Scooter and a Blood Clot
Scooter's guilt and Cheney's thrombosis could play greater roles than the war in Iraq; the lies, miscarriages and abortions known as the war's execution; the tens of thousands dead and the many more injured, homeless, destroyed or worse; the rape, plunders and pillages of the US economy by Halliburton et al.; the projected two trillion warbucks wasted; the Abu Ghraib scandals; the mysterious and unsubstantiated Guantanamo detentions; the Katrina debacle; the MIA City of New Orleans; the record budget deficits; in short, the entire geopolitical criminal misadventure known as the Bush administration.
Yes, it's a guy named "Scooter" and a blood clot in Cheney's leg that may send this administration to its resting place.
Perhaps Cheney ought to be treated on an outpatient basis at Walter Reed Hospital. Maybe then he'll get even the merest hint, the tiniest glimmer, the slightest suggestion, the beginnings of an inkling of a verisimilitude of the enormous misery that he has unleashed upon the world-although if there is a Hell anything like Dante's Inferno, there isn't a level low enough for him.
But let's pray for his speedy recovery. After all, he cares so much for the welfare of others that he's hastened the return of many souls, both Islamic and Christian, to their final destinations. Or, if the Hindus are right, he is a cosmic environmentalist, a major player in the soul-recycling business. Thanks to Cheney, many erstwhile earth-bound beings have been "liberated" and are now free to move about the karmic cycle.
God, please grant Cheney the rest that he needs. May he recover completely, especially from the disease of grandiose persecutorial and prosecutorial psychosis-preferably alone, in a Walter Reed hospital room replete with rats, crumbling walls and blind nurse named Edna; but by whatever means, deliver us from his evil, Amen.
As for Libby, the loose-lipped Cheney aide whose only crime was to cover up the Nigerian enriched uranium lie for Simon Bar Sinister himself-send him to that recently banished non-planet of Pluto. Or more aptly, to Uranus-or to a federal prison filled with men who might enjoy exploring his. They just might appreciate a loafered preppy named "Scooter."
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