Can You Hear Me Now?

For the last couple of years whenever the Chowder Head portrayed above has appeared on my TV screen I have instantly reached for the mute button on my TV remote.

I simply cannot stand the sound of the fraudulent bastard’s voice anymore, and, having heard and read enough of him during the first few years after his torturous and calamitous appearance on the national scene, I know full well that he will not speak one word of truth nor provide even the smallest morsel of important information.

At this point I am all too aware that he will offer nothing to enlighten or edify, nothing that will come close to inspiration or even mild interest, so I have formed a firm habit of hitting the mute button whenever I see his smirking face invade my screen.

Twice in the last week I made the mistake of not reaching for the remote when this, our current court appointed resident of what now passes for the White House, has appeared on the TV screen.

I’ve been somewhat distracted recently by the incessant attacks of my new kitten, who seems to have declared a personal jihad against my feet. I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time and attention warding off his feline forays and lightning raids against my lower digits.

Being distracted I forgot the remote and heard my least favorite grinning idiot make several references to a pig at a press conference in Stralsund, Germany. In his repeated attempts to divert the focus away from his lack of knowledge and preparation, he instead drew attention to his thoroughly sophomoric sense of humor a half dozen times with references to the boar that was being roasted for dinner.
German Chancellor Angela Merkel looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, while our national embarrassment avoided serious questions and played his arrogant and foolish game.

The second instance when I had our “National Sum Of All Morons” inflicted on me in the last few days was another press conference which was held before the beginning of the G8 conference in Russia with Vladimir Putin, whose KGB soul the Bush has experienced to it’s very depths.
I listened to him hem and haw, appreciate this person and that event, mention the bits and pieces that (supposedly) he and Putin had talked about and how much hard work it was, and stutter and stammer over material that he had no knowledge of nor any obvious interest in.

I felt like I was watching an errant seventh grader give an oral report on a book that he hadn’t opened. Embarrassing for everyone concerned.
This guy is the original empty suit. It isn’t that the Emperor is naked, no, in our case his keepers are dressing him all right, just like old J Fred Muggs, right down to the bicycle, the red tie, and the goofy helmet. The problem is that there’s no Emperor there, the guy is a wraith, a figment of some neocon publicist’s imagination.

They might as well use a dressmaker’s dummy accessorized with a cowboy hat and a pair of boots smeared with imported French horse crap. I now finally and fully see the essence of what Gary Trudeau has been drawing these last five years. All hat, no cattle.
There is no substance in this person, no seriousness, no real qualities of character, no honesty, no compassion, no courage, no…..just ….no. His glaringly obvious ignorance and incompetence precede him with such clamorous fanfare that they are only slightly shielded by his colossal arrogance.

Natalie Maines got in trouble a couple of years back by expressing her embarrassment at being from the same state as the Lesser of Two Georges. Hell I’ve only driven through Texas twice in my life and I’m embarrassed, what’s more I was born in Connecticut, which is cause for great groaning pangs of abject humiliation.
Friends thought me strange when, while sitting in my living room they watched me shut the sound off to protect myself from being further inflicted with the abuse of the constant stream of utter banalities and non sequiturs that emanate from the grinning countenance of this, our decider, der grossly addled administrator und would be Fuhrer.

Wall Street Journal commentator Jonah Goldberg takes Democrats to task in my local Sunday paper this morning for what he calls the Bush hatred “that drives, or poisons almost everything in liberal politics now.”
Sorry Jonah, it’s just that there’s nothing there to love, and, since there’s nothing there at all but a grinning, chicken hawk, fraudulent cowboy wraith who has been used by the wealthy and powerful in their latest attempt to destroy America, I am left with “Bush hatred,” which is less, I suspect, a hatred of the man, than it is a hatred of the very idea that such a complete and harmful fraud, such a giant bunco flim flam, at the same time as absurd as it is exceedingly dangerous, could have been perpetrated on my country and, indeed, on the whole damn world.

But, as this is still what’s left of America, I don’t have to listen to the pathetic, lying, criminal son of a bitch.
Gimme the remote.  Go away cat.

Bob Higgins
Worldwide Sawdust