Letting the Anger Speak

-or-

Rob Makes the List!

I’m sick of it. Sick of reading about the government, sick of writing about them, sick of the news, sick of this fucking hand puppet who claims to be our president. I feel like some vitriol. Come along!

I propose buying giant microwaves to install in Texas and Connecticut. Wheel the fuckers up to Kennebunkport and Crawford and set ’em on full power. I’d like to see the entire Bush family sterilized by the cooking machine of the future. We’ve had too many years of Bushes in power – there’s been a Bush in six of the last seven Presidential elections. We’re through with them. We’re not a monarchy, and they are not the fucking royal family. So, my grand microwave ovens of urban legend*, sterilize away. Let ’em live out their lives, just don’t let them breed. Don’t let this blight plague another generation. We need new leaders. Or whatever it is they think they're doing -- we need someone else doing it.

It doesn’t matter if Jenna and Barbie have no political aspirations right now. You think Georgie had any ambition greater than finding greater quantities of new and expensive powders to suck up his nose? Imagine if he HAD gone to the National Guard physical he was ordered to go to. He wouldn’t have been able to sit still. Whenever I see Chevy Chase blinking up a storm on old SNL episodes, I think of Georgie, coked to the gills in his National Guard uniform. Damn, I hope that image goes away someday. I like Chevy Chase.

And it IS the family that’s the problem. Without his family connections, little Georgie would be selling pencil stubs from a can on some street corner, or maybe turning tricks for fatcats like Dick Cheney so he could get his next fix. I guess that’s not too different from now, except Bush is using our asses to do the job.

So yeah, John Ashcroft, put me on your list, I’ve said some naughty things about the President, and I’ve fantasized about irradiating his genes with giant imaginary cookware. But it feels better to be on the list, saying this stuff, than to be constantly looking over my shoulder for the mildest criticisms, wondering when John Law would call me up and tell me my first amendment rights no longer applied.

I’m sick of being polite about this. I’m sick of being nice. I’m sick of even making goddamn sense. All I’ve got are hate and fury and the truth, and as the Bushes and the Swifties and Karl Goebbels Rove have taught us, no one gives a fuck about the truth anymore.


Rob




*because, you know, microwave ovens actually don’t sterilize people. Truth.