Another open microphone caught another world figure today. A couple of weeks ago Condi Rice was overheard calling some Russian diplomat a melonhead. Today, in St. Petersberg, Dubya was caught by another open microphone saying "What they need to do is to get Syria to get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit." The comments were part of a conversation with Tony Blair regarding the Middle East insanity.
I’m certain that the right-wing nuts will have a field day with the President cussing like a schoolyard punk. I’m certain the left-wing nuts will demonstrate this as symptomatic of cowboy diplomacy and the failure of same.
For the rest of us in the middle, it is just the way Dubya talks. He has a very narrow, black and white world view. He’s a C-grade draft dodging Harvard grad for heaven’s sake. This means he truly is an inbred idiot who knows next to nothing at the best of times, but has a good rolodex of similar inbred idiots who don’t know much more.
The shame of it, is the American people elected him a second time. I’m not going to dig up the first theft of an election: You already know that story and Bush got away with it without so much as one Democratic Senator agreeing to sign his/her name to dispute the results.
However, in the interests of keeping Dubya from putting both feet further into his mouth and inadvertently starting a nuclear war, a simple primer:
Microphones are always on. Even if the red light is off, they are always on. Ask Daddy about that, he used to head up the CIA. The same is true with those cameras before the State of the Union address. They’re turned on and can show you mugging like you’re at a Skull and Bones Skit Night.
Cameras will always catch you picking your nose, or scratching your ass. Don’t pick your nose or scratch your ass, or adjust the jewels (Johnson) or talk into a pocket memo device for “history” like Nixon. Cameras will catch you doing it and you will look like you’re inflamed, suffering from prickly heat, or just plain crazy.
Reporters are interested in having you mess up: Ask Karl how to bust their balls and get them back in line. Foreign reporters are worse, in that they don’t listen to Karl and you can’t bust their balls: They actually report and investigate things. You can always get their local secret police to bust their balls on your behalf. I hear Romania does some good work for the CIA.
The stuff they serve you at state dinners is good food. I know it isn’t coleslaw, mac and cheese, WonderBread and smoked hot links, but try to use at least one of the fancy forks. The little bowls? They are not for drinking out of and the lemon slice is not for your sweet tea.
Condoleeza Rice’s name was made up by her parents. It is based on the musical term con dolce, meaning sweetly. Her name is not Condi, or Candy, or Connie. She is a legitimate, degreed Doctor of Political Science who has actually worked a day in her life. You might be the President, but when it comes to brains, you couldn’t cut it as the yardboy who cleans her garbage cans.
It is nuclear, pronounced noo-Klee-ur. Not nuk-erLer. That big book over in the corner is a dictionary. Get Mommy to read it to you, or The First Lady, Peggy Hill. She’s always goin’ on about Reading being Important.
Syria and Hezbollah aren’t doing ‘shit’: They’re trying to kill a lot of people. They’re launching big, explosive, nasty rockets at Israel in an attempt to kill as many Israelis as possible. Israel is trying to kill as many Lebanese and Palestinians as they can.
It is called a war Dubya. Like Iraq, except both sides are the bad guys and you don’t get to have Rummy put up a “Mission Accomplished” banner on an aircraft carrier for your photo op.
You are the one who is doing ‘shit’ as in ‘jack-shit’, by sitting on your butt and letting the military and the arms industry sell the guns and rockets and weapons to both sides in this moronic confrontation.
You could actually do something useful at the G8. Talk to Red Putin, TonyB, Yertle Merkel and Elvis Koipond. See if you can cut a deal to get Bobby Assad to cool his jets. Get Herm Olmert to cool his jets too. Just have them come to Crawford for a barbecue: Your treat.
Do the beef by the way, not pork.
RoadDave 