No Coke!

Dyspepsia!

I do love it when George Will – is his capacity as the flaming-adjective-wielding Avenging Naiad (Naiad: presiders over fountains, wells and David Brooks -- each bound to a particular damp spot so completely that they would die if it ever dried up. Will is the anointed guardian of the puddle of brackish water left behind in Reagan’s muddy footprint the day he delivered his notorious “State’s Rights” speech in Philadelphia, Mississippi.) and Defender of the last sliver of True Republican Cross o’ Gold -- gets his little bow-tie-and-thong-combo all in a bunch over the that fact that the other George is behaving badly.

So let us all now join together – arm-in-arm – for a Hands Across America “We TOLD You So” Liberal Kickline moment because holy fucking fuck-cakes, George, were you and your ilk ever given the largest “Head’s Up” in American political history that this is what your votes were buying.

I believe your reply on Election Day, 2004 went something like, “Shut the fuck up, Liberal traitors. Iraqi is going great. The economy is going great. The war on Terra’s going great. And George Bush is a hero, as well as being, “...the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I've ever known in my life.””

Shit, George, you actually paid for the privilege of sucking on that miserable, diseased wang for the next three years…and you dragged the rest of us down with you into the fetid, plague-riddled whoreswamp with you while we screamed in your hairy ear-holes that you were making the mistake of your life. And now that you’re gagging on it -- that it’s positively oozing out your tear ducts – now you want to bitch about the flavor?

How dare you act shocked you spindly, little pimple: Dubya is doing nothing more than behaving exactly as the Evil Liberals warned all you mentally-underclocking 286 chipset Republicans he would behave.

Shit, why don’t you just do what you guys always do, George? Roll over, vomit out a few of the hundreds of gallons of Wormwood jizz that the Administration has shotgunned down your gullet, mop the Bushkkake off your face, get shakily back up on your hind legs, look owlishy all around with your hair still “Something About Mary” spikey from the latest load Dubya-mousse, stare into the camera with your haunted, blown-out, spoo-stung haint-eyes and say,

“…but...but...but...the Liberals.”

This from the WaPo…

Can This Nomination Be Justified?
By George F. Will

Wednesday, October 5, 2005; A23
Senators beginning what ought to be a protracted and exacting scrutiny of Harriet Miers should be guided by three rules. First, it is not important that she be confirmed. Second, it might be very important that she not be. Third, the presumption -- perhaps rebuttable but certainly in need of rebutting -- should be that her nomination is not a defensible exercise of presidential discretion to which senatorial deference is due.

It is not important that she be confirmed because there is no evidence that she is among the leading lights of American jurisprudence, or that she possesses talents commensurate with the Supreme Court's tasks. The president's "argument" for her amounts to: Trust me. There is no reason to, for several reasons.

He has neither the inclination nor the ability to make sophisticated judgments about competing approaches to construing the Constitution. Few presidents acquire such abilities in the course of their pre-presidential careers, and this president particularly is not disposed to such reflections.

Furthermore, there is no reason to believe that Miers's nomination resulted from the president's careful consultation with people capable of such judgments. If 100 such people had been asked to list 100 individuals who have given evidence of the reflectiveness and excellence requisite in a justice, Miers's name probably would not have appeared in any of the 10,000 places on those lists.
…
It is important that Miers not be confirmed unless, in her 61st year, she suddenly and unexpectedly is found to have hitherto undisclosed interests and talents pertinent to the court's role. Otherwise the sound principle of substantial deference to a president's choice of judicial nominees will dissolve into a rationalization for senatorial abdication of the duty to hold presidents to some standards of seriousness that will prevent them from reducing the Supreme Court to a private plaything useful for fulfilling whims on behalf of friends.
…
Minutes after the president announced the nomination of his friend from Texas, another Texas friend, Robert Jordan, former ambassador to Saudi Arabia, was on Fox News proclaiming what he and, no doubt, the White House that probably enlisted him for advocacy, considered glad and relevant tidings: Miers, Jordan said, has been a victim. She has been, he said contentedly, "discriminated against" because of her gender.

Her victimization was not so severe that it prevented her from becoming the first female president of a Texas law firm as large as hers, president of the State Bar of Texas and a senior White House official. Still, playing the victim card clarified, as much as anything has so far done, her credentials, which are her chromosomes and their supposedly painful consequences. For this we need a conservative president?

Sad, really.

How well I remember the happier times...

Will, in his underpants and gartered, black, old-pickle-sucking-bastard socks, doing power-slides “Risky Business”-style up and down the corridors of the White House. Singing “I Wanna Be A Cowboy!” into his prized possession; the February, 1980 Reagan/Bush “I paid for this...” debate microphone he bought off eBay.

And now this convenient and painfully extruded anger.

It’s sad, but it is also important that we notice what Will tries to pull off here with his impotent fist-shaking. Like an escaped con dumping pepper on his trail, he hopes his freshly-minted outrage will put the sniff hounds that are ever more nipping at his heels off his foul, Quisling reek.

Will knows goddamned well and good the only strength that the Bush crime family has ever had has been the strength that comes being able to cower behind a solid wall of the Fundy Fedayeen. There have never been five continuous minutes in his whole, sodden, adult life that Dubya has not been shabby and vicious and feeble-minded and weak and the only thing he has going for him are his Praetorian Guard under the command of Karl Rove – the Bush family Beria.

(This from Wikipedia for those unfamiliar with Lavrenty Beria:

“By 1935 Beria was one of Stalin's most trusted subordinates. He cemented his place in Stalin's entourage with a lengthy oration "On the History of the Bolshevik Organisations in Transcaucasia" (later published as a book), which rewrote the history of Transcaucasian Bolshevism to show that Stalin had been its sole leader from the beginning. When Stalin's purge of the Communist Party and government began in 1934 after the assassination of Sergei Kirov, Beria ran the purges in Transcaucasia, using the opportunity to settle many old scores in the politically turbulent Transcaucasian republics. In June 1937 he said in a speech: "Let our enemies know that anyone who attempts to raise a hand against the will of our people, against the will of the party of Lenin and Stalin, will be mercilessly crushed and destroyed".)

Bush – the Dauphin of peevish, third-rate, Good Ol’ Rich Boy corporate shitheels -- has been the undisputed champion of packing the top tiers of this government tight as the hold of a slaver with his fellow third-rate, Good Ol’ Rich Boy, corporate shitheels. Pursuing failed policies long, long, looong after the road had run out, past the last of the pavement, past the WPA macadam and cobblestones, past the gravel, into the burning desert and off the cliff…all while shrieking that anyone what waddn’t fer him was agi’n him.

How dare any Republican pretend to be surprised?

Republicans have always touted blind loyalty to the Dear Leader as the Prime and Sole Virtue. Mafia-loyalty is the single, splintering tent-pole that keeps the Party propped up and keeps the whole, disgraceful junta out of federal prison. They see no value in reason or science. They mock civility, comity and thoughtfulness. They sneeringly proclaim that compassion, cooperation or a belief in the common weal are the weaknesses of pussies not the quiet strengths of Statesmen. They flee from intelligence. They use patriots and patriotism as ass-floss.

They are spoiled, idiot children with guns and no conscience.

They are feudalists, and openly proud of it, and the only currency in a feudal state is feality.

And suddenly – out of whole cloth –Will invents this pudding-skin-thin meniscus of differentiation to separate himself from the beaten, neutered thrall obeisance that the GOP have preached to us for five years is the Noble President’s natural due. On his brand new atoll of outrage – a landfill of rubbish made from the bulldozed rubble of the Failed Bush Administration his ilk so eagerly pimped – Will daubs a greasepaint stricken expression on his face and tries to stand upright and fake Shocked!

Sorry, George. Your GOP Labs and Stink Tanks have spent decades and tens of millions of dollars very, very carefully cultivating a crop of Bleating Heart Conservatives. Sheep in sheep’s clothing, pre-programmed to blindly follow anything – animal, mineral or Texas Gubernatorial – totin’ a Bible and swaddled in Red, White and Blue.

You got precisely what you’ve been angling for – a coalition Party of Morons and Wingnuts, Bigots and Dominionists, all bred with for a common use: a reliable subspecies of the devolved, dumbass faithful to keep you in the majority forever. Your own GOP Go-Bots, built to spec by methodically rewarding them for eradicating any vestige of their critical thinking skills and higher brain functions, while simultaneously amping up their factory-original, knee-jerk obedience.

The Rush Volk, and you, my little mole-rat, are their midwife.

Bush was elected by people who, for raw, partisan gain, have been carefully trained to believe that Vox Dubya = Vox Dei, and you strapped eagerly into harness and pulled a mighty big plow in that effort.

So how fucking dare you, at this late date, claim to reject “Truss me! Ah em yor Preznit!” as a valid reason for following the douchebag you elevated to demigod into the abyss, when, “Truss me! Ah em yor Preznit!” is all the Cult of Dubya has ever been about?