Dear Senator Blunt,
I recently called you a gun whore and I apologize.
Oh, don’t get me wrong here. I don’t apologize to you, Senator. I apologize to all the street prostitutes in the world who don’t deserve to be compared to a United States Senator of your dubious moral quality. Most of the women who decide to make a living on the streets by selling themselves to the highest bidder do so for reasons beyond their control, reasons like poverty, sexual abuse, or drug addiction. Misfortune in life has often driven them to trading favors for money.
But you, Senator Blunt, have had no such misfortune in life. You, along with most of your Republican colleagues, simply sold yourself to the NRA for political power and for thirty pieces of blood-stained silver. Make no mistake about it, sir, the money you have taken from the NRA—and the money you will no doubt take from the NRA in the future—has blood on it.
That money, every single dollar, has on it blood spattered from bullet-riddled six-year-old faces, kids who spent their last minutes of life on this earth in utter terror, as a madman with a military style killing machine in his hands and armed with multiple 30-round magazines, quickly and methodically hunted them down and murdered all twenty of them, along with the six adults who tried to be their guardian angels on that bloody day.
You, too, Senator Blunt, are a guardian angel of sorts. Through your unfailing support of the NRA, you look after the welfare of gun manufacturers and their profits. You are the dark and dishonest spirit that keeps the NRA in power and keeps America awash in guns, awash in war-time killing machines, awash in blood, even the blood of children.
Your claims to voters and ultimately to the Almighty that you are a Christian and a “social conservative” will one day, if there is any justice in this incomparably large and unfathomably cold universe, be weighed against your actions as the gluttonous guardian angel of people and groups who care for nothing but their own narrow, lucrative interests.
Yes, Senator, I apologize to all the whores in the world for comparing what you do to what they do. They merely trade sexual favors for money. You trade the public good for money and power. You trade the commonweal for currency and clout. You trade our national well-being for your own. And, I confess, you are good at it. You are good at turning tricks and selling yourself to the highest bidder and accumulating power in Washington. In fact, Public Citizen honored your whoring skills with a special report:
That report, which examined your record as a legislator in the House, revealed the truth about what it is you do, Senator:
In the end, what emerges is a portrait of a legislative leader who not only has surrendered his office to the imperative of moneyed interests, but who has also done so with disturbing zeal and efficiency.
What perverted pride you must have felt at being so honored, Mr. Blunt. What sick satisfaction you must have experienced when a Washington Post profile favorably compared your work in the House to convicted felon Tom DeLay, and noted that,
Here in Washington, Blunt has converted what had been an informal and ad hoc relationship between congressional leaders and the Washington corporate and trade community into a formal, institutionalized alliance.
And now that you are in the Senate, you must feel a strange and devilish joy that your prowess as a corporate prostitute is still recognized, not only for your continued support for the gun industry, but for the agribusiness industry:
I have to admit that slipping a Monsanto-friendly provision into a totally unrelated piece of legislation is a skillful maneuver worthy of anything I have ever seen in the Kama Sutra or, frankly, in Deep Throat or Debbie Does Dallas.
But your votes on Wednesday, Senator Blunt, your votes to kill even the mildest and most common-sense efforts to at least make it more difficult for murderers to murder our kids and loved ones with NRA-protected killing machines, those votes, those votes, Senator, are more shameful than anything you have ever done.
The lies you, your colleagues, and the NRA told about the legislation, and your votes that ultimately killed all the relatively modest proposals and amendments, those lies and those votes, if there were a righteous God who has ears to hear and eyes to see what you have done, would move him to, as the Bible says, spew you and your cowardly colleagues out of his mouth on some future judgment day.
But, alas, whether there will be such a future day of everlasting judgment, whether there will be a time when you, Senator Blunt, stand before and receive unappealable justice from the God you claim to worship, whether there will be such a day and time is uncertain. Not one of us knows the truth about that possibility. But we do know, we can be certain of one thing, that the judgment of history, the only judgment we as human beings can make that has any permanence, won’t be kind to you, sir.
If there is a heaven and hell of human construction, it is the heaven and hell of historical judgment. And someday, long after you have passed from this life and have or haven’t met your creator, your descendants will find your legislative legacy in the hell of human history, where it most certainly belongs and where it, if not you, will live forever.