Politics: If I Were A Cobbler ...

Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba ... what? Oh, yes. I was wondering if we had enough shoes to give this Misadministration a fitting send-off. Because, you know, it didn't take these motherfuckers more than 24 hours to get my blood boiling again.


Just, oh, a day ago, I was thinking all kinds of happy thoughts about how the crooks and liars are gonna be gone, and how good we'd feel, and how I wouldn't get up every morning choking on bile and venom along with my cuppa tea as I viewed the morning's headlines. But no, this article put paid to that idea right soon, di'nnit?

And if it doesn't make you spew, then you really deserve a prize. The gist of the article, the headline of which should already have your bp numbers skyrocketing — no, first, the headline. If you're gonna have an aneurysm right now on your comfy carpet, you should at least have this tasty tidbit help you on your way to A Better Place:

'saddest part' of 9/11 attacks was impact on Bush

You hear that, people?

The saddest part of 9/11 was not the loss of some 3,000 lives; not the lives and health of the people, police, firefighters, ordinary citizens, who rushed to help with the dead and injured; not the subsequent deliberate erosion of the worldwide goodwill the destruction brought us; not the huge hole that still stands where the twin towers stood nearly eight years ago; not the attack on a country wholly innocent of involvement and the subsequent deaths of over one million Iraqis, the maiming of countless more, the flight into refugee status of 4.5 million more; not the deaths of 4,000 American troops; not the wholesale destruction of the ancient cradle of civilization Babylon, the looting of the museums, the bombing of priceless artifacts; not the vast lake of sewage visible on Google; not the misinformed and ill-conceived "War on Terrrrr" that has broken what was once the world's greatest example of economic success; not the battered infrastructure and demolition of two nations.

The saddest part of 9/11, according to Tony Campbell, an adjunct professor of political science with Maryland-based Towson University, writing in The Moderate Voice (couldn't he just go on Faux Noise? Wouldn't NRO publish his drivel? Calling him a "moderate" is like calling Governator Arnie's man-boobs "gravity-challenged")?

Opines this worthless purveyor of drivel, "For me, the saddest part about the terrorist attacks of 9-11 is the long-term impact on the presidency of George W. Bush [... .]"

Even as elsewhere, GiantDildoHead KKKarl Rove insists that "history will be kind" to el Assholio, and Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice is sure that "this generation" will thank the miserable and literally bloody bastard, Campbell, who worked on Assholio's transition team and was later appointed to the Social Security Administration for his adept lickspittlery, insists to the disbelieving masses that

Bush will be "vindicated" within two decades "for his actions that kept his country and its citizens safe ... Even while they cheered as he moved out of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue."

Tony, mein kind, a word of warning: Don't show your face within a hundred miles of the celebrating citizenry on January 20th of this year. Because if anyone recognizes you, you miserable ambulatory turd, you might catch a few hundred pairs of size 7s through 13s upside the head.



Just like your erstwhile boss.

If that didn't do it for ya, you can always check out the incredible grovelling lickspittlery of one Michael Abramowitz, over at teh WahPoo. Who is this yambag*, anywho? And where the holy unmitigated assfuckery did WahPoo find him? Because he's got his gob so far and firmly rooted over the smegmoid urpitalia of the whole bloody Misadministration, he's about to die from a perforated stomach.

Oh, what the hey. He probably removed his stomach a long time ago as he would otherwise be puking up a fucking rainbow from writing nauseating endearments such as:

"That's just hooey -- it's just hooey," the ever-polite Hadley concluded, with the strongest language he would muster for print. (Bolten chuckled and suggested earthier epithets, such as "bunk.")

It's nice to know that OUR class of murderers — a better class of murderers, if ever there was one — may have blood on their hands, but at least they're "ever-polite." God forbid they should be uncouth, uncultured, swearing types with clean hands and dirty mouths! Do you goose your girlfriend with those bloody hands? That's fine, because you kiss her with those clean, clean lips. At least clean of swear words, although I could easily believe that you sucked blood from the torn necks of dying Iraqi children and American soldiers and Afghani girls.

And, to vindicate Ms. Manitoba, the two schmucks went on:

Last week [...], Bolten and Hadley reflected on their White House years and painted an affectionate portrait of the president. [... T]hey voiced frustration over their inability to improve Bush's popularity and to counter the administration's image of arrogance. [... T]he two men also rebutted what they consider common misconceptions of the George W. Bush era, such as the president's alleged insulation from bad news and the view that Vice President Cheney wielded unbridled behind-the-scenes power.

Well, there ya go, hon. That motherfucker was not the vapid idiot puppet we thought he was all along. He was actively malign. Either that, or these two giant recti are total fucking liars. Both possibilities being equally attractive, we interrupt this explosion of blood vessels to beat our heads against the wall till calm is restored.

Ah, much better. What a little brain damage will do in terms of making the Misadministration palatable! In the event, the idea we all held at one time or another — excepting maybe Ms. Manitoba — was that Bush was a hapless puppet, an idiot, who might not actually have known what was going on in Iraq. That idea is put to rest with this snippet from the article:

"This notion that somehow the president didn't know what was going on, information was withheld from him in some way, he didn't have a picture of what was going on: He got that picture" -- Hadley smacked his palms together for emphasis -- "at 7 o'clock every morning."

Hadley is referring to the slaughter in Iraq. So every morning that fucking vampire sat there and listened to these yambags talk about how many more people had been killed or maimed. For eight long years.

Line up with the shoes, people. Will there be one last public appearance by these yobbos on January 19th or something? Because we could all use one giant cathartic shoe-throwing bout, yaknow. Of course, the deciderer 'n thief is on vacation (as usual) right now. Even as Gaza, the world's largest concentration camp, is starving, burning, being bombed to death, Boy George is off fishing in his very own private lake or, more likely, whacking off to pictures of bombed Gazan homes or Iraqi hospitals.

And your final head-explode of the day (unless something new sets me off): Faux Noise would like to share with you all the sentiments of one of its mouth-breathing viewers, who opines:

"HAPPY NEW YEAR AND LET’S HOPE THE MAGIC NEGRO DOES A GOOD JOB. LOVE JEN AND JOHN C."

Happy New Year, Jen and John C.! May cooties infest your nether bits in an unending itchfest, causing them all to fall off so that you will never again be able to wear anything but the giant-sized joke underwear that fits two normal people in each leg! May your offspring dump you at the nearest sub-standard nursing home! May every meal you eat from here on in be infested with large and urticarious worms! And may you never ever find a moment's rest from ailments real and imaginary!

What the FUCK is wrong with these people? It's been a very few days since that smegmoid knob-gobbler Chip Saltsman (Who? Candidate for head of the Republican National Committee) distributed a CD to RNC members containing the parody song "Barack the Magic Negro." Even as the Republicans eat their own with salt, pepper, and every appearance of enjoyment, goblocks like John and Jen have to arrive with plenty extra fuel for the fire which will, hopefully, consume their house. Get some fans too, kids. Be kind to those flames.

A pox on your (thankfully-divided) house. May you all go down together, like the Titanic kissing the iceberg.

*Heartwarming epithet courtesy of Maru the Crankpot of WTF Is It Now?, one of my favourite blogs. And a very happy New Year to you too, Maru!

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