a Village Is Missing its Idiot!
by Cary Harrison
The Cretin of Crawford.
"The National Government will
regard it as its first and foremost duty to revive in the nation
the spirit of unity and cooperation. It will preserve and defend
those basic principles on which our nation has been built.
regards Christianity as the foundation of our national morality,
and the family as the basis of national life."
Adolph Hitler, "My New World Order", Proclamation to the German
Nation at Berlin, February 1, 1933
In 2000, my Harvard-educated, WASP uncle in
Connecticut said, "I'm not voting for that idiot, I'm voting for his
team". Perhaps the shared sentiments of some 40 million Republicans
who surely couldn't, with a straight face, exclaim greatness in
then-candidate Bush. As one who's recently fled the GOP, I've never
been unclear that sheer buffoonery, laziness, intellectual silly
putty, and a torn cowboy hat cannot be the hallmarks of presidential
greatness. Indeed, this "DUI President"-rendered unconscious at the
hand of a mere unsalted pretzel-daily dangles the keys to 10,000
thermonuclear warheads. His VP, "Swingin'" Dick Cheney, also boasts
not 1… but 2 DUIs.
is perhaps most shocking is the level of mean-spirited machismo that
would make even Machiavelli's eyeliner run. The front cover of mad
cow investigator John Stauber's latest book, Banana Republicans,
boasts the prescient slogan: "You're either with the Republican
Party or you're with the Terrorists! There's no middle ground!"
Eeeeek! It's BushCo.-captained by a hairy-backed simian; our own
Commander-in-Chimp knuckle-walking the world stage. The spectacle
makes even the homeless guffaw, third graders shriek of cooties, and
garbage men yearn for a similar Yale diploma.
any given conference, world leaders cringe when the lips of our
Presi-dunce part in preparation for a thought to escape. Commander
Dubya then leans forward only to splutter saliva bubbles and a
meaningless glottal noise. With crinkled brow, our War President
strains to recalibrate his mind for speech. Then, suddenly, out
comes a gurgle, then a wheeze-sounding surprisingly like the last
throws of a diesel air compressor. Many an experienced neurosurgeon
would drool at the opportunity to observe, under microscope, the
president's fine brain. Imagine the barely visible blips on the
spectroscope screen as they observe real-time synaptic misfires in
which that dormant organ betwixt his hair-sprouting earholes fizzles
and hiccups in semi-connected chain reaction.
Poor POTUS (President of the United States). POTUS reportedly is
unable even to maneuver through the daily newspaper unassisted. His
staffers are charged with reducing complex and often highly nuanced
issues down to several lines on an index card then to be handed over
to Him. A quick glance and our man in DC says he then draws
instructions "from above". Could it be? Imagine if the much maligned
Clinton were publicly channeling Jesus through "conduits" like Pat
Robertson's 700 Club?
dramatic, yet humble pipeline to the "Lord" (Jesus/God? Both?)
surpasses even the infallible talents of the mystical Pope, who,
himself, must feel spiritually dwarfed by this Chosen One. In truth,
the only other globally-known despot gifted with direct cell service
to God happens to be the furry-faced Bin Laden.
Let us be fair about fundamentalism, though. To the more tasteful,
it is certainly an off-putting obsession since word fundamentalism
comes from the root, fun·da·ment (f n d -m nt) n., which means
ass. Therefore, fundamentalists think through their ass.
Meanwhile, the more earthbound of Team W are comprised of the most
sinister collection of scallywags any cracked-out Shakespeare could
imagine. Macbeth? Ha! Hamlet? Dog doo! Even the nocturnal stupors of
the late Richard Nixon, in his most bug-eyed power-hungry state
(while vomiting bourbon-soaked emesis over the White House piano
like a gargoyle Ed Sullivan) could never envision slipping into a
catch-me-if-you-can bullet-proof negligee like the Patriot Act. In
it, Mr. Bush has sovereign immunity. To wit: "The King can do no
wrong". Through the so-called liberal mass media, He beseeches His
viewership to keep a watchful eye on their nitwit neighbors-all
potential terrorists. Not one of the Republic's vaunted TV anchors
dares practice journalism and challenge the nasal proclamations of
the Commanding Orangutan. Is the great menace really the hundreds of
millions of Homer Simpsons, endlessly grunting at the trough of
feckless consumerism while their King's mighty peek-a-boo
proctoscope is applied enthusiastically by Attorney General
Of whom do we speak? Of the Lord's Eunuch-the statue-draping,
nipple-covering, self-castrating flesh-pudding not only delights in
phone-tapping 24/7, but also spying on every chatroom, email, fax,
Cell, PDA, credit card purchase, library checkout, and magazine
subscription. Let's not leave out each person's digital cable and
satellite viewing habits. All this zealously executed with the full
capabilities of the supercharged Rumsfeld Pentagon delivering
nonstop freedom at the end of an electrified cattle prod.
BushCo, as Grand Dragon, is none other than Richard "Dick" Cheney,
who as CEO of the overfed Halliburton Corporation, cunningly sold
Iraq $73 million in oilfield services between 1997 and 2000, then
tactically planned for Halliburton to receive a billion dollars
(that's $1,000,000,000.00) a month (right now!) in government
contracts for the Iraq invasion.
Had Thomas Jefferson foreseen what sort of monkeyshines would be
twisted around our Founding Fathers' sacrifices after November 2000,
he could have characterized the presidential title, in advance, as
"His Excellency, Sovereign Grand Commander of the Supreme Council of
the 33rd degree and Supreme Military Pontiff of Petropolis and
Evangelical Executioner of Universal Liberation through the Lord's
The seemingly "virtual" and sweaty-palmed Mr. Bush, when surrounded
by his team does make for a delightful show, though; rather like a
lithium-sedated Chihuahua in the midst a dozen Pit Bulls. The whole
bunch of freakish zealots furiously keeping the world whipped up in
an unstable frenzy in order to see pals profit off of 150 year-old
combustion engine technology. It's the Coalition of the Drilling (or
is it the Killing?) endlessly sucking gooey black liquid dinosaur
shit out of a 168,927 square mile sandbox.
just finished a year-long project of
creating and hosting the first-ever daily “out” morning drive-time
talk radio show (live from Hollywood) for Sirius Satellite Radio’s
national gay channel, “OutQ”. Harrison will host a new TV talk
show—focusing on the distinctive intelligence, talent, humor, and
personality of guests, getting the very best out of celebrities and
political thinkers. Visit