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Saturday, June 10, 2006
Mr Bush goes to work in latex
I dreamed that Mr Bush went to work as an architect at Vandelay Industries, but he got fired because he kept referring to latex as "playtex." Then I woke up and drank my coffee while listening to our president's weekly Radio Address. You could tell that he was very happy. There was more death in Iraq. Death is good thing, he said:
This was a good week for the cause of freedom. On Wednesday night in Iraq, US military forces killed the terrorist Zarqawi.
And, really, it's been three successful years of death. Lots of death. But it's all good:
In the past three years, our troops have overthrown a cruel dictator, fought the terrorists and insurgents house to house, and trained Iraqi forces to defend their new democracy. All the while, they stayed on the trail of this brutal terrorist, persevering through years of near misses and false leads and never giving up hope. This week they got their man. And all Americans are grateful for their remarkable achievement.
And he said that in the near future we would have more such good news, because there would be more death in Iraq. But all Americans must be resolute as we wait for more optimistic reports from him concerning more death in Iraq:
And Coalition and Iraqi forces are seizing this moment to strike the enemies of freedom in Iraq at this time of uncertainty for their cause. The work ahead will require more sacrifice and the continued patience of the American people.
Death is a good thing, he said. I imagine that he must also be absolutely giddy over the three suicides in his torture camp at the US Naval Base at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba.1 After all, the aim of our apparent aggression in Afghanistan and Iraq was to inaugurate a campaign to capture or kill every terrorist on earth.2 Heck, we'll even detain them forever if we merely suspect them of being a terrorist! If they should happen to hang themselves while in one of our torture camps, oh well. Death is a good thing, he says.
11:25 PM |
Friday, June 09, 2006
Fiction: Love in a flash
Abby and I were in love for six months. That was as long as it lasted, short but hot, like the flame of gunpowder. We made love on the floor in my apartment in front of the 13-inch television where we had been watching a video of the movie Phenomenon. The floor wasn't my first choice, but the bed was only a single and I had no sofa. After my divorce, all I had was a rented apartment in Covington, Louisiana, the television, the single bed, a dining table, three computers, a stereo system, and a 1976 2-door Buick LeSabre with chipped paint and a bad transmission. Abby loved me in spite of it all.