Open Letters to George W. Bush
Letters to the president from his ardent admirer Belacqua Jones
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6/4/2006; 8:53:03 PM


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Saturday, January 21, 2006

The United States faces a ruthless enemy, and we need a commander in chief and a Congress who understand the nature of the threat and the gravity of the moment America finds itself in.  President Bush and the Republican Party do.  Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the Democratic Party.

                                       Karl Rove       

                                       January 20, 2006

 

 

 

Dear George,

 

I’m glad to see that Turd Blossom is up and running again, standing tall in front of the Republican National Committee spelling out your strategy for taking the midterms.  Karl likes to stay with a winner.  He’s going to use the same strategy that got you reelected—If you scare the chickens enough and they’ll vote for the fox. Once again it's time to trot out the GWOT.

 

Thank God, the Democratic Party is so clueless they don’t see the GWOT for what it is: cover for the execution of the Neocon wet dream to create a Great American Empire.  Granted, they’ve screwed it up, but that’s okay.  Victory is irrelevant; all that counts is seizing and consolidating power. 

 

Turd Blossom understands that politics boils down to a question of who has the biggest dick.  This is especially true for all the innocent boomers who grew up knowing neither poverty nor conflict.  Never having been tested in the real world, they can only spin tales of their toughness in an imaginary world, perfecting their swaggers as those who have known poverty and hardship die  trying to make their insane fantasies  come true.  They try to reclaim the manhood they lost ducking duty in Vietnam by beating up on those weaker than they are.  It's the ultimate power surge.

 

You have nothing to worry about, though.  As long as the Democrats keep fretting about the latest penis enhancement device, they will be left sitting by the side of the road, fumbling with their flies, as your minions take their victory lap.

 

Your admirer,

Belacqua Jones

 

 

 

 


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