Get. A. Freakin’. Grip.

Imagine, if you will, this scenario. (Thanks, Twilight Zone!)

Due to changing circumstances, you decide to relocate. You move out of your home state, and start anew elsewhere. Before you leave, you gather all documentation from your home town that you will need to make your transition easier. You know that even if you don't get everything you need, all documents are on record and can be easily accessed if you need them.

When you get to your new digs, you know that one of the first things you need to do is get a drivers' license. You love to read, so you know you want to get a library card. Since your new job involves a lot of travel, including overseas, you also need to apply for a passport. You do some research and find the requirements for all of these documents and licenses: proof of residence, proof of insurance, and in the case of your passport, you need your birth certificate. No worries, you've got your shit together and have everything at hand.

Your first stop is the the Post Office for your passport. You show them a couple of bills with your new address on them, and your driver's license from your previous state. You produce your birth certificate. The guy behind the desk looks everything over and says, "I'm sorry. This won't do."

You say, "What do you mean? I've got everything right here."

He says, "I need your birth certificate."

You give him a puzzled look, wondering if he's yanking your chain. "You've got it in your hand."

He says, "This says 'certificate of live birth.' I need your birth certificate."

By now, you're starting to get a little frustrated. "It's the same thing!"

He says, "No, it's not. One is a certificate of live birth. The other is a birth certificate. How is that the same? Besides, this doesn't look like my birth certificate."

Gritting your teeth, you say, "There is no national standardized birth certificate. Every state is different. This is what my state issued when I was born."

He says, "Whatever. I still need your birth certificate. Come back when you can show me that."

Stunned, you realize it's impossible to convince the man. You go home and think on it for a while, and come up with the brilliant idea of getting a copy of the newspaper that contained your birth announcement. You do a little online research, and for a small fee, you are able to access those archives and print out your announcement. Surely, you think, this in combination with my birth certificate, or certificate of live birth--whatever!--will do the trick, and maybe I'll get lucky and have a different guy tomorrow.

No such luck. Same guy, and as soon as you walk in, he's giving you the stink-eye. "You again. Do you have your birth certificate this time, or are you going to waste my time...again?"

"Well, sir," you say, "I still only have my certificate of live birth. There really isn't another--this is the real deal. See the official seal there at the bottom? I found a little more information, though, and I think this will convince you." You triumphantly produce the printout of your birth announcement, and lay it on the desk in front of him.

"What's this?" he asks.

"It's from the local newspaper where I was born. It's my birth announcement."

He laughs heartily. "Son, this doesn't prove diddly-squat. Anybody with half a brain can make a mockup of a birth announcement and print it out."

"But...but...you can go online and look it up in the archives yourself! It's not a fake printout--it came from the paper!"

He stops laughing. "You know what? You seem like a decent enough guy, and I'm going to give you a break. I'm going to send this application through, but let me tell you one thing: I still don't really believe these pieces of paper. I think you're making it up, or you paid somebody off to try to make it look real. You're not fooling me, but I'm not going to keep you from getting your passport, because you need it to do your job. But mark my words, son. Not everyone is going to be as forgiving as I am. There may come a time when you remember my words, and will wish that you could get your hands on your birth certificate. Don't come cryin' to me about it, because I'm trying to help you here." He stamps your application as Approved and places it in his outgoing box. "Now go on, get out of here."

You manage to close your open jaw and mutter "Thank you, sir," turn and walk out. As you look back on the surreal encounter, you realize that you have just made a narrow escape from...the Twilight Zone.

Such is the lunacy of the Birfer or Birther folks, those who believe that President Obama is not eligible to be President because he has not produced his birth certificate. He has. They just don't believe that it's valid. As Leonard Pitts put it in his excellent column on the matter, "Yours truly lacks the acumen to calculate how stupid you'd have to be to believe there is a shred of a shred of a piece of a fraction of validity to their claim."

I suppose that you can forgive the poor workin' joe (I wonder if Joe the Plumber is on board with the Birthers?) who doesn't have the capacity to comprehend the truth of the matter, but how to explain some GOP lawmakers who are still apparently unconvinced? Or a CNN talking head who although he says he believes Obama is a citizen, keeps asking for proof? As my fictional bureaucrat says, mark my words, GOP. Distance yourself from this lunatic fringe, or risk being known as the party of wingnuts. There is no logic to this strange story, and I can only speculate that for whatever reasons (racist? stubbornness? idiocy?) they simply cannot accept that Obama won the election and is now their President. It's time to straighten your tinfoil caps, put this baby to bed, and look to your future. The credibility of your party depends on it.