Rudy and Pat: Soulmates

Nothing pleases more than watch Republican hypocrites ruin the creases in their trousers by kneeling before right-wing hucksters masquerading as political prelates, to ask for their blessings in the upcoming presidential caucuses and primaries.

Of the rogues running for the Republican nomination none excel Rudy Giuliani
in sauciness and cant and none deserve more than he what he earned the other day, the kiss of that fading Elmer Gantry, Pat Robertson.

The Super Rev. Mr. Robertson, who when he is not shaking down the suckers for money has been foursquare against many of the things Giuliani embraces, spends much of his time talking to God, or at least Robertson says so. God had not said much to others on the subject.

God, you may remember, told Robertson that because of such sins in the United States as allowing abortions and protecting homosexuals from assaults and murders he, God, let the Islamic guerillas fly jet planes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon as recompense.

God also plays weatherman to Robertson, who relayed that God hinted the nastiness of New Orleans caused Hurricane Katrina to devastate the city and its population.

Giuliani likes to don frilly dresses from time to time, to cool his fevered groin, no doubt--something his sundry wives have not been able to do. He supports homosexual rights and supports the right to abortions (it took him awhile to say that plainly). His children detest him for his crude and embarrassing philandering. He touts himself now as a moral man, a devout Catholic. He never goes to church. His second and third marriages of course abhor the church. (Unless he wins the presidency. Then Rome will find a way to return Giuliani to the right hand of the Pope.)

None of that troubles Robertson. Nor does Giuliani’s ignoring the mob connections of the crooked cop he raised from being his driver and bodyguard to being New York City’s police commissioner, head of all cops, Bernie Kerik.

Kerik is now under federal indictment for a multitude of cheap but profitable sins. Kerik put his hands out for handouts and the wise guys filled them up.

Kerik when he was chief cop right after Sept. 11's attack had the city rent him a command center--an expensive apartment near Ground Zero, where his master, Giuliani, as mayor, was playing the mayor of a city suffering a terrible blow. Kerik, though, went Giuliani’s grandstanding one better: He used his command center for Kama Sutra sessions with his latest girl friend. While the Trade Center’s rubble burned, Kerik canoodled. Giuliani didn’t care. He still defends his former lackey.

Robertson, full of real politik, knows an endorsement now might win him the right to utter the benediction at what he hopes will be Giuliani’s inaugural banquet. Robertson explains his kissing of Giuliani’s forehead by saying he and Rudy traveled together some years back and discovered themselves soul mates. There’s no arguing with that. As the saying goes about grifters, it takes one to know one.