Now, if only a few more of us could wake from our slumbers and git'r'done.
We've got to put Cheny, Bush, Condi, Alberto, Rumsfeld, Rove, Tenet, and SO many others, in the pokey. Really, we have no choice.
If you're one of those still gently snoring out there, post Inauguration, you might want to turn your gaze away from the forsythia for a moment to peruse Mark Danner's New York Review Of Books (Vol. 56, No. 7, April 09) article titled "The Red Cross Torture Report: What It Means".
See, I've now made it almost impossibly easy for you to segue over there and see what you MUST attend to, now that you and I have awakened from our perhaps-deserved, if-lengthy nap.
The piece opens with a quote from Dick Cheney, so it's not for the faint of heart.
Dick Cheney still has, will always have, the ability to scare the bejezus out of me. If someone decides to release a film series titled "The Cheney-Saw Massacres," it will outsell anything heretofore extant in the Horror genre. I hear that voice—and, God knows, we are all still hearing it way too often—and it conjures up Humphrey Bogart in "The Caine Mutiny," Jack Nicholson, in "A Few Good Men," Laurence Olivier, in "Richard III," Anthony Hopkins, in "The Silence of the Lambs."
Cheney wakes up of a morning, and it's always the Dawn of Armageddon. He puts on his shapeless suit, straps on his gun, looks in the mirror and tries to simulate a smile where both sides of his Quasimodo-like visage match, splashes on some Aqua Velva, and prepares for. . .The Rapture. And he knows his daughter, who suffers from The Gay, ain't goin' up with him.
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