will forever live in infamy when the European Union defiled the grand legacy of Thomas Edison and the incandescent light bulb. Rumblings of similar insanity were already sweeping the US -- a nation on the verge of the horror of single payer health care, Brie on Demand, unsegregated Perrier spouting water fountains, medicinal heroin, the metric system, football really being soccer and death panel inducing uncircumcised penises -- and holding the nation in the grips of the current Nazi/Stalinist regime.

In this dark moment when our nation is at threat of our children being forced to eat artisan bread, organic fruit and read King and King, a brave voice comes from the uppermost 'burbs of the Twin Cities as brilliant as the beacon of a GE 60-100-150 three-way bulb. Having the vision in 2008 to introduce the Light Bulb Freedom of Choice Act stands Michele Representative Bachmann.

Though no fan of science, Representative Bachmann recognizes that old science is less evil than new science and points out that the halogen and florescent bulbs will spew more mercury into our society than the many platters that Jeremy Piven could consume at an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet.

Mercury. Madness. Go ask Alice. Mercury. Bulbs.

Michele is driven by these thoughts as she walks through the "hardware" aisles of a Walgreens in Adams-Morgan and fondly touches the rows of incandescents resting on the shelves like innocent babies, oblivious that like a flock of Dodo birds they are fated for the Auschwitz style ovens planned by the cruel oligarchy of the Obama White House.

Closing her eyes, Michele is reminded of the time she visited the two Menlo Parks -- in California and New Jersey (where she got a great deal at the Ann Klein outlet in the mall) and sends out a prayer to the memory of Edison. Edison. Menlo. Edison. Menlo. Santa Michele. Santo Edison.
In a near trance, Michele is transported to Mount Menlo where she stands before the power of Menlo, the Greek god of invention. He peers down to her, tiny wire filigrees connecting in his eyes until they are lit brightly, giving her the strength to soldier onward, to champion the American right of choice, to embrace the unhealthy, unsustainable, environmentally destructive, insane values of our fore bearers. She imagines the rotting corpse of Ronald Reagan emerging from his grave like Frankenstein, his rotted brain only slightly more moldy than it was in 1985. Freedom. Contras. Innocent victims. Jolt Cola. Flock of Seagulls. Ah.

Michele falls to the floor, her crotch moist and head bleeding on the tiles as the announcement on the intercom has a slight tremor beneath the endless rows of fluorescent bulbs, "Customer assistance in hardware. Customer assistance in hardware!"