This is the President. And I think it can be said with absolute certainty that George W. Bush is the worst President in United States history.
Imagine if this sputtering drivel came from your attorney in front of a judge. Or if this inarticulate marsupial was speaking on behalf of your company to shareholders. You’d shitcan the guy without a second thought. You wouldn’t even give him a golden parachute. Hell, you’d convince the Board of Directors to leave this incompetent to rot. No severance. Call security. Don’t even let the blackguard clean out his office. Throw the bum out into the street and let him dumpster dive. Let him struggle. He screwed you over, and he screwed you over bad.
But this is a man who is responding to a question involving the deaths of 650,000 Iraqi lives. Not a mere civil suit or a bad business deal. And he doesn’t even have the temerity to stare right back into the eyes of the reporters and tell them that, yes, Iraqi lives were lost and that he knows what he’s doing. Hell, even Lyndon Johnson had balls when he was saying utterly despicable things about Vietnam. This is the man who so many voters voted for because they would prefer to have a beer with him? I wouldn’t trust this guy to pick up the tab.
It’s bad enough that this tyrant is responsible for mass deaths and who knows how many grieving families, all in the name of a connection with WMDs that has never been proven, but that he so systematically destroys lives and, with that, any lingering impressions that the United States of America means well is inexcusable. Unpardonable. No different from a Pinochet or a Stalin.
He will never listen. He will never find a halfway point, even if it means bombing any country with a tenuous connection to al Qaeda into the Stone Age. He is an outright menace that every decent citizen must vote against by voting Democrat (if there is a Senate race) in a few weeks’ time. Someone must stop him, even if it’s a gang of pussyfooting Democrats whose political relevance is deeply in question. Particularly as they stare doe-eyed into the headlights and risk becoming as soulless and vacuous as our Dear Leader, who just so happened to kill a few hundred thousand Iraqis.
The reporters sitting in that lovely garden ought to be ashamed of themselves for not giving this murderous rodent the third degree. What, me worry?
© 2006, Edward Champion. All rights reserved.