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Friday, August 10, 2007

Hang 'Em High

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

Wake up America!

It is time to take your lumps. You voted for the corrupt son of a bitch, and he sold you down the river. Now it’s time to pull your cowardly heads out of your big fat ignorant asses and hold George W. Bush accountable.

Of course, I know you won’t do it, because you are indeed, cowards. You clearly understand your support equates to murder by proxy. Pride trumps pragmatism, I suppose. Shamefully, that pride has led to the deaths of thousands of innocent people. You are not among them, of course. Nor are you among the innocent.

I certainly don't expect honesty from you. Admitting it was all a lie only illuminates your complicity. The Bush administration could not have committed these crimes without your participation. His crimes are your crimes.

Yes America, you have blood on your hands. That is not ketchup from your 'freedom fries'. Blame it on me, blame it on Saddam, whatever. By all means, though, deflect the blame. That’s what cowards do.

Now George Bush is asking the United Nations for help stabilizing Iraq. Since when did George and his cronies need help from the United Nations? What happened to the coalition of the remaining? Why would the US need help from an organization Bush has openly and repeatedly disparaged?

Unless of course, the war is lost. Unless of course, Bush is desperate.

So hang ‘em high, cowboys. I know shit when I smell it, and it’s coming from your direction. You can run, but you can’t hide. Denial changes nothing.

It’s high noon in Washington, and the body politic lies rotting in the street, gunned down by men in black hats. Our economy is trashed. The US constitution… trashed. The environment… trashed. Our civil rights…trashed. Infrastructure… ditto. You're just another notch.

Yep, you bought it, it’s yours. You broke it, you fix it! You paid the piper, you picked the tune, so dance clown, dance. Stupid is as stupid does.

Do your grandchildren a big favor. Grab that handgun you love so much out from under your pillow, place the business end against the roof of your mouth, and tell me again why you’re above contrition. I dare you.

Oh, and then pull the trigger, and get the hell out of my country!

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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