In a shrewd move sure to confuse the idiots currently protesting against affordable health care based upon proven socialist models developed by civilized countries, the Obama administration today surrendered to al Qaeda, Hamas, Hezbollah, and me — Osama bin Laden — in admitting that terrorism is not an enemy, but a strategy, like firebombing undefended European cultural centers and dropping nuclear bombs on civilian populations to save American lives that are being cynically sacrificed for nothing.
It now appears that these strategies are being reexamined by the head nigger and his posse, and the last remaining turd blossom of the legacy of George W. Bush has been fed a little rhetorical Round-Up in the process. Hillary is suggesting the U.S. join the World Criminal Court. Snap! That bitch! When will the gendarmes show up to arrest George and Laura for keeping Americans safe to shop to show their solidarity in the never-ending reelection campaign war of error?
What does this mean to endangered Republicans who stand to lose even worse in 2010 than in 2006? Join me now in a mantra designed to help maintain your sanity as the liberal media attempts to whip you into a frenzy designed to stoke a new wave of domestic suiciders bent on assassinating anyone who works for hope or change. Are you ready? Who...the...fuck...cares?
I don't. Some people hide "an extreme sensitivity behind a poker face." Others hide what they are stealing while they claim to be lending a hand. Some couldn't give a fat rat's booty one way or another, and others hide contraband in their pants or up their asses or coozes, but the things I have to hide even God can't get to, assuming the supreme Asshole was interested or doing the job His adoring and faithful sheep created Him to do.
Back in the day, there was a lot of insignificant political penis fighting going on, and the world was just beginning to go binary big time, but I was still arrested in the fourth grade, which will probably be my epitaph, whereas Jonathan Swift chose: He has gone where fierce indignation can lacerate his heart no longer.
The irony is that I am an acolyte of Frank Zappa, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. I ain't got no heart to give away or lacerate. You're gonna really have to work to hurt me and first you got to hunt me down and round me up which has never proven easy.
So the inside joke is back in 1967 or 8 when I returned to Clemson after a stint at the specialized treatment center tending to the lumps in the orthopedic ward at Fort Gordon, Georgia, I was involved with the student year book (TAPS), the newspaper (The Tiger), and the literary magazine (The Chronicle).
At the time, I still had some residual sense that the nature of the universe is not on or off, right or wrong, day or night. But the real order was changing into no order, and that became the New World Order that has shown me no reason to change my basic philosophical approach to simple, efficient problem solving, which is: Bring on the bomb.
So one day I covered the window in the door to The Chronicle office using sniffable purple and orange markers to create a poster board sign that said: Who cares?