RUMMY OUT ON ASS!

Remember, you read it here first!

Shit. I might as well quit blogging. Do you know, I started in on Rummy, whoa, more than a year ago—the truth, she moves anthills. Course I don't exactly have Washington's ear and if I did, would they listen? Absolutely not. What I have observed is that people want to do things their own way; two, I am about as diplomatic as a trailer-shy mule, and three, it is my life's work to express the universal disgust with these tragic buffoons, from the sidelines, using as few foul words as possible. Or at least no more than are called for.

Which means staying away from MH,TRP. (My Hero, The Rude Pundit.) Though it is no more his failing than mine that certain aspects of lying asshole-ism can only be accurately nailed with, what did Tom Wolfe call it, “Fuck Patois.”

Except patois, wait a minute, lemme look it up—okay, it's not dismissive. Still, sounds like a word that doesn't dig deep into the foul.

Speaking of bonfires, RP this morning says, and I blockquote:

“If there was a clear mandate that comes from last night's midterm elections, it is this: the American people want the Bush presidency destroyed. However it must be done, it has to be done, so that the only legacy left from his squalid six years is bodies stacked like cordwood for the bonfires of uselessness.”

Re: the press conference today, RP also writes

“ ... Bush self-deprecates just enough to seem charming, the members of the media need to use their questions to kick him to the ground, piss on him while he's down there, and then gloat about his beaten, urine-stinking body. Don't allow him to spin it in his favor in any way. To the reporters who are willing to tear apart the administration and dine on its innards shall go the rewards.”

               Anyone in this Bed Got a Cigarette?

“Let's not worry about cleaning the sheets and ourselves just yet. Let's just lay here, sticky, sweaty, exhausted, blissful, and enjoy the way the sun seems a little brighter this morning ...”

Oh, hell. Did he just have sex, god damn it?

I am going to institute me a rule.

Meanwhile, the NYT (hell with link) says

“There was absolutely nothing more left for Mr. Rumsfeld to do as secretary of defense except continue to defend failed policies and tinker with unworkable strategies.”

Far as I can see, Rummy happy to go on tinkering the exact same way til approximately forever.

But somebody had to go sleepies with da fishies. Ca-chunk! (Muted, thunky splash, like when Pussy Bompensiero went over, okay, maybe not that big.) Such is the custom, and Christ knows it wasn't going to be Dick Cheney. Dick Cheney will leave the Whitehouse on a gurney and not one minute sooner.

Did you know that nearly half the Iraqi war deaths are children under age fifteen?

Happy Days Are Here Again—and the chance to do something about that wretched, shameful fact. Besides engraving it, pre-need, on Dicky's tombstone. Wherever the hell it is. Got my chisel ready.