OK, personal gripe time: I consider myself a pretty decent satirist. But how does one send up insanity like this? Hourly, it seems, things just keep getting absurder and absurder. (With apologies to Lewis Carroll who, by the way, with his “fondness” for little girls, would’ve made a great Republican. Yes, that’s a cheap shot. Then again, they’re a cheap party.)
And talk about absurd: Dick Cheney and Bush and the rest of the neocon nutballs are preparing for an all-out assault on Iran which very likely will include the use of nuclear weapons and rather than non-stop outrage voiced in every newspaper and on every TV channel and on every radio station across the land about this planned genocidal lunacy even the Nazis would have envied, what we get instead is Dubya -- of all people -- nyeah, nyeah, nyeah-nyeah, nyeahing bin Laden’s alleged un-studliness.
But -- of course there’s no reported uproar. That’s something one could only expect to see in a country with a free press, and here in America that poor puppy was taken out and shot a long time ago. What we have today and have had for many a moon are rightwing-controlled, utterly complicit media that are, well, utterly complicit. So much for all those sniffly crocodile tears from the New York Times and all her other wretched whoreporate inky and electronic kin begging forgiveness for their cheerleading America into war, hollow mea culpas that weren’t offered anyway until long after even your lifelong to-the-core Republican Auntie Zelda from Manhattan, Kansas, was totally hip that the whole media-led charge to Iraq’s obliteration was one concerted, trumped-up lie.
See, war is Big Bidness, son, and don’t you forget it. ‘Cause you can bet the media owners who know the weapons manufacturers who know the administration members who know the energy men who know the reconstruction leeches who know all the other corrupt crony corporate capitalists sure don’t.
War’s also mighty phallic, what with all those big hard missiles and guns and blasts and bodily fluids and everything, thus making its imagery and macho John Wayne-isms even more irresistible to a morally, mentally and mettle-challenged mama’s boy like Dubya who couldn’t wait, once enthroned, to become a “war president” to prove he did, indeed, have more cajones than his sorry excuse of a father.
One minor hitch, though (well, billions, actually, if you count the dollars thrown away on the Afghanistan and Iraq fiascos or a million if you count the number of innocents Dubya and his fellow thugs have murdered):
Despite Bush’s pathological craving to measure up, even the shilling media can no longer hide his obvious performance problems from the American public (who, nonetheless, keep getting screwed). And so what we’re left with is the truly bizarre spectacle of listening to our own homegrown homicidal maniac telling another he’s got a better-working weenie.
Great. Just what the world needs: another idiot dictator with compensatory issues. Too bad we can’t just buy the insecure little Dick a truck with ten-foot tires and call it a day.
Copyright © 2007 Mark Drolette. All rights reserved.
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