Thursday, May 03, 2007

Commander Guy (Drunken Frat Boy Alert!)

I don't know whom to credit for today's photo, but it sure seems apt given the subject of today's rant!

I refer, of course, to the Chief Magistrate of the United States, and a great little all around drunken Ivy-League Frat Boy, George W. Poopforbrains.

Being in Washington always makes me feel queasy and vaguely nauseous. It's been like that since I started hanging around the place, during my Navy years. I spent some time, in those days, agitating against the war and looking adorable in my Dress Blues.

But something deep down inside told me, even then, "This place is a den of lying horse thieves. Believe nothing they say."

I remember pretty clearly how the Republican party, in 1972, loudly gloated over the fact that the Democratic Party had "sold itself out" to it's Left Wing of Bra-Burning FemiNazis, Homos and Socialists!

Today, of course, the Republican Party of small government and less government intrusion, has happily sold itself out to its Right Wing of Gun-Toting, Bedroom-Snooping, Bible-Thumping, Fag-Bashers.

But I don't see any Democrats on television gloating over that fact.

And back in those days, while I was proudly wearing my naval uniforms, with the chevrons of a Petty Officer Second Class Aviation Electronics Technician proudly sewn (or ironed) to my left sleeve, dancing with multi-ton fighters and bombers around the flight deck of an aircraft carrier in the service of my country, the vast majority of the current crop of Chicken-Hawk War-Mongers were hiding behind their draft deferments, or in their National Guard units or otherwise having daddy, or one of daddy's rich friends, "pull some strings" to keep their sorry, trembling, asses OUT of the active-duty military and out of “harms way.” Like our current El Presidente did.

Remember the Bright Young Republican Things who got elected to Congress in 1994, with their “Contract with America?” One of them came sidling up to me one night in a gay bar in Rehoboth Beach in the summer of ’95, and announced that he had just arrived in DC in the service of one of those self-same Chicken-Hawks and that he, the ass-kissing, closeted toady of one of them had the nerve, the unmitigated gall, the CAJONES to announce to me that he actually BELIEVED in the "Contract with America" and then he stood there smiling at me, as though I would actually be impressed with his self-loathing stupidity and offer to have hot man-sex with him ....

I didn’t know whether to smack him or vomit on him so I just walked away.

Flash forward to yesterday. Our “chief decider” has rechristened himself. As of yesterday, he is now, officially, the “commander guy.”

And I wonder, what pit of hell belches out people like these?

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