Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Dear George,   I can’t help it!  I must sing your praises even as tears of admiration wet my cheeks!  You, sir, are the greatest desk warrior the world has ever known.  And I say, Thank God we have a commander-in-chief who ducked combat, for he is far more likely to “damn the torpedoes” and bull ahead without giving a good Goddamn about the consequences.  The man who has never seen blood  will not hesitate send his armies wading through gore up to their asses.  He, and only he, savors the thrill of trashing a country and its people without having to bear witness to the death and destruction it brings.  Combat veterans make piss-poor military leaders.  There’s something about shrapnel-shredded children that turns a warrior into a weak-kneed pacifist.    But I digress.   Hear my litany, O George!  Your brilliance shines like the blinding brightness of the setting sun breaking through the windshield of a westbound automobile!  You are the full moon glowering over the darkness of our soul!  I sing praises to your moral fiber that believes more than it knows. ...    Oh, God!    I’m sorry. …I’m so choked. …I can’t go on. …more…later…when I’m composed.   Your devoted subject, Belacqua Jones   5:21:29 PM    comment []

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