...This is, in all likelihood, not a controversial proposition. But then, I’m not on the receiving end of this sad waste of electro-chemical energy, so I don’t really know.
In any case, this is the 100th post of this infuriating joke of a crock of a multi-faceted chunk of virtualized toe-jam. Big fucking deal.
Where were we? Oh yes: going nowhere in one hell of a god-awful hurry. Actually, I had something or other to say -- more shallow wisdoms and pithy worthlessness, certainly -- but I’ll be dipped headlong into a bucket of hogsnot and chimp-rot if I haven’t plum forgot what it was. Such laser-like intensity and sense of purpose have really made this blog what it is. I’m sure you all would agree.
“You all” -- that’s a good one. Hope springs eternal, don’t you know.
As the supreme court picks up steam, intent on doing its dingy and nefarious part to transport all us hapless wastoids to some dim, over-sized, over-surveiled version of an antebellum plantation; and as Cheney The Man-Sized Safe Man and his wind-up toy minions accelerate the process by which a deeply flawed, error-prone, violence-plagued, but nevertheless full-of-promise experiment in self-government is irreparably altered into ... whatever it is their stewed brain stems can conjure up, I’ve arrived at certain conclusions, or merely observations, or whatever.
Perhaps the only one that matters is that, for all intents and purposes, representative government -- however one might choose to define such a thing -- is as dead as stone. Or at least as dead as stone is reputed to be, which is pretty damn dead. In any event, there’s hardly any room for argument on this point. Cheney’s below-the-radar subversions, coupled to Bush’s programmed buffoonery and the “opposition” party’s astoundingly inept weakness, blatantly underscores the process by which the hollow shell of “self-rule” has been effectively hogtied, beat to a pulp, and (almost) smothered to death, as well as dishing up an ugly gray-washed preview of what the future could have in store. Of course, the body politic has been in critical condition for quite some time -- uncontrollably bleeding from the ears and rectum, splashing the antiquated life-support machinery with ever-diminishing supplies of various other sticky fluids and assorted viscera. The only new wrinkle in this sad tableau is that the Neo-Con cabal has its grimy hands on the plug, ready and oh-so eager to pull it.
And herein lies the hairy crux of the matter: maybe letting the helplessly diseased, near-cadaver officially expire is precisely what should happen. After all, employing artificial means to prolong the life of a terminal patient is never successful in the long run, as desirable as it is to entertain contrary expectations. I know, from personal experience. Dispensing with the medical metaphors (a difficult proposition, after having seen Sicko), it seems to boil down to two equally distasteful choices -- either bamboozle ourselves into believing that what is plainly happening to this country is, in fact, not happening, perpetuating for as long as possible the fictitious shadow-play of the “land of the free” and other such hyperbolic bullshit; or we accept the cruel reality of our precipitous situation, particularly when said reality is luridly glaring at us with its one dripping eyeball while simultaneously humping our collective leg and robbing us blind, preparing as thoroughly as possible for the radically-altered material circumstances awaiting us when, mercifully, the oily Bushist epoch comes to an end.
Ah, well -- more speculative gut-rot for everybody to wallow around in. I’ll tell you, though, that it’s a bit easier to at least try to accept the inevitability of what is to come, than to be completely immobilized by anger 24 fucking hours a day.
(Imagine -- it only took a hundred posts to rise to this level of advanced incomprehensibility. At least I finally found a use for that scanned East German 100-mark bill ...)