The cat is out of the bag, the rabbit is out of the box, the possum is sprung from the hav-a-hart, the steel-trapped weasel has finally gnawed thru his own ankle to expose the ugly truth of his suffering. The wounded Republican Party and its snarling, ugly face, back from the mean old woods where pages-thin arguments of reason trapped far fewer pelts than meaty, florid, and festering hunks of raw red meat, has burst from its closet in Atlanta, like Jack Nicholson’s face thru the bathroom door. “Racism by any other word”, Governor Kemp might easily, could greasily, have quipped, witnessed by a solemn roomful of white guys that ignored the imploring and polite knock on the room door by a state-level black female elected official, which official was cuffed and scruffed and shown the door by uniformed bouncers. I cannot see how this law’s bundle of restrictions on voting access and execution can survive judicial review without being struck for discrimination against a number of voter population groups. This law is like a little paper boat that some sweet kid has folded and set adrift on a park pool surface in hopes that it might float, but like so many items Republicans have dropped into the national punch bowl of late, it will take a dive when it hits the rigid bergs of reason. Jim Baird Comer