BlameBush!

I Just Got Back from the Clinton Library and Boy Are My Knees Tired

Future Nobel Laureate Bill Clinton's dream was that his library would serve as a metaphor for his life, in both design and content. After a four-year struggle against local decency laws and public health codes, his dream has finally come true. A chubby, scabrous structure thrusting out from the crotch of the deep south, the William J. Clinton Presidential Center expands on the former's president's legacy of "building bridges", seemingly floating atop the Arkansas river like a large gray turd. The main walkway is a slick, meandering trail that winds around the property and ultimately leads nowhere, yet those who truly follow the Path can feel His love embracing them like an inbred Arkansas hillbilly hugging his prize hog. Giddy with bliss, I skipped past the shallow, frigid reflection pond inspired by Mrs. Clinton and found the main entrance: a huge, welcoming orifice with pink double-doors spread open wider than the legs of an intern at a job interview.

So, there I was at last! I could hardly breathe. Gulping for air, I started crying - crying with joy that my long, arduous pilgrimage to the Temple was finally at it's climax. I lingered outside for a while, almost teasingly, before inserting myself deep into the building for several titillating hours.

My first stop was an exact replica of the Clinton Oval Office, complete with shag carpets and strobe lights. From there, I wandered through the Amazing Love Tunnel to the "Five Easy Peaces" exhibit, devoted to Bill Clinton's eight-year struggle to find Peace in the Middle East, Peace in Ireland, Peace in the Balkans, Peace in Africa and a Piece of Ass in Washington, DC. Next, I explored the media center, and Politics of Persecution; The 3D Experience. Through the miracle of modern technology, visitors can totally immerse themselves into the Clinton White House and virtually become the Man himself for a mere four tokens per quarter hour (lapdances are extra). But beyond the sheer fun and excitement of being Bill Clinton for 15 minutes, there's a lesson to be learned from the Experience. Indeed, imagine my surprise when an animatronic Ken Starr burst into the booth just as I was about to shake hands with the Pope.

"Stop persecuting me!" I shrieked at him, pulling up my pants. For a brief instant, I knew what a living hell Bill Clinton's life had become thanks to the Republicans. It was a wonder he could get any work done at all, what with the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy to ruin his good time.

The library also features a collection of gifts Clinton received from world leaders during his tenure - mostly items that couldn't be pawned but posess some sentimental value anyway. Framed "thank you" notes from Jiang Zemin, Kim Jong Il, and Yassir Arafat. A gold plated crack pipe from Marion Barry. A severely mangled cigar from Fidel Castro. The highlight, in my opinion, was a large display of ancient African fetishes, a gift from Nelson Mandela which gee-Dumbya ignorantly referred to as "The Wall of Dildos" mere days ago. After spending a while perusing all the exciting paraphenalia, I stepped into the library theatre to catch a film.

The Clinton Theatre presents hourly docudramas on the former president's life, from childhood through retirement. It was a packed house, but after security physically removed Pee Wee Herman from the back row, I obtained a seat and sat down to enjoy the feature - a playful romp through Clinton's service as governor of Arkansas, starring Ron Jeremy and a blonde actress whose name escapes me. Despite the funky electric guitar music and bizarre camera angles, the film was enjoyable and worth the six tokens. Although I spent several minutes trying to get my feet unstuck from the floor, it was a perfect way to cap off a wonderful day.

Although I'm glad to be home, I'll never forget my visit to the William J. Clinton Presidential Center. Breathtaking in its brilliance, sublime in its corpulence, Clinton's library is not the tawdry bordello right-wing critics would have us believe - but a fitting tribute to the man who always believed in a place called "Hope". You'll find it just past the Pleasure Zone Presidential Gift Shop, adjacent to the Wall of Dildos.

Old Times There Are Not Forgotten

I arrived at the Little Rock International Airport at about 10:00 this morning, hillbilly time. After nine rectal exams at airport security, they insisted I leave the premises. I caught a cab to my hotel, which a pleasant surprise. I expected a delapidated shack on the edge of a swamp, with a toothless redneck sitting on the porch sipping from a big jug of moonshine. But aside from the toothless redneck and the moonshine, it's just like any other Best Western. In fact, most of the people here could almost pass for regular human beings.

Tomorrow, I will make my pilgrimage to the William J. Clinton Presidential Center, but I'll spend today in my darkened hotel room, trembling with fear. I know there are plenty of things to do here; square dancing, spitting contests, lynchings, cross burnings, etc. It's all right there in the tourism brochures. But Arkansas is, after all, a Red State. While they put up a clever facade of "Southern Hospitality", the people of Arkansas have demonstrated that they're all bunch of biblethumping, racist troglodytes. Why, the state flag is nothing more than a poorly disguised Confederate Battle Flag! To keep the colored folks in line, no doubt.

No, a Yankee would be a fool to venture outside today, especially when Thanksgiving has everyone in Jesusland worked up into a religious fervor. Besides, I keep thinking of that horrible scene in Deliverance, when Burt Reynolds murdered those poor farmers whose only crime was being gay. I'm not gay, but neither were Pete Fonda and Dennis Hopper when they were shot off their Harleys right in front of this very hotel.

The whole state's gone down hill since Jefferson stole it from France in 1803.

Thanksgiving; Harvest of Shame

It will be light blogging for the next few days.  All the Chomstein aunts, uncles, cousins, and second-cousins are meeting at Grandma's house in Tacoma to celebrate the Thanksgiving Harvest of Shame, so I'll be visiting the Clinton Library in Little Rock, Arkansas.  I'll try to blog on the road, but I will have a full review of the facilities for you when I return.

To tide you over, here's a little history lesson concerning the upcoming holiday. 

As we know, the tradition of Thanksgiving began when the Mayflower landed on Malcolm X, near what is present day Cape Cod, Massachussetts. Fed up with the hegemonic stranglehold the Church of England held over their lives, a small band of progressive Christians sailed across the Atlantic to establish a New Eden in the New World, where gays could marry, women had a Right to Choose, and the only form of currency was Love.

Indeed, the pilgrims had finally found their Utopia, a place where they could experiment with conscience-expanding drugs and enjoy casual sex without being glowered at by judgmental old fuddy-duddies.  Unfortunately, they spent so much time exercising their newfound freedoms that they didn't get any planting done, and had no food reserves for the approaching winter.  Without a Patient's Bill of Rights, thousands died from hunger and disease, and hundreds more from the lack of affordable health care. 

The indigenous peoples took pity on the pilgrims and brought them bushels of maize, berries, and deer turds, but the natives' strictly vegetarian diet didn't agree with the bizarre, meat-eating Europeans. Faced with starvation, the colonists unanimously agreed to eat the Indians.  For the next six months, they ate the Patuxets, the Narragansetts, and the Erectorsets almost to extinction.  They justified the hideous crime by convincing themselves that the dark-skinned savages posed an imminent threat, and had arrows of mass destruction. This pleasant fiction lasted until the NicNacs and the Paddywacs banded together with the Mohawks and the Pompadours, exacting revenge on the pilgrims and inflicting severe casualties.   

An ignorant baboon with a short temper, Capt. Myles Standish exploited the pilgrims' fear of another Indian attack to impose a fascist theocracy on the colony.  Backed by a junta of gun-toting puritans, Standish enacted the highly controversial US Mayflower Pact, rescinding all civil rights and granting the Church power to inspect a colonist's library records without a court order.  Standish spent the next four years waging an illegal war for gravy, alienating our Nez Perce allies.  But it wasn't until Chief Iacocca ordered the Pontiacs and Cadillacs to drive the pilgrims out of Dodge that the cannibalistic orgy of death was brought to an end.

So when your naive, pasty-faced brats come home from school this week wearing their cute little construction paper pilgrim hats, gently take them aside and explain the truth about this evil holiday: Thanksgiving dinner is not a reinactment of a bountiful harvest feast shared with friends, but the symbolic consumption of a murdered Indian's flesh to celebrate the cannabilistic genocide of the indigenous peoples.

Liberal Larry's Blog of the Week

When I started the Blog of the Week feature of BlameBush!, I promised myself that I wouldn't succumb to the inevitible deluge of emails from radio publicists begging me to highlight their liberal talk shows. However, when I received a mysterious, midnight call from the breathy-voiced "Arianne" promoting a sexy new team of fresh radio meconium, I decided to make an exception - just this once.

"They don't just make the news," she purred. "They make news sexy!"

When you put it that way, how can anyone resist tuning into this sexy band of thrillseekers who call themselves "The Young Turks"? Just in time for Thanksgiving, the Young Turks are here, they're in your face, and they're sexier than Diane Sawyer in fishnet stockings.

I strongly suspect that two of the Young Turks aren't even real Turks, though. They don't look Turkish, or have Turkish sounding names. In fact, I bet they've never even been to Turkey. However, the star and founder of the show, Cenk Uygur, is a genuine turk, through and through. While his co-turks are simply turk wannabes, Cenk is 100% grade-A, non-pasteurized TURK.

I know - I was skeptical at first, too. We've been led down this road before. For years, liberal prophets have foretold that a young, sex-obsessed turk will rise from the darkness to end the right-wing monoply on our airwaves and crush Pillpopper Limbaugh under his curly-toed shoes. Wishful thinking? Perhaps. But one look at Cenk's "About Me" page will dispel all doubts that he's the real turkey enchilada:

"Rambunctious, obsessed with sex, full of life, cocky...sex obsessed, wants to have sex with every beautiful woman in the world...sex obsessed..."

It's as if someone picked you up and plopped you down in the middle of a scene from Midnight Express, isn't it? No turkey bones about it, Cenk's as "turk" as they come. I wouldn't be surprised if I looked up "Turk" in the dictionary and saw Cenk's turk mug glaring back at me, his very Turkish monobrow practically leaping off the page and scurrying under my ottoman.

While right-wing media whores like Faux News and NBC pretend to be "fair and balanced", Cenk makes no secret of his political leanings. Like so many of us, he's a former Republican who became dissatisfied with the party when it swung to the hard right, abandoning Marxist theory and embracing the opiate of the masses. Giving up a lucratrive career chasing ambulances, he now devotes his life to educating the ignorant masses as only a young turk can. A metaphor for the man himself, Cenk's blog is a veritible falafel of wit and wisdom:

"I do have what seems to be mysteriously missing from everyone else in this election -- logic. It is logical that the polls will be at least as wrong as they were in 2000. It is logical that the record amount of newly registered voters will make a significant impact. It is logical that John Kerry is not tied with George Bush in the swing states, but clearly ahead. It is logical that John Kerry will win this election easily."

To Cenk's dismay, the election was decided by a coalition of prehistoric lunatics who reject logic and let some giant bearded dude in the sky tell them how to vote. I'm referring to the Jesuslanders of the Red States, the evangelical moralists who take the Bible literally, i.e. CHRISTIANS. As Cenk wisely points out, the greatest threat to our democracy comes not from the religious fundamentalists flying planes into our buildings, but from those who love unborn fetuses and frown upon gays.

"The 'moral values' crowd (otherwise known as religious fundamentalists) vote only on one issue. They are steadfast and unwavering. Which is unsurprising, since that is exactly the nature of fundamentalism. They are uninterested in peace...Their number one priority is for the Jews to have the West Bank and all of Jerusalem, so that Biblical prophecy can be fulfilled and Jesus Christ can return."

When he's not sneering at Christians like a Turkish cabbie caught in traffic outside St. Patrick's Cathedral, Cenk devotes his blog to rebuilding Bill Clinton's stained legacy.

"And Bill Clinton, for the record, was not afraid of military action. He fought the Kosovo war, but he was smart enough to plan for it effectively so that we had regime change with ZERO casualties."

And thanks to Bill Clinton, Kosovo is no longer an imminent threat to our country.

The Young Turks website also has a vibrant bulletin board area where visitors are encouraged to post "You rock, Cenk!" and "We love you, Cenk!" in all caps, although the moderators request that you keep your articles on topic and sneer at Christians at least once per post.

That's Liberal Larry's Blog of the Week. I hope Cenk and the Young Turks appreciate the stampede of 15 new readers they'll likely receive thanks to the free publicity.

Could Bush Be Filling His Cabinet with Republicans?

With half his cabinet either forced out or resigning in anger over his hegemonic war for oil, Bush is scrambling to replace them with idealogical clones of himself. Condoleeza Rice. Margaret Spellings. Andy Garcia. There's even talk of promoting Clarence "Long Dong Silver" Thomas to Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Where are the voices of moderation in this new administration of right-wing wackos? Where are the Ted Kennedys, the Jesse Jacksons, the Janeane Garafalos? When the Shrub gave his rambling victory speech on November 3rd, he promised to reach across the aisle and unite this sharply polarized nation. But instead of bridging gaps, he's burning bridges by filling his cabinet solely with people who don't hate his filthy, stinking guts with every fibre of their being.

So much for bipartisanship, I guess.

Out of all of Bush's appointments, the one I find most irritating is Condo-skeeza Rice. The repugs like to brag about their little token black girl, as if she's actually qualified for the position. Sure, she's highly educated and speaks fluent English, but let's face it - she's no Jocelyn Elders. Obviously, she has absolutely no free will and is incapable of independent thought, or else she'd join the Democrat Party with the rest of her kind. I'll bet she doesn't even think Bill Clinton was our first Black president. Sure, she'll be a good house negro who won't be givin' massa no sass, but I'm worried that the Republicans won't give her the respect she deserves. I'm worried she won't get the love and nurturing people of color can only find in the Democrat Party.

Indeed, it is thanks to the tireless work of prominent democrats like Gov. George Wallace and Sen. Robert Byrd that blacks are now permitted to drink from the same water fountains and ride the same buses with us regular people. Every civil rights victory, every advancement in the struggle for racial equality, blacks owe to white democrats. That makes it all the more infuriating when a few unappreciative Uncle Tomasinas flee the plantation and go runnin' off through da swamp bein' chased by GOP hound dawgs. Condi can act all high and mighty, talk like them white folk and live up there in the big house wit' da massah all she wants - but if it weren't for the Democrats, she'd still be sittin on the porch back in Alabammy, shuckin' peas with the rest of the pickaninnies.

*Sigh*. How she could hitch her Cadillac to that party of bigots is beyond me.

Bush Destroys Iraqi Ski Industry

Bush's glorious Falllujah Kristalnacht was supposed to be a cakewalk, but it's quickly turned into the mother of all quagmires. With over 1200 innocent Iraqi casualties and a paltry 40 dead U.S. servicemen, the unlevel playing field couldn't be more obvious.

In any situation where the Marines are involved, enemy casualties exponentially, and quite unfairly, outnumber our own. So what accounts for this striking disparity? In part, the cocky Jarhead oath to "Kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out" is to blame. Another key factor is the reckless attitude of upper military command. According to Amnesty International, Donald Rumsfeld's insistence on calling the insurgents "killers" might in fact be encouraging Marines to kill insurgents. But beneath all the macho rhetoric, a darker, uglier truth lurks.

According to Army Spc. Kris Clinkscales:"The fighters were generally recognizable by their face masks..."
Let that sink in for a moment. In other words, the Marines are rampaging through the streets of Fallujah, systematically executing any Iraqi wearing a ski mask.

Excuse me, but if I went around Aspen killing everyone who had a ski mask on, they'd lock me up and throw away the key. Have any of the geniuses at the Pentagon even considered that these dudes might simply be on their way to the slopes? Those shoulder-mounted RPGs look strikingly similar to a pair of skis being carried around to me. It would be easy for an uneducated military moron to confuse the two and gun down an innocent Iraqi ski bum. Shouldn't we be more careful and a little less indiscriminate in regards to who we're shooting at? Shouldn't we at least check to see if these so-called "insurgents" have lift tickets before we splatter their brains all over the sidewalk and shout "HOO-AHH, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED"?

Once upon a time, before Dumbya decided to get back at the varmint who almost kilt his paw, Babylonian snowbunnies could head for the slopes without being shot at by neanderthal "liberators". Habib could enjoy a long day of cross-country skiing and burning infidels, then relax at the lodge without a jarhead crashing in and popping a cap in his ass. Apparently, those days are over. Bush's headlong rush to an illegal war has not only destroyed a beautiful, vibrant culture - but a thriving ski industry as well.

Iraq Mosque Shooting Angers Muslims

The Al Jazeera Network's phone lines were jammed with angry calls when an episode of the highly rated television series, Al Zarqawi's Funniest Decapitation Videos, was interrupted to broadcast gruesome footage of a U.S. Marine shooting an unarmed Iraqi prisoner in a Fallujah mosque.

"I love Funniest Videos!" said Iraqi businessman, Khamid Ali Sayid. "When they play that one of the fat infidel squealing like a crusader pig as his head is removed according to the Holy Koran's instructions, I laugh so hard I nearly plotz. Then they break in with Americans shooting sick old man in our Holy Shrine, and my heart is breaking. How can they be allowed to do this?"

"Americans are butchers," said Fallujah cab driver, Achmed Habib Habib, as he watched his children joyfully dancing around the dismembered corpse of a British aid worker in the town square. "They say they come as friends, but they spill the blood of our brothers and desecrate our sacred shrines. A single tear rolls down my sun-weathered cheek."

Machmed Achmed McFachmed agreed. Once a prosperous member of the Mosul community, McFachmed has been unemployed since U.S troops violated the sanctuary of the Ali Shidi Mosque and forced him to stop firing RPG's at passing humvees. After seeing the video, he now worries that they might try to take his life as well.

"I come to this mosque since I was a child," he said, tears welling up in his eyes. "Last summer, my whole family came down from the Hamptons for the annual Decapitation Film Festival and Bake Sale. This morning, soldiers came and took our projectors. May the streets turn to rivers of their blood."

The controversial video comes at a time when the U.S. finds itself desperately trying to quell growing rage amongst the Sunni muslims over the occupation. Despite Democratic Underground's unanimous conclusion of the Marine's guilt, the Pentagon has decided to launch an "investigation" anyway. Sadly, an investigation won't bring back the life of the man murdered in that mosque, nor will it win back the trust of the sensitive and deeply spiritual Iraqi people.

"Killing a wounded unarmed person is forbidden in Islam," Fallujah porn king Farheed Hambone told reporters on his way to a community barbecue at the town bridge. "My heart fills with sadness for our brother who was brutally murdered in the house of Allah. Marshmallow?"

Al Jazeera plans to re-run the episode of Al Zarqawi's Funniest Decapitation Videos in it's entirety next Thursday night, following the highly anticipated network debut of Fahrenheit 9/11.

Liberal Larry's Big Bag o' Hate Mail

Since Bush decided to withold the flu vaccine from every one who didn't vote for him, I'm now fighting off a serious case of Captain Tripps. Therefore, I will bless you with another smattering of vile hate mail. Most of these came in response to my Americans are Dumb entry. In fact, I think that single post generated more right-wing rants than anything else I've wrote. So much for "compassionate conservativism", huh?

Mike wants to meet me by the fire hydrant after school:

Hey Asshole!! I voted for Bush!!!.....what are you going to do about it? - Mike

Well, Mike, as your hateful tirade shows, America is more divided than ever. Bush promised to be a uniter, but then he turned around and refused to cater to my wants and needs. What you and I must do is reach across party lines, try to bridge the divide between us and find some common ground. So I'll see you at the Not In Our Name rally this weekend. We'll all sit around a roaring campire full of American flags, and tell horror stories about 200 years of U.S. imperialism. Now that I've opened the door of friendship, it's up to you to walk through. You never will, though, if you keep letting Rush Limbaugh do your thinking for you.

Harvey Whitcomb bloviates:

Astounding, but all too predictable.  Keep it up.  The clueless attitude your website evidences will continue to cloud your mind (and those of similar philosophy) to the point that you will move even farther away from the American ideals and therefore from any chance to gain power over the people of this great country. As you wallow in your hate, spouting your obsolete, elitist, socialist outlooks you can't see that you are just plain wrong. That's good for the USA. It is my hope that you continue to spew your hatred for good men like George Bush so that honest people will see your true colors and reject your foolishness.

On the other hand, you could grow up and do something positive for America instead of just bitching, whining and casting baseless aspersions.  Naahhhhh.  Won't happen will it?

So keep it up.

Harvey Whitcomb, AIA
Architect
Denver, CO

That's rich coming from a man who designs prisons for a living. You're the Albert Speer of the Military/Industrial complex, Harv. You're the last one who should be lecturing people about "hate". Stop listening to Rush Limbaugh and go to college.

Ken Babbitt asks:

Is there a fund I can contribute to so you can get a one-way ticket to France.......And not come back?

Mr. Babbitt (fitting name), stop listening to Rush Limbaugh and go get an education. I suggest you take an American Lit. course and pick up Sinclair Lewis' immortal book. If you haven't learned to hate George Bush by page three, then there's no hope for you.

Kevin Crawford also suggests I move to France:

All right!! A website for losers! What a humiliating defeat for you America haters!! HA HA HA!! Down in flames!! Down in flames!! You whine like a bunch of little girls who can’t get what they want. This is awesome watching you squirm like little maggots. Go watch a Micheal Moore movie, move to France, cower in fear from terrorists, you sad small minded little man. Kerry? A coward who shit on the memory of those who served. Too much of a coward to throw his own medals, too much of an out of touch liberal wacko to even dream of being President.Gore? LOST! Kerry? LOST! Democrats are the official loser group of the new century, and you lead this bunch of cowards quite nicely. I bet you had the shit kicked out of you every day in high school. Enjoy the next four years. Man how sweet it is. How sweet it is. Hillary in 08?

That one touched me so deeply that I took pen in hand to write Mr. Crawford back...

Glad you're happy. I doubt you'll be so jolly, though, when your daughter finds herself horribly stricken with pregnancy and can't get an abortion anywhere because Bush has eliminated a Woman's Right to Choose. Stop regurgitating Rush Limbaugh and go to college. - Liberal Larry

Mr. Crawford responds by reminding me that he's a "mainstream democrat":

Dude pull your head out of your ass. Your moronic rantings alienated a lot of people.  Mainstream Democrats like myself see idiots like you running their mouths with these inane, ridiculous, paranoid delusions, and want nothing to do with it. You can thank yourself, and ilk like yourself for losing the election.  Micheal Moore and Al Franken 'statesman' ? Are you high, ignorant, or both? You are a joke. Enjoy the next 4 years. And my daughter isn't out whoring around apparently like someone else's daughter.

Sorry, Mr. Crawford, but Michael Moore and Al Franken are the mainstream democrats. Turn off Rush Limbaugh for once and learn to use your tiny pea brain.

So with that, I'll close the Big Bag o Hate Mail and go get some sleep.

By the way, you might want to check out The Commissar's Map of the Empire. He has me a little too close to that fascist Michelle Malkin for my tastes, but at least I'm out of missile range from Cassandra.

Be at Peace, Brave Soldier

Before I begin my eulogy for this great man, I'd like to ask my conservative readers to please refrain from making any disrespectful, snarky remarks. We were polite and held our tongues when your great hero, Ronald Raygun, kicked the bucket. You could at least do the same for us in our time of mourning.

The first time I heard of Yassir Arafat, he was merely a punchline in Johnny Carson's "Karnac the Magnificent" sketch: "Describe the sound of an obese man squeezing into a girdle. Yassir Arrrrrafat!" I knew then that Arafat was destined for greatness. From his humble beginnings as a railsplitter in Jordan, to his days as a small town lawyer in Springfield, Illinois, he charmed us all and won our hearts. Now, the festering, bulbuous head of the Palestinian Labor Organization is gone, and the world mourns the passing of this heroic powerful human symbol.

Like Martin Luther King, Jr., Yassir Arafat was a man with a dream. A dream that he was back in high school, walking around in his underwear. Then he was falling, and there were some squirrels, and that's all he remembered. But from that dream was born a vision: a vision of an independent Palestine free from Zionist agression. Throughout his life, he watched with dismay as an ameobalike Israeli Empire gobbled up a chunk of the Middle East half the size of Rhode Island. The William Wallace of our time, Arafat fought for a homeland where his people could worship as they please, without fear or reprisal. Yet even in the face of adversity, he reached out to his Jewish neighbors, sending emisaries deep into enemy territory to spread peace and goodwill. All to often, it was the emisaries themselves who were spread across a large area, returning home in sandwich bags and shoeboxes.

With no known cure, Spontaneous Human Explosion claims the lives of 7 out of every 9 Palestinians each year. Symptoms include profuse sweating in Jewish delis, smoke pouring from the trousers while riding the bus, and the mysterious appearance of large amounts of explosives strapped to your chest. Much like AIDS victims in our own country, sufferers of Spontaneous Human Explosion face ridicule and intolerance from their own friends and neighbors. We've all seen how Israel flies off the handle and retaliates violently whenever a schoolbus explodes, scattering body parts of little Jewish children over a two block radius. Without wasrning, Israeli tanks and Bulldozers plow through Palestinian refugee camps, baby milk factories, and puppy farms. It was this neverending cycle of violence that Yassir Arafat worked so hard to end.

While his detractors portrayed him as a dangerous religious fanatic with a messianic complex, Yassir Arafat was no John Ashcroft. On the contrary, he earned his Nobel Peace Prize by standing shoulder to shoulder with Osama Bin Laden to find common ground with the people he affectionately referred to as "vermin" who should be "butchered and killed". But time and time again, Israel threw away the Roadmap to Peace. In the end, Arafat was confined to his small, one-bedroom apartment in Ramallah, not even permitted to enjoy a game of LaCrosse with his dear friend, Jacques Chirac.

Although he never gave up hope of winning his freedom, there'd be no parole for the Palestinian Mandela. After two years of solitary confinement, he fell mysteriously ill. One day he was fit as a fiddle, the next, he's Sonny Von Bulow. I know this is going to blow the doors right off your Volvo, but I suspect that Bush may have had something to do with it. No, don't try to argue with me, I've researched this extensively. After all, Bush never once invited Arafat to Camp David or showered him with love and affection like his predecessors did. But I digress - there will be time for holding Bush accountable later. As I was telling a crazy old geezer in an American Legion uniform this morning, this is a day to honor and reflect upon the sacrifice of this great hero.

Alas, Yassir Arafat now walks with the martyrs in the afterlife. But while the last, best hope of a Beatles reunion dies with him, his dream of a free Palestine lives on.

"Today I have come bearing an olive branch and a freedom fighter's gun.
Do not let the olive branch fall from my hand."
— Nov. 13, 1974, speech to U.N. General Assembly.

No Smoko El Cigaretto

The word on the grapevine is that Alberto Gonzales will be our new Attorney General. One of the Shrub's ol' Texas cronies, Gonzales will replace Herr Aschcroft, who was forced to resign under a cloud of controversy.

I can't say I'm not happy to see Ashcroft go. Hell, I'll admit it - I hated the evangelical jerk and his wholesale shredding of the Bill of Rights. I still have nightmares from the weeks I spent chained to a radiator in his basement after he discovered Phil Donahue's autobiography listed in my library records.

Still, I'm not too sure I trust this Gonzales clown, either. Obviously, Bush is pandering to the Hispanic vote. It's ironic, isn't it, that the man he chose to be his token minority isn't even Hispanic. Sure, he has a Latin name and all, but he's a Republican! That alone negates any Latino blood he once had. Besides, look at his record. He was never even a member of La Raza, for crying out loud! Come on, Dumbya, you aren't fooling anyone. If Alberto Gonzales is Hispanic, I'm Jimmy Smits.

Oh well. Perhaps now that Herr Ashcroft's gone, we can put all this War on Terror crap behind us and get on to more important matters, like suing tobacco companies and sending all the smokers off to Gitmo.

Speaking of which...

It appears that the saintly Stepford First "Lady" has been caught sneaking a couple of drags off the ol' devil's weed. That's right, Laura Bush is SMOKING! The right-wing controlled media is trying desperately to hush it up - I had to all the way to INDIA to get the story. But it's right there in black and white: After years on the wagon, Laura Bush is back on the butt. I guess the stress from the campaign, plus the guilt of being responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocent Iraqis, was too much for poor Laura to bear. My, how the might have fallen! I wouldn't be surprised if she's taken to cursing, too.

And while the MSM silence concerning CigaretteGate is deafening, neocon rag Newsweek decides to run a 30-page slam on Terazya Heinz-Kerry's stress-relieving hobby of biting the heads off live bats. Am I missing something here? Sunshine Laura Bush is chain smoking like Babe Ruth, and Terayza is the monster for decapitating a few flying mice? Nobody likes bats! They're vermin! If anything, they should give her a medal for decreasing their numbers!

It's amazing, isn't it?

Bill Clinton smokes weed with some pals but doesn't inhale, and that's bad.
George W. Bush kicks back with a line of coke and a bottle of Southern Comfort. That's perfectly fine.

Ted Kennedy enjoys a nice, leisurely drive with a friend, followed by a refreshing moonlight swim. That's bad.
George Bush gets pulled over for DWI? A-Ok.

Bill Clinton chases away the Oval Office doldrums by sharing a fine cigar with an intern, and that's bad.
Laura Bush is caught sucking on a camel in the Rose Garden, and it's no big deal.

Beginning to see a pattern here? You can practically cut the hypocrisy with a knife.

Incidentally, they say that Mrs. Bush quit smoking at the same time that the Shrub quit drinking. Strange, isn't it, that Bush is suddenly appearing more "confident" - holding press conferences, sassing reporters, eating pretzels without paramedics standing by, etc. Could he be nipping at the ol' "liquid courage"?

Perhaps that's something our new Attorney General could look into, when he's not busy selling out his race.