In America, No One Can Hear You Scream
Well, here we are again. Inauguration Day. Doesn't it just give you a stiffie to see the most superficial and false elements of human existence celebrated in such a lavish way? So it will proceed tomorrow, as the teeming poverty-stricken hordes of this country claw their way out of their Hoovervilles and face the vicious spray-cannons of the Department of Homeland Security, while our bloated plutocratic class dines on lamb's bladder, Johnnie Walker Blue, and the body of Christ.
Sweet Caroline, what I wouldn't do to climb into a king-sized sack at the Peninsula with those chicks from RU. They make the two Russian girls who kissed on TV look like Lucy and Ethel. RU is performing at the inauguration. For real. And Republican Party "Super-Rangers," individuals who worked around loopholes and raised $100,000 to be spent on incompetent security for an unnecessary party, get a lap dance as part of their "Celebrating Freedom" package. For $200,000, they get their Service Honored, and at the $500,000 level, they get to join the Mile High Club.
But what did I smoke a bowl and then get online to say? Oh, yes.
Read this piece from the Christian Science Monitor, which, despite its name, is not really a paper that covers Christianity, or science, for that matter. But they do provide outstanding narratives like the one I just linked to above. At last, the truth about Iraq is coming out. And I know that story is true, because I've been a reporter and I've woken up screaming during a travel junket to Montreal, much less in the most hellish war zone on the planet.
This, then, is what our grand experiment in democracy has come to. We've created a very dangerous environment that may actually turn into one of the most dangerous environments of all time, though admittedly such things are difficult to calculate. You should all spend a few minutes biting off parts of your tongue today in anger, but not because the Bush Administration created this Iraq mess on purpose. If they'd done it on purpose, if there really was some sort of sinister uber-plan to seize control of the oil fields by turning ordinary citizens into police officers and then sending them off in a truck, unarmed, down streets whose geography resembles a late-stage round of Missile Command, then we'd have to say, well, you people are evil geniuses and you win.
No, you should bash your head against the wall until you're retarded because these people DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO ANYTHING ELSE. Grinding a country into dust through mismanagement and incompetence is what they do. It's ALL THEY KNOW HOW TO DO, I repeat in All Caps. In the end, that's what gets me. This Iraq business was all a big accident. I realize this is starting to sound like a standup routine, and I don't have a closing joke. So I'll just say that's why I'll be spending tomorrow working on my oh-so-hip parenting memoir and also on a short story about a dissolute graduate student who has sex with a young woman who lives in a truck.
Well, seeing as how those three breakfast tacos I ate this morning are currently returning to seek their revenge, I should probably get crackin'. Enjoy the clusterfuck.