And Then There Was the Day We Beheld the Turkey:
By now we've all seen the pictures of our Fearless Leader holding the big fucking platter of Thankgiving delight in the middle of the troops in Baghdad. Goddamn, that was a beautiful fucking bird, a beautiful fucking platter - all arranged with grapes and vegetables and motherfucking garnish, for chrissake. Man, you'd think we didn't have tens of thousands of American soldiers in the middle of a desert, wondering which one of them is going to be shot, blown up, or knifed. You'd think, what with the big grin, the tears (yes, tears) of our President that everything is so hunky-fucking-dory that we don't have to worry our pretty little heads here at home. The President's got big shoulders, big arms to carry that big fucking American-looking platter - he can bear all our pain.

Except, of course, it's never that easy. Apparently, despite the best lies available from house negro Condi Rice, when it was first suggested by Andrew Card to Bush that he go to Baghdad, his reaction was something not unakin to, "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Andy?" At least that's the spin - that he had security concerns. Let's instead put it this way: our pussy president, who obviously has many people shopping the Army-Navy store for clothes in his size, is told in no uncertain terms by Karl Rove, "Look, you little worm-man, we're not losing the next fucking election. We already blew the aircraft carrier photo op. Get your skinny drunk ass on the plane so we can get pics of you giving the love to the real soldiers." The President, quivering with fear, having shit himself twice at the idea of actually going somewhere where the people who have contact with him have not given him money, has Andrew Card yank off his boxers where he's dropped a load on the Presidential seal, makes Condi wipe his ass, puts on a fresh pair, and agrees to go, lip shaking, on the verge of tears, tears that Rove tells him to hold the fuck in until he's in front of the military men so he can look like a man's man, letting a tear out that the press can jump on for proof Bush has a soul.

And let's be clear here: Bush no more "visited Iraq" than the prisoners at Guantanamo are vacationing in Cuba. He went from bubble to bubble to bubble. Christ, did they even let him touch the ground?

Goddamn, that was a great fucking platter of food. Goddamn, it was so perfect you'd expect the corpse of Norman Rockwell to walk in and rip Bush's hands off so that he may never touch such American perfection again.

Tomorrow: some of your help-the-Democrats responses from this past weekend. Yep, some of them have been deemed worthy to publish by the Rude Pundit.