The Law? Bushies Fart In Its General Direction

For years, I searched for my purpose in life. For a while, I thought maybe it was to help spike the country’s marriage mean average, with three mean marriages (hey, it takes two, or, in this case, four total) to my, uh, credit. However, I think I’ve found a higher calling, one that doesn’t involve debating my ability to engage in true intimacy, whatever that is: It’s just possible I’m fated to play the annoying neighborhood naysayer. (The pay’s not the best, but I set my own hours and never have to worry about dividing the flatware.)

It could be, too, I’m just cranky. I’m only 49 but already on the fast track to curmudgeonhood. The most telling sign came last week when I shuffled to the park across the street to feed the squirrels. Solely to feed the squirrels. Yep, that’s right: with my tiny portable chair slung over my shoulder old man style, I toted peanuts I’d purchased expressly for the rodents’ dining pleasure. (Did you know squirrels aren’t all that trainable?)

Whatever the cause of my blahs, though, here’s my pessimistic prediction: It doesn’t matter if every last member of the fascist administration and its party ends up indicted in affairs unseemly, or is even caught on video skinning children alive (which, unless I’m mistaken, is a current requirement for Republican registration), those bastards ain’t leaving the building.

I garner no glee in bursting bubbles; I’m just trying to be realistic.

With all the indictment excitement, I certainly understand everyone hoping Karl Rove gets the heave-hove, the “Hammer” the slammer and Dr. Frist a big fist (from a looming “celly” obsessed with practicing, frequently, the finer art of do-it-yourself, hands-in, er, on, proctology). I’d love to see it, too. (Well, not the last scenario; I could just read about that one. Or not.)

Hell, it’s even possible Dubya’ll be tossed overboard at some point by his controllers before he becomes the first “president” ever with approval ratings below zero or even just ‘cause they finally weary of the whiny weasel.

But as long as we’re speaking of malevolent, infant-flesh-consuming, sewage-blooded demons like, you know, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld and the beast behind the curtain, Daddy Bush -- the monster mobsters who really run America -- here’s the deal: they shall, no matter what, remain right where they now squat, in total control. (Plus, you realize who’ll be president if Dubya’s ditched, dontcha? That’s right: the guy who’s president.)

Some may cry, “But, but, what about the law? Certainly, if, say, Rove or Tom DeLay or, dare it be hoped, Cheney, are ultimately convicted of evil-doing, they’ve gotta go, right?”

Well, Some, and anyone else who’s been leaning on the bong maybe just a little too hard (not that there’s anything wrong with that), I’ve got one question: Since when have any of these vermin ever cared a whit about something as insignificant as the law?

Look, this is the same crew that has: attacked a defenseless country, killed over 100,000 people, authorized torture, shredded the Constitution, rigged elections, looted the treasury, bribed the media, attacked labor, committed treason, singly served corporate interests, poisoned the environment, cultivated fear, lied about everything, etc. It is also the same bunch that criminally stood by for days doing nothing while Americans died on the streets and in their homes, using the Katrina-ravaged Gulf States as a vast laboratory in which to opportunistically conduct a grotesque experiment in the efficacy of martial law in the U.S. When Cheney characterized Katrina as an “exercise,” he wasn’t misspeaking (that, after all, is Dubya’s duty); it was a Freudian slip, and there’s a world of difference.

Somehow, I fail to imagine a self-reflective moment during which, while the neoconpoops are discussing their next heinous assault against humanity, they suddenly stop, slap their horned foreheads (hopefully hitting a spiky spot), and exclaim, Nixon-like, “Hey, guys -- we can’t do this; why, why…it would be wrong!”

Nope, the vicious crackdown in America might happen sooner, later or even in-between, but, somewhere along the line, when their scaly backs are up against the wall, the ruling fascists will throw off the covers of faux democracy and exercise their muscle. They’ve already killed hundreds of Americans via deliberate inaction; why would they blink their third eyelids twice before having citizens cut down in the streets?

The Bushies are right now lining their dead ducks up in a row with continued mention of military “quarantines” in case of a hypothetical (or planned) avian flu epidemic. Although any excuse will do for ordering mass detentions -- frog swarms, national bad hair day, whatever -- what they really seek to prevent in America is an unstoppable, countrywide outbreak of severe critical thinking followed immediately by the afflicted aggressively excising the malignant assholes currently fouling the body politic.

The core players who have shaped America into their own personal death-dealing, global power and wealth-accumulating machine have no intention of leaving the drivers’ seats. Ever. They occupy spots they’ve schemed to secure for decades and aren’t about to abruptly declare: “Ah, geez, ya got us! Kindly point the way to the nearest war crimes trials.”

This is why I shake my head when I hear otherwise logical folks say, yes, we know elections are rigged, but boy, let’s kick the GOP’s ass at the polls in 2006.

Huh?

Just for the hell of it, though, let’s say by some miracle of miracles the Bushies are ejected, leaving the Democrats in power. Well, what in their sorry track record indicates they as a party under any circumstances would be interested in a complete clean-up of our irredeemably crooked political system? Folks, meet the new boss…

The thugs-in-charge have methodically cemented power and shut down virtually all avenues of challenge. This may sound clichéd, but I fear only great violence will dislodge them. Readers sometimes tell me I should have more hope, and I actually do have one constant, overriding one: that I am unequivocally wrong.

Copyright © 2005 Mark Drolette. All rights reserved.

Bio: Mark Drolette is a political satirist/commentator who lives in Sacramento, California. He can be reached at mdrolette@comcast.net.

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