How do you reek and fester? Let me count the ways. You reek and fester beyond the heights and depths of the ordinary imaginations of your hypnotized Schmoos. You’re unforgettable, Georgie-Boy. Even among your kind, you are one of a kind. It would not surprise me if you took a dump in the center of the Oval Office on the day you depart into ignominy and the slow increasing thunder of the relentless, footfalls of dread, which will accompany your every remaining breath. You are the poster boy of “What’s wrong with this Picture?”
Your final efforts in the office, which you were installed in but never won, are speaking volumes to your arrogant nature which, were it breakfast cereal would make you the General Mills of all time. Whether it is a genuine love of the environment, performing domestic terror attacks or the financial enslavement of your fellows, by making trillions disappear into the pockets of the jackals you set loose upon the economy, you’ve been a busy little enabler.
It appears that you will not be leaving to the sound of brass bands; tear-stained eyes and waving handkerchiefs, congratulatory applause or cries of, “George, we hardly knew ye.” We knew you all too well George.
What more can you do besides what you are doing and have done? If you were to shoot the White House dog in the head during a press conference in The Rose Garden it would come as a shock to no one but the dog. You and the first Stepford Wife, sail on a river of darkness where even Mistah Kurtz would not go.
You could not have accomplished this without a great deal of help. You are the most famous and incompetent under achiever of all time. You are truly the ‘turtle on a fencepost’ as your predecessor said. Somehow you opened forbidden doors and welcomed ancient evils into the living room of the world. Death and destruction and all of their associates have been kissed on each cheek and urged to “party down” at your house and… party down they did.
I know you’re not done yet. That makes these final days, high tension indeed. Few people realize the basic nature of a psychopath. It is too foreign to their experience and what they understand. They cannot look into the abyss of your being. You’re the clown prince of Hell, George. You and Dick and your “Laurel and Hardy go to Armageddon” act will stand as one of the ugliest episodes your country has ever seen. There’s never been a shortage of scoundrels on the landscape. It’s the nature of capitalism to attract the biggest alligator pigs on the planet.
One can point to the destruction of the Native Americans, or to slavery. One can point to many things and say they were very wrong. One can also say “that was then and this is now.” We should have learned. But we haven’t learned anything at all. We haven’t changed and you showed us that. You showed the whole world that civilization hasn’t gone anywhere at all. You plunged the whole world into a purgatory of waiting for the next shoe to drop. You took the hopes and dreams of millions and you buggered them silly on national TV and then you backed away and gestured to the next guy waiting on deck.
You made your country a thing of fear and contempt and it went on and on and on. It still goes on and no one in the towns and cities knows what the next day will bring. Yes, Dick is even worse than you but can you really compare these things? We can say that you are the face of evil and that Dick was the machinery, …along with the faceless ones who pulled the strings behind the curtain.
And there’s no shame. You’ve looted and pillaged at will. You’ve burned and plundered. You have raped and dismembered. You have tortured and tormented and you laugh. You laugh. You didn’t do it for the money. All of you had more money than you could ever spend. You did it for sport. You did it because evil makes you hard.
Well Georgie-Boy, there’s a place waiting for you and Dick and the crew. You’re all going there, you and your Madame Defarge, Condolezza and all the helpful little goblins around the world who joined together and did the mischief and spread the lies.
Something has happened in this last decade. Even though every effort was made to define the meaning and provide the justification for events, the world has come to see who is behind the horrors of our time. Day by day, the news has leaked out to the far corners of the world. The genocide in Gaza has an author and the excuses no longer hold water. The mass murder in the Middle East has an author and the names have been published and the lies have been unmasked. You may still rule the presses and the police but the people know. The people know. A fire and a force is growing in the hearts of the people in every land and judgment is coming, George. I suspect you will not spend your final hours watching the sun go down over Crawford, though the sun will surely go down until you are in darkness absolute; you and Dick and the crew.
I don’t know much George but I do know a few things. You could say that a little birdie whispered in my ear. Bad shit is finally going to happen to bad people. I’m not going to talk about that. It might smack of science fiction and it’s not germane to the points and intentions of this post. But I will tell you that judgment is coming. Judgment is coming right in the middle of things, wherever things may be.
I know that there are shameless whores who are going to be hard pressed to come up with somber and moving words that will tell how you did the best that you could. They will speak of the immense trials that you faced. They will query if any other man could have done better. They will speak about the awesome specter of terror that lives next door to everyone and shops in the mall with a suicide belt under the mufti. But the world knows that the terrorist is you. The world knows that you and Dick and the Zio-Cons and other slithering psychopaths did the whole thing. You’re going to get hung out to dry George. History is going to kick you in the nuts but it’s not history you have to worry about.
I know about the hot breath on the nape of the neck, George. I know about the ring of fire that you see in your dreams. I know about the chilling fear that loosens your bowels and which you carry with you everywhere you go. I know about the inevitable closing of the distance. Each minute is one less minute to wait. Do you find your eyes moving more and more to the clock on the wall? You’re like the men on Death Row. Time is not your friend.
George, you are some Grade A. USDA-Prime Sonofabitch. You’re an odious, stinking mass of hyena shit. You and Dick and the crew are going to take a little walk but it won’t be with Virgil and you won’t be coming back.
I just wanted to take the time to say a few things to you, although I don’t know if you plan on leaving. It makes a body wonder why you removed all those constitutional safeguards if you didn’t intend to make use of the freedom. As I like to say, “We’ll see.”
In any case, I just wanted to say my piece and let you know what I think of you. I hope that thousands like me will join in and do the same. I’d like to see the whole world get together on the hour of your departure and cheer and blow raspberries and pelt you with anything at hand.
You’ve been a very bad boy George and sooner or later you’re going to hear a very special voice asking you, “Who’s your daddy?” For you and Dick and the Crew Internationale… “Non bon voyage.”
Original source: http://smokingmirrors.blogspot.com/2008/11/george-w-bush-grade-usda-prime.html