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Baby Bush's Garage Is On Fire
'This is not the fight we entered in Iraq, but it is the fight
we are in'.
- George W. Bush State of The Union Address
death rattle echoed through the chamber Tuesday night as the remains
of the 43rd President of the United States meandered through a
few flaccid domestic issues that no one has any attention in seeing
through and then moved onto the main topic of the night, what
every frothing pundit from coast to coast was creaming to hear:
Military Surge In Iraq.
Predictably, despite growing dissent from generals on the ground, a
few ship-bailing exercises at the Pentagon, a minor exodus from key
Republican senators, and mid-term election results that voiced national
concern, George W. Bush is not backing down.
There will be a military build-up.
The only question remains will the Democrat-controlled
congress fund it or not. Non-binding resolutions are cute, but they
have as much bite as loonies waving signs in the streets. The process
of this republic was set up a little more tangibly. As stated last week
in this space, Congress is granted the power to represent the people
and act accordingly. They talk tough, we will see.
But the fact remains that if this president sends any
more Americans into the cauldron that is Iraq now, (unless it is 150,000
to 200,000 strong, as suggested by trained military minds, not draft-dodging
milquetoasts like Dick Cheney) it is a suicide mission and nothing short
of first-degree murder. Planned. Manipulated. Cold and calculated. He
will affectively take that dark turn into warmonger and rouse the ghost
of Lyndon B. Johnson.
Why would we think differently?
How many times do we let these idiots screw this thing
up at the cost of American lives and boatloads of cash? I'm not sure
I'm all in favor of a mass-exodus either, but it is abject folly to
allow those currently in charge of this botched occupation to make any
more decisions. Enough is enough. Either do the job right, or don't
do it at all.
(Warning: The following paragraphs are replete with blatant
and juvenile metaphors, but we're running out of fancy ways of saying
the same fucking thing.)
Let's say, for instance, you took your car to the Baby
Bush Auto Garage. The old girl has been burping up hills lately. A hint
of burning oil is evident when you hit the gas. Perhaps there're even
some additional noises in there. He tells you his staff is experienced
with these types of problems. They're chomping at the bit to do a major
overhaul. You're skeptical at first, you've been screwed by mechanics
before, but there is some significant evidence that the car will soon
break down and leave you stranded. You tell Baby Bush and his boys to
have a crack at it.
After a few weeks, it's done. From first look, the car
is practically brand new, and for the first month or so it runs fairly
well. It isn't exactly the souped-up roadster the blustery Baby Bush
promised, but it's better.
Oh, but wait, after a few more weeks a couple of different
burps and odors arise, and yup, looks like the original problems are
returning. You bring the car back. A steadfast Baby Bush is adamant
about another go-round for a nominal fee. He also assures you that it
isn't the same problems after all. Now it's the transmission and some
breaks are needed. You're pretty skeptical, again, but you're already
into the repairs for a good sum of cash and these guys are pledging
like mad that they're the right men for the job -- "We love your
car more than any we've had in here!" they exclaim. Against more
cautious judgment, you let them have at it.
After about a month or so of excuses and revisions in
the diagnosis and more proposed costs, you return to the Baby Bush Garage
to find the car in serious disrepair. Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ! You're
now convinced these guys are not just incompetent, but crazy. One of
them is stomping on the hood, another stands around kicking the tires
mumbling incoherently, and still others are doing god-knows-what. It's
an odd scene, but Baby Bush has now informed you that if not for these
eccentric but brave souls the car would be declared dead and buried.
They are so close to not only reviving it, Baby Bush tells you, but
also making it like new, saving the very nature of auto travel for you
and everyone on America's byways.
At this point you want to have your car towed out of there
and run for the hills. Forget the whole thing ever happened. But what
if Baby Bush is right? What if you only wait a couple of days more --you've
waited all this time, and all of it on blind faith -- and you're beloved
car will be yours again, running smooth and true. And what if these
apparent lunatics are onto something big? Once more you leave with trepidation,
but you figure one more chance at this juncture won't be the end of
Two or three days later you return to find that not only
is your car complete engulfed in flames but the crack Baby Bush team
is ranting and raving like savages. One of them is on fire and the entire
garage is exploding all over the block. You are understandably appalled.
You demand your poor vehicle back, or compensation, or something. Out
of the carnage Baby Bush strides confidently towards you, smiles, and
calmly says, "Okay, I have one more plan."
© James Campion Jan 29th 2007
For some sad reason only known to the gods
of misfortune, I found myself listening to the "Imus In The Morning"
radio broadcast sometime during the surreally long week of funeral events
surrounding the passing of our 38th president.
Challenge to the 110th Congress
"What country can preserve its liberties if its rulers are
not warned from time to time that the people preserve the spirit of
James Campion on how Oil Money crushes Global Warming Science
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