The pending demise of Uncle (Deleted)

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I think I need to call home and check on Uncle (Deleted).

Between Barack Obama becoming the 44th president of the United States -- the first African-American president of the United States -- and today's election of Michael Steele as chairman of the Republican Party -- the first African-American chairman of the GOP -- January has been a cruel metaphysical month for Uncle (Deleted).

AND HE WAS WORRIED about a black proctologist.

From MSNBC:

Michael Steele was elected Republican National Committee chairman on Friday, defeating the incumbent party chief and three other challengers over six rounds of voting to become the first black to lead the GOP.

(snip)

"As a little boy growing up in this town, this is awesome," said Steele, the most moderate candidate in the field and considered an outsider because he's not a committee member.
In a brief acceptance speech, the new GOP chairman struck a tone of inclusiveness.

"We're going to say to friend and foe alike: We want you to be a part of us, we want you to with be with us, and for those who wish to obstruct, get ready to get knocked over," Steele said.

NOW, POLITICALLY, there's nowhere for someone as unreconstructed as Uncle (Deleted) to turn. For old Jim Crow, hiding out in the swamps of Louisiana, this cruelest of months must be something like the Charge of the Light Brigade:

"Forward, the White Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

N*****s to right of them,
N*****s to left of them,
N*****s in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the n*****s there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Agitators and misegenators
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

(Apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

THIS MONTH, it's just been a bitch to be racist. Then again, tomorrow is another day!

But maybe not for Uncle (Deleted). Alas.