Sunday, October 31, 2010

Two Faces Of Evil
(Now UPDATED W/ A Link)

Were there any reason to prefer Texass (They've never been, spread the wealth, yada.) over Frisco in this Series, it flew out the window & crashed to the sidewalk in a bloody pulp when they dragged elitist economic criminal George "Four-name" Bush & his son, the war & economic criminal George "Three-name" Bush out of their sarcophagi to drive around the field.

Seeing the two personifications of exceptional American evil side by side (Would that it were a line-up, where the two shits were being fingered by the ghosts of the Iraqis, Afghanis & so on they caused to be murdered.) we noted the elder of the vicious, soul-less pigs looks no worse for wear nor much older than his devil-spawn; that may be the sad genetic influence of plutocratic succubus Barbara "Beautiful Mind" Bush. Or the result of a twinge of conscience on Junior's part, though we imagine his conscience would have been expunged long ago as part of his elitist pig education. (Assuming the in-breeding eugenics program of the elites hasn't entirely eliminated conscience from all of them.)

On the other hand, A Weak-Minded Wart:

Is it fair for Bush (and Bush, elder) to be on camera in such a glowing light, for hours on end?

We're watching the World Series, and I'm wondering if the Bushes are making a profound subliminal impression on American minds, drawing us toward the stability of the past. Bush and baseball — is that a political argument against which the mind cannot defend?

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

It's definitely something against which the mind is at least ill-equipped to defend, but here we have proof that it's a Rorschach situation.

M. Bouffant said...

Totally Objective Editor, Who Prints Both Sides Of The Story, Even When One Side Is Just Silly, Yet Still Gets Abuse For His Efforts, Moans Self-Pityingly:

Someone sees clearly-defined reasons to accuse & allege, & someone projects nostalgia & sentiment onto an ill-defined blotch defined as "stability."

Stay out of the middle of the road, it's where one is most likely to be smooshed to a meat pancake by an 18-wheeler.