Day after July fourth: Malcontent and hot-under-the collar utterances against a putrid situation.
On TV’s History Channel yesterday was a well-produced, though kind of cheesy look at events leading up to the US becoming a viable nation. The recognized starting point of that process was July 4th, 1776, and the story continued until George Washington was inaugurated as president (Usual eleventh-grade history-class stuff: Declaration of Independence, the Articles of Confederation and so forth, eventually leading to a big convention and the Constitution. And from that Constitution came the selection of George W. to be the newly-minted country’s first president).
Which brings us here at Compatible Creatures around in an odd-little 200-plus-year circle, maybe a hangman’s noose–if you will, to the current George W. A kind of Back to the Future with subtitles.
Decider George, as we are so fond of calling him. An ultimate irony: a George W. screwing “a George W.”
Arguably or not, one of human history’s most influential and sustainable documents is the US Constitution. Decider George and his vice president/adviser/consultant/co-president Doofus Dick Cheney and all their cronies, operatives, aides and gofer guys, have created a regime so Constitutionally putrid, the smell-reality of it is nearly suffocating. And the sonofabitches don’t give a shit!
Decider George’s antics seem to have worsened. In that sentence deal with I. Lewis “Scooter” Libby, however, the current and last George W., has finally sucked all the juice he can out of his job.
And what about freakin’ “Scooter”? (One feels the vital-need to put parenthesis around ‘Scooter’) He even damn-well looks like a scooter. He’s on continuous TV news loops scurrying around, opening doors for other people, his lawyers and wife and such, as they enter and exit federal courthouses, law offices, though, no jail houses. In much-better times he’s shown briskly walking down a hallway in the White House. “Scooter” is the perfect nickname for a ‘Yes Man,’ or a gopher.
“Hey Scooter, scoot on over to the special federal grand jury and lie, cover for Decider George and Doofus Dick. Yeah, well, while you lying, cover for Uncle Karl, too. And, no matter what happens, Decider George will get you out of it.”
One very well-written and delivered tirade against Decider George’s move to make sure of “Scooter’s” continued silence was Keith Olbermann’s Special Comment segment of his show, Countdown on MSNBC. After tearing Decider George a new asshole, listing the horrible-lying shit he’s uttered and okayed in his years as the big cheese’s decider, Olbermann drags out some comparative history: Archibald Cox’s firing as a pivotal point for Dick Nixon’s Watergate affair, so then the “Scooter” event is Decider George’s last gasp at reality, the crucial swing.
Olbermann, however, calls on Decider George to rise to the occasion, put the nation above himself and perform as Richard Nixon finally did Aug. 9, 1974. And resign.
Don’t hold your breath, Mr. Olbermann. Decider George is not one to do such a thing. He doesn’t even have the guts/or balls to fall on his sword.
Just last week, not to drift too far off course, results of a poisonous plant study was released, which revealed global warning has made them much stronger. Poison oak can create an itch of a bitch nowadays.
And with flagrant disregard for the natural order of things, we can easily apply the salve of knowledge about increased itch from today’s poison oak to Decider George’s “Scooter” embrace. Decider George has a seemingly ever-growing power to produce such an irritating, teeth-clinching itch, an itch that when scratched or even bothered, becomes even more frenzied with no remedy except time. The asshole just has the freakin’ talent.
Decider George, however, has the time. He’s got about 18 months. He’s on a scooter itch roll: And the Constitution better get out of the way.
And today, just scant hours after Decider George gave him a reprieve from an “excessive” jail term, “Scooter” paid his “harsh” $250,000 fine. The freakin’ asshole didn’t have to scramble around to do it, either.
Drives one to scratch.