Inauguration Fun in Three Parts:
Fun with the Inauguration, Part 1: Let us say, and why not, that yesterday a six-foot tall steaming pile of shit was inaugurated President of the United States. There in the spankin' new Cadillac limo, cruisin' past all the protesters, was a six-foot tall steaming pile of shit which, being a six-foot tall steaming pile of shit, didn't really pay attention to the thousands of citizens who thought perhaps America might be led more competently if, say, a six-foot tall steaming pile of shit hadn't been elected. There, outdoors, in the cold, the six-foot tall steaming pile of shit was extra steamy. The onlookers were pleased at the chilled air because if it had been more temperate, well, then they would have had to hold their noses while the six-foot tall steaming pile of shit took the oath of office from the gasping visage of William Rehnquist, six-foot tall steaming piles of shit being noted primarily for their stench.

Then, the quarter million or so gathered, watched in awe as the six-foot tall steaming pile of shit made its inaugural address. Who would have thought a six-foot tall steaming pile of shit would understand such notions as "liberty," "freedom," and "idealism." There's a certain cognitive dissonance that must occur when one witnesses such things, for surely a six-foot tall steaming pile of shit has few purposes other than to rot. Oh, sure, sure, some would say, "That may be a six-foot tall steaming pile of shit, but that six-foot tall steaming pile of shit is my President" and give him a pass. Still others might say that the six-foot tall steaming pile of shit delivered one eloquent barnburner of a speech, that the six-foot tall steaming pile of shit needs only lay out a single path and consequences be damned. Many, though, would watch the speech and shrug and think, "Who the fuck cares what a six-foot tall steaming pile of shit has to say?"

Oh, how the six-foot tall steaming pile of shit, newly re-inaugurated, danced, danced, danced the night away before heading back to the White House for a well-deserved night's sleep, thinking, "My, how wonderful America must be, how great God is, if a six-foot tall steaming pile of shit could find itself here."

Fun with the Inauguration, Part 2: Hey, gang, let's take a couple of segments of Bush's speech and replace the word "freedom" with the word "cock," and then it'll all be perfectly clear what the next four years will be about. To wit:

"The best hope for peace in our world is the expansion of cock in all the world . . . Cock, by its nature, must be chosen, and defended by citizens, and sustained by the rule of law and the protection of minorities . . . Some, I know, have questioned the global appeal of liberty though this time in history, four decades defined by the swiftest advance of cock ever seen, is an odd time for doubt. Americans, of all people, should never be surprised by the power of our ideals. Eventually, the call of cock comes to every mind and every soul."

Wheee, what fun. Look how au courant this line becomes: "The rulers of outlaw regimes can know that we still believe as Abraham Lincoln did: Those who deny cock to others deserve it not for themselves; and, under the rule of a just God, cannot long retain it."

Or see how really tangible this goal becomes: "[O]ur country must abandon all the habits of racism, because we cannot carry the message of cock and the baggage of bigotry at the same time."

And then the end becomes a real rouser: "We go forward with complete confidence in the eventual triumph of cock . . .We have confidence because cock is the permanent hope of mankind, the hunger in dark places, the longing of the soul. When our Founders declared a new order of the ages, when soldiers died in wave upon wave for a union based on liberty, when citizens marched in peaceful outrage under the banner Cock. . . we are ready for the greatest achievements in the history of cock."

(Try it yourself with words like "cocksucking" or "boobies." It makes the whole speech go down easier.)

Fun with the Inauguration, Part 3: In some dirt and rat-shit covered corner of a hovel that doubles as quarters, a resting station, for heroin mules in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, transporting the drug from Afghanistan to Russia, perhaps a young Uzebki man named Rukhi listened in on a shortwave radio to Bush's speech yesterday. Let us say his travels between countries have led him to meet enough English speakers that he has some rudimentary understanding of the language, and words like "liberty" resound with him, stir something in him, a hope of some kind of future. It's much the same way he felt when he met with members of the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan, who have offered liberty, idealism, and compatriotism of their own. Either path promises things they cannot deliver, Rukhi knows, but at some point he's going to have to make a decision on which path he'll take, because at 22, he's already weary of the constant treks to Termiz and then into Kazakhstan. And the IMU is the only one offering anything tangible, the only one who gives Rukhi hope through more than just words.