Have you noticed that I words are very, very, very big this year?
Case in point: Back in 1998, somewhere between the stinky finger and prostate of America, from the asshole of the Americas known as Midland, Texas, began murmurs from its Governor that God told him that He wanted him to be the Preznit. He went on a whirlwind tour over the next two years defending his lack of a state budget with, "It's clearly a budget. It's got a lot of numbers in it" and defended not knowing Pakistani President Pervez Musharraf’s first name (his guess was “General?”) by claiming that such things shouldn’t be expected of him since he had yet to be elected Preznit (“What is this, 50 Questions?” he asked the incredulous Boston Globe reporter), as if the Presidency of the United States had a learning curve that could comfortably start from the ground up, as if it was totally an OJT position. He mocked a woman on death row in front of a reporter by pursing his lips and saying, “Please, don’t kill me.”
And we and the mainstream media. Took. Him. Seriously.
We actually thought that this guy could do better than a vice president who was in the center of one of the most successful administrations in modern American history, one that left with a sizable surplus after undoing in three years a dozen years of ceaseless gang-banging under Reagan and Bush I, one that for the most part kept us out of wars and did its best to combat terrorism. One that did all this against a mostly hostile Republican Congress after 1994.
Now, I don’t believe for a minute that we as a somewhat informed electorate actually elevated this wet brained rube to the highest office in the land but the vote was close enough so that Diebold could fiddle-fuck with the votes and who’d know the difference and be able to prove otherwise? If Bush had gotten crushed by Gore like Goldwater in 1964, we’d have known something was rotten in the state of Florida if the election results had suddenly lurched toward Bush.
That alone qualifies the American public at large as being the dumbest motherfuckers in the solar system, perhaps in all 27 of the dimensions known to Star Trek’s Q.
But then the 2004 election came and America grasped its collective dunce cap as tightly as Joe Lieberman his Senate seat. By then, we’d been hit on September 11th not once, not twice, not thrice but four times in spite of our brand-new Chief Executive who vacationed more than Johnny Carson and shrugged off warnings about bin Laden striking the US by using our own planes against us. In response, he’d stripped our civil liberties with ours and Congress’s blessings with something called the USA PATRIOT Act. We’d been in Iraq for over a year (two, if you count the bombing campaign that softened up Iraq for eight months prior to the ribbon cutting ceremony of Shock and Awe on 3/19/03) and progress had been minimal to nonexistent. The economy was in the shitter due to four consecutive years of tax breaks for bloated fucks during a war that Congress had not declared. We’d received nothing in return for the giant sucking sound in our Treasury, for the holes in the Constitution and Bill of Rights, nothing in the way of competent leadership.
And we and the mainstream media. Cried. Out. For. More.
[...]This is a man with a black hole in place of a soul that sucks in campaign contributions and human lives, one who broke his campaign promise to faith-based organizations to give them eight billion dollars in federal money (they got, according to David Kuo, less than eighty million, or less than 1%). Yet these same people exhort our children to pray to a cardboard cutout effigy of George W. Bush with a tearful, rapturous joy akin to that of John McGiver’s Mr. Daniels and his electric Jesus shrine in Midnight Cowboy. And yet this Appalachian pharaoh had done his damnedest to turn 180 degrees from the teachings of the Jesus whom he claimed had saved him by enriching himself and his base, soiling the earth like a 500 foot tall Pigpen and killing and allowing to be killed perhaps millions and still fool these evangelistic pudding heads into thinking that Jesus would name him his successor.
People, we are way past the point where we should’ve asked ourselves, “America, what the fuck is the matter with you?!”
America, to quote a line from the Simpsons, he’s getting away… very slowly.
He’d already told Helen Thomas last March that we’re keeping the troops in Iraq until after his “presidency.” The only thing that’s changed since then is that at least 21,500 more troops will get stranded when he passes this Gordian knot to the legitimate 43rd President.
I've said it before and I will continue to say it until it either happens or until January 20th, 2009: Impeach the cheerleader, save the world.