Sava the flava

If you're not a Republican, this is as good as it gets, right now. (And if you are a Republican, come back for football talk later this week. Corn Chips & Pie is a big-tent blog.) The moment before indictments are handed down in the Plame case. There's crazy-ass speculation going on right now, by ostensibly serious people. Libby? Rove? Iraq lies exposed? Cheney, for Chrissake?

The anticipation is always better, before the beautiful profusion of branches on the Tree of Possibilities is cruelly trimmed by the, uh, Gardener of Fate. Let me further analogize. If you're a rich little girl, this is like staring, wide-eyed, at the pony-shaped birthday gift still in its wrapping paper. If you wore Kangol hats in the early '90s, it's like the day the Stone Roses' second album was released, before you heard just how shitty it was. If you are morbidly obese, it's like stroking the carton of Chunky Monkey before the inevitable guilt and lactose intolerance ensue.

I'm free to imagine anything now. Fitzgerald indicts the entire White House, then parades a naked, shackled Karl Rove down Wall Street. Ticker tape parade, feces hurled, pandemonium. Bush and Cheney are sentenced to eat mussels and scallops until their stomachs burst. You know, the usual fantasies. Don't tell me how it really turns out.