Question One About Iraq

I don’t know about you, but I find the release today of the Iraq Study Group report to be utterly annoying. After all, it says what Democrats have been saying for a few years now only to be pointed at and called “faggots.”

More annoying than that, though, is that its purpose is to address question three, while not even attempting for a moment to talk about question one.

Sorry, skipped ahead: There are three essential questions about Iraq.

The third question, addressed by the ISG report, is: “Well, now what?” It is obviously an important question, though I think questions one and two are just as important.

Question two is nicely discussed in Thomas Ricks’ Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq. It is: “Well, if you’re going to do that, shouldn’t you at least do it right?”

The first question, the one that’s been resolved the least effectively but the one that’s still vital, one many Amercans have just given up on or even one that they’re ashamed for some reason to want addressed, is: “What the hell did you do that for?”

Question one should be tattooed backward onto George W. Bush’s forehead. He should have an iPod stapled to his head looping nothing but Cindy Sheehan saying “What the hell did you do that for? What the hell did you do that for? What the hell did you do that for?” (which is, essentially, what she wanted to ask him in the first place). He should be forced to write a 500-word essay titled “What The Hell I Did That For,” and points will be taken off for spelling and grammar.

Because as of today, the number of Americans killed in this Dirty Big War has passed 2,900.

That’s the population of Hampshire, Ill. It’s the number of people killed in coal mining accidents in China. It’s 151 more people than were killed in the World Trade Center.

We watched George W. Bush and his closest staffers mouth like synchronized swimmers that, if we hesitated, the smoking gun could become a turnip truck. I mean, mushroom cloud. And they had to Zamboni away from that rationale and on down the road, until now, when, as noted in my first graf, all they’ve got left is to point at their opponents and call ’em homos.

We are nowhere near coming close to answering question one. We’re not even asking it anymore; we got shamed out of asking it anymore. But we can’t just shrug our shoulders anymore and figure that we broke it and bought it and had it bagged and that we’re on our way back to the car now so we might as well not ask what happened. It’s still relevant. It’s still important. It is still indeed Question Number One. So jot it down and stick it in your wallet for in case you run into your congressman or your mayor or your president tomorrow, so you can look him right in his eyes and go, Sir, I have an important question for you: What the hell did you do that for?  

 

O.J. Simpson for UN Ambassador

(Writer’s Note: Some phrases and central ideas in this were blatantly stolen from Air America Radio’s Rachel Maddow Show, 6-8 p.m. weeknights on your local AAR affiliate or XM167.)

JOHN BOLTON leaves big shoes to fill, big, stinky, gooey, angry shoes with an ugly mustache. Who should fill them? Who, who, who?

One report has it that none other than fresh ex-incumbent Rick “Man-On-Dog” Santorum might be nominated, a development that might prove nearly as entertaining as that video clip of Starr Jones getting beaned with a football. If said report is true, or even if it simply smacks of truthiness, the intended trend is clear and should come as no surprise to the administration that launched a thousand “Brownies You’re Doing A Heck Of A Jobs.”

After all, there’s not one person on-board at the White House today who didn’t pee a little upon first hearing the oft-quoted quoth from Grover Norquist that he’d like to make government so small he can drown it. Surely you’ve heard the rumor that they sometimes go paintballing and make Danny Quayle dress up like Big Government. That was, after all, the idea of sticking JOHN BOLTON at the UN.

You see, JOHN BOLTON padded his resume for the job with the following quote: “There is no such thing as the United Nations. There is only the international community, which can only be led by the only remaining
superpower, which is the United States.” At which point, fire erupted from JOHN BOLTON’s nostrils and left his mustache bizarrely and permanently grayed.

So you see, the most sterling qualification a person can have to work with this administration is to despise the very thing you’re being asked to serve. JOHN BOLTON is perhaps the best example of this principle at work EVAR.

If you can’t choose someone who hates the institution so much that they may very well be tempted to thrash it and pee on it, then you can settle perhaps for a captain of the represented industry, who can at least work to stack the deck while he’s in so he can benefit from fewer regulations and more loopholes on his way out. Or, you can just staff the position with someone so hopelessly incompetent and unqualified for the job that he’ll make the entire agency look so woefully horrible that you can tear the whole thing down and start over and hope nobody notices while you’re extracting its canines in the process.

I think, however, that in these bleak times for the lame-duck low-approval-rating Bush administration, there’s another option that has yet to be exercised: Use the nomination to convince the country that you’re raving lunatic batshit crazy and then remind everone that you’re the one with the launch codes. You nominate Orenthal James Simpson to be the United States’ Ambassador to the United Nations.

Hey. You could do worse.

(Namely: Congress could have approved the nomination of JOHN BOLTON.)

Begone The Dog And Pony Show

I have discovered two terms that distinguish different forms of mind-boggingly stupid statements made by Republigoats and their accomplices.

A “Tartlets Tartlets Tartlets” is a phrase or idea that is so unfathomable that if you attempt to argue it to yourself long enough, it loses all meaning. See “Friends,” “The One With The Stoned Guy,” guest starring Jon Lovitz. President Bush’s stance on stem cell research is an excellent example of a Tartlets Tartlets Tartlets.

An “If It Weren’t For My Horse” is a phrase or idea that is so utterly stupid that it should cause you to heed comedian Lewis Black’s warning about it: “Don’t—don’t think about that sentence for more than three minutes or blood will shoot out your nose.” If you’re unfamiliar with this iconic comic routine, please search for it at YouTube.

The notion fermenting that the Democrats who bulldozed the Republigoats were “conservative Democrats” is an If It Weren’t For My Horse—as is that idiocy’s twin idiocy that Madame Speaker-Elect Nancy Pelosi is some kind of Communist Goon Hippie Dope-Smoking Communist Faerie Communist Goat-Humping Pagan Communist (not that there’s anything wrong with that). No, friends, what happened was that the Democratic Party stopped taking America’s pulse with its thumb.

There was nothing more striking about the 2006 mid-term drive than the strident message against the President’s Dirty Big War. I can’t recall a single Democratic TV spot I saw that didn’t tout the candidate’s stance against the Iraq war and that didn’t accuse the opponent of licking the President’s belly button.

Contrast this election season with 2004: Dennis Kucinich said “the war is wrong,” and all the other candidates looked around and said, “Who farted?” And then Howard Dean bellowed, “The War Is Wrong!” and started getting results, so all the other candidates started trying to say the same thing but couldn’t quite hold their mouths right, so they ended up saying weird things like “The War Has Cheese!” And then Howard Dean got up in front of a crowd and transformed into a giant horny lizard creature and had to drop out of the race, leaving all the other candidates to run around in scatters screaming “The War Has Cheese!” “The War Has Cheese!” “The War Has Cheese!” And then John Kerry went snowboarding, causing George W. Bush to “win” “reelection.”

Remember?

Anyway. No way in Topeka did the Democrats win this by wearing Duncan Hunter masks. The ideas that swept the Democrats in were overwhelmingly “progressive” and do not in any way resemble the ideas put forward by the Republigoats. Sorry, Bob Schieffer.

Pelosi has some excellent stuff tacked to her clipboard, including the idea of fully enacting the 9/11 Commission recommendations. A novel idea: America needs to stop flapping its gums about that tragic event to actually manage the problems that were caused and revealed by it.

And we’ll do it, no matter what labels they’d like to slap on the Dems who are taking the saddle.

Get ready. Stuff is about to happen.

(Also published at The Smirking Chimp.)

A Coarse Course

Now that the Bush administration has abandoned the moronic phrase they’d pounded into our heads for years and has in fact attempted to claim they never actually used the phrase—these dirty rotten Stalinist hogfuckers—I can’t help but sit down and try to create new, innovative ways for them to wriggle out of this one.

My first idea was to propose a compromise, possibly between the erstwhile phrase and the accusatory and shamefully purposely inaccurate phrase, “cut and run.” I initially proposed “cut the course.” But of course that makes no sense. So a friend cut in with thus: “The new bipartisan slogan incorporates themes from all sides of the debate: ‘Let it run its course.'”

One could, of course, claim that what the President meant to imply was that there really isn’t a war, that what we’re actually doing in Iraq is competing in an obstacle course. Or, perhaps, that he was actually offering to feed every American a nice meal, as in, “Stay. Please. Have another course.” He might have been actually trying to say that the United States would have to stay rough and tough, as in, “We’re going to stay coarse.”

Where, oh where do these people come from?

Doubleplus Ungood

We got so stirred up with other issues here at KIAV (such as the odd protuberance that was dangling from the undercarriage of the company car) that we neglected to mark the signing of the Military Commissions Act of 2006 and the resulting odd bloody death of that pesky concept of “recourse to the law.”

Well, here he is, the “President of the United States” signing the law, hovering over yet another sadly misleading banner. What is it with this administration and the little banners written in newspeak? Whatsamatter? “Doublegood Noexplode Oceania” didn’t fit?

You see, from my perspective, signature of a bill that provides beefed up security at chemical plants, or that improves container inspections at our ports, or that creates a new plan of evacuation of the West Coast in case of an earthquake, those are some ideas about how we could, you know, protect America.

Giving the President of the United States godlike powers is, to me, you know, sort of the direct opposite.

One Downsmanship

“I know the speaker didn’t go over a bridge and leave a young person in the water, and then have a press conference the next day,” said Chris Shays.? “Dennis Hastert didn’t kill anybody.”

Oh, Jesus H. Asshat. Seriously? We’re playing the Chappaquiddick card while the nice lady who sleeps next to the President has also been involved in an automobile accident when she was a youngster that killed a person?

All righty, fine, dummy. Have it your way: Oh, yeah? Well, Ted Kennedy never left the House floor during a vote to mutually masturbate with a teen in IMs.

Nyah, nyah.