Archive
08/13/08 - (2)
Heck of a Job Face it — with Alfred E. Neuman still in the Situation Room, At the helm of the good ship What, Me Worry?, I must admit I'm more than a little scared shitless.
After all, isn't this the guy — Benjy Compson — Who's changed the way mankind utters and receives wisdom, Mouthing those unforgettable words, immemorial phrases:
"Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream"; "Brownie, you're doin' a heck of a job"; "I looked into his eyes and saw his soul. He's a good man"?
Why, just today, our messianic golem-robot, Dubya XYZ, With the able-bodied assistance of his rabid pit bull, Who goes by the twin pet names of Dr. Cheney and Mr. Hyde,
Dispatched a smidgen of our military (currently mired in Iraq, Afghanistan, South Korea, and God only knows where), To shepherd humanitarian supplies, by C-17, to Tbilisi, Georgia,
Directly in the cross hairs of "Vladimur" Putin's Cold War troops, Recklessly putting our soldiers in harm's way — Sitting ducks in a "nucular" sideshow shooting gallery —
Aggravating an already extremely iffy critical mass, Pressing our luck, with a certifiably maniacal miscreant, Antagonizing a monster into whose eyes the world has looked
And seen not a good man (let alone a soul) But the visage of an anti-Gorbachev sociopath — evil incarnate — Sporting a port-wine-stain "666" on his receding hairline.
Blimey! Sacrebleu! Merde! Egads! Gadzooks! Fuck me! Sunova Beach! Holy shit-on-a-stick! Jesus P. Christ-on-a-Crutch! Now, what do we do, Brownie? "FEMUR," do you have a clue?
08/13/08 - (2)
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