Big Darkness at High Noon

Viagra sales will soar, and the stomach pumps in Crawford are working overtime. There's a discordant chorus of screaming and begging already, and the patients have been hog-tied together like sheep, with numbers tatooed in their forearms, arrest warrants stapled to the backs of their lime green leisure suits and their mouths sealed with duct tape. We are dealing with a profoundly degenerate world, a sickening and diabolical system of foul, filth, half-truths, no truths, outright lies. The hog is blocking the tunnel and only dynamite will clear the way.

This terminal craziness began in 2000. It was mocked as "hanging chads" and "blue-haired voters in West Palm Beach," and it's left us with human remains on the sidewalk, even more in the secret halls and bunkers of the White House, now slick with decomposing scum.

If there is a heaven, it will be a place where the greed-crazed white trash scumbags will be sorted out at the pearly gates and sent down like rats scurrying from WMD. Bloody lesions and lumps and slashing wounds all over their torsos - and then sent down the long dark slide where pestulence engulfs the soul every few minutes like waves of molten lava and poison sludge, along with cops on the take and ambulence chasing attorneys with yellow teeth shouting the words from their own perverted moral manifestos. Nobody will be laughing and everybody huddles to the cold, greasy stone walls as eternity drags along slowly, and the nights are swimming with hookers, pimps and dope fiends scratching at the door for a fix while the howls of the doomed echo from beneath the sewer with mad cockroaches and dung beetles feasting on the disease. Sunrise has been replaced with a foul, dank fog and in the mornings there are televangelists panhandling for pennies while sweaty, bloated frat boys fondle them for scraps.

The final collapse of this corrupt and criminal administration could not come soon enough for most rational people. A high scale class of plundering that would make Al Capone seem like a corner hustler selling dimebags. The rampant theft of the U.S. Treasury will be studied in the FBI's serial killer profiling division for years to come. The criminally insane were given keys to the mint, and it has destroyed the lives or well-being of a generation of Americans. Get the picture? You, me, Tom, Dick and Harry - we took the beating for the boss, and the beating is massive. Consult the Book of Revelations for the score - the end of the world as you and me once knew it.

Dubya was nothing more than another disturbed cleric with a dark heart and a deathwish, as long as he didn't have to suffer the consequences. His multiple-personality presidency was the perfect role for a man with a retarded world view, and he used catastrophe like the church choir needs an organ - just another song to be played for Jesus while real estate tycoons meet with the pastor out back for a tax shelter. And the preznut is sick enough with his personality disorder to be totally confident in what he's doing and what he will have done if selected again.

His presidency was a gimped effort and his neo-con agenda has been a victim of its own conceptual schizophrenia, caught up in facts as moving targets and finally crippled in that vain, theocratic limbo between "God" and "Truth". And like his daddy, he has the gut instincts of a wild hog. No politician of record can match his talent for shitting on himself in such prolific ways. The preznut, like a drug pusher, can seek out filth and discord where it is born. And when he finds himself a new dung heap he dives in face first and rolls around in it for a while, making that ridiculous snorting sound and brandishing that revolting little fraternity-punk grin, as if to say, "I know I'm an asshole, but I don't have to pay the freight on your misfortune, now, do I?"

He's never played the role of preznut too well. He doesn't defend what he does in the context of straight policy, and if some people regard him as a man who's got his country's soul in mind rather than greasing the skids for his corporate cronies --well, they're probably the same tinfoil hat wingnuts who think Dan Rather's a speed freak, Pat Robertson is something other than a money-sucking animal and FOX News is fair and balanced from the outset.

For myself, I would much prefer to be stuck with chasing Osama Bin Laden all over creation than stuck with Dubya in the White House. This fundamental difference is something like losing your wallet, your credit cards and car keys at a Tijuana cock fight or earning enough money to pay off your house and a few gambling debts on a six-pack a day habit. Neither is an appetizing conclusion, but at least without Dubya all you're left with is the need for a restroom and marginal headache.

Something is dangerously wrong in any country where a monumental dimwit of a politician can scare the national media so completely that they will give him anything he wants and don't ask questions. The American nation is in the worst condition I can remember in my lifetime, and our prospects for the immediate future are even worse. The Bush capo regime must be very proud of themselves now. A Big Darkness, will soon come from it.

Vegas is laying 3-2 odds on the favorite - the Tijuana cock fight.