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Bush was an Excremental Planetoid roiled by Wriggling Worms

Club Orlov



I believe that it is bad form to speak badly of the recently deceased. Doing so may hurt the feelings of the loved ones they left behind and create animosities among the living. Death should be handled with dignity and decorum. Dead people should be forgiven their transgressions, for even the truly evil ones could be said to have done the right thing in the end—which is to have died, thereby ridding the world of their foul presence, their very death an act of atonement.

But is this way of thinking relevant to the timely demise of American political festering orbs, be they democratic suppurating spherical bags of pus or republican excremental planetoids roiled by wriggling worms? Would it not be profoundly disingenuous of you to do anything other than cry out joyfully at their final consignment to the nether regions of Hell? Did you not feel a tiny spasm of exaltation upon hearing that Richard Nixon had died? Did you not feel the urge to do a little happy dance when John McCain bought the farm? And will you not have to restrain yourself from pumping your tiny fists in the air and shouting “Yesss!” when you hear that Henry Kissinger has finally kicked the bucket?

Well then, don’t hold back now either! Rejoice, ye nation, for a festering orb has been loosed from your firmament and has been harmlessly sucked into a black hole where it belongs. Feel the joy! Should you feel pangs of conscience at rejoicing over someone’s death, please consider that these festering orbs are not exactly human. Some people consider them to be reptiloids from outer space, but I believe this is fanciful.

I believe them to be humans who have had the extreme conceit of thinking themselves to be pagan deities; hence, thinking of them as heavenly orbs, most of which have been named after pagan gods, seems most apt. Their standards are high—so high that they are, in fact, double standards: one for them, another for everyone else. Their modus operandi seems to be the old Latin phrase Quod licet Iovi, non licet Bovi: what is permissible to Jove is not permissible to a bull. To wit, every US president has been a war criminal guilty of multiple war crimes, crimes against humanity and countless atrocities up to and including acts of genocide. For them, this is allowed; for the leaders of other nations—not so much, unless they happen to be allies, of course.

Jimmy Carter can dine with Indonesia’s dictator Suharto and sign weapons deals with him even has his troops carry out acts of genocide in East Timor.

Reagan/Bush41, then Bush43, can flip-flop between considering the same bunch of vile miscreants as valiant, freedom-fighting mujahedeen, then as dastardly terrorist al Qaeda operatives, and first arming and equipping them, then battling them inconclusively for 17-odd years. For the festering orbs, the battle for all that is good and against all that is evil is made easy by the fact that the two are interchangeable on a whim: one moment Noriega is a CIA asset, his efforts in running Panama and in enhancing CIA’s cocaine trade much valued by the CIA director George Bush, and the next moment he is a criminal to be apprehended by staging a military invasion and imprisoned for life.

Humanitarian atrocities—in Kosovo, Libya or Syria—can be concocted on a whim, to justify humanitarian interventions that then involve real humanitarian atrocities (which are studiously ignored). The list of examples can be extended virtually ad infinitum, but the pattern remains the same: everything that the festering orbs do is by definition for the good of the country and the world, and if you disagree than you are by definition evil. Such logic takes us beyond any conception of morality and is therefore perfectly evil. Therefore, the festering orbs are incarnations and emanations of evil, and their deaths reduce the amount of evil in the world and are to be celebrated, not mourned.

Over my years spent living in the US, I have become quite entrenched in my view of American national politicians as a blight upon the heavenly firmament: festering orbs hanging low over the horizon. I fancifully imagine the democratic orbs, such as the Clintons and the Obamas, as suppurating spherical bags of pus, while the republican ones—the Bushes, mostly—as excremental planetoids roiled by wriggling worms. This exaggerates the differences between them somewhat, which are mostly cosmetic. It might have been possible for me to learn to ignore them altogether if only people would have stopped pointing at them and talking about them, but they never did, there being so little them to discuss beyond the choice between the two types of festering orbs.

Which is not to say that this topic is worthy of too much discussion either; rather, it is simply irritating, like an itch that wants to be scratched, because no matter what sort of orb happens to be in command, their responsibilities remain the same. These include:

1. Making sure that the dollar-based wealth pump, which drains countries around the world of their savings and keeps them in perpetual debt peonage, keeps running

2. Attending to the care and feeding of the military-industrial complex, which always needs terrorist dictatorships to arm and new, undefended targets to bomb back to the stone age

3. Perpetuating a sham democracy which grants the wishes of business lobbies and oligarchs while doing its best to ignore everyone else

4. Catering to the needs of certain privileged ethnic groups—the Anglos and the Jews, essentially.

These, along with keeping the prisons full and making sure that the rich keep getting richer while the poor stay poor, are bipartisan concerns. Non-privileged Americans can vote, jump in a lake, stave in each others’ heads with 20-pound sledgehammers, or just sit there Buddha-like, arms and legs folded—politically, the effect will be exactly the same.

One particular excremental planetoid roiled by worms stands out in my memory. When I was being granted US citizenship, the stuffed shirt administering the procedure asked me (to make absolutely sure that I was fit to be an American) who the vice president was. I was of an age at which young men aren’t too concerned with retaining such useless bits of information, and so I just shrugged. I was granted the citizenship anyway. The correct response would have been “What is George Bush.” But it was definitely the wrong question. The right questions would have been:

1. Do you understand that once you accept US citizenship you will be made to pay US taxes no matter where in the world you decide to live? (The US is one of two tax-slave states; the other is Eritrea.)

2. Do you understand that, once you accept US citizenship, no matter in the world you live, all of your children, even if they never set foot in the US, may be forced to pay US taxes too?

3. Do you understand that should you ever decide to relinquish your US citizenship, you will have to pay $2,350, pass an IRS audit and will probably be forced to part with a large share of your savings?

4. Do you understand that your children will not be allowed to relinquish their US citizenship under any circumstances until they turn 18?

5. Do you understand that while the US is the prime money-laundering spot for the world’s oligarchs, you as a US national will be made toxic to foreign banking institutions because of onerous and excessive US financial regulations?

6. Do you understand that, unlike many other countries, the US doesn’t grant its citizens any particular rights beyond the vaporous and abstract “life, liberty and pursuit of happiness”? Specifically, you will not have the right to a living wage, to affordable housing, to medical care, to merit-based education or to a dignified retirement, and that all you can ever count on as a US citizen is your own luck and a bit of charity.

These are all very useful and helpful questions to ask anyone about to accept US citizenship, as a fair warning. But instead I was expected to mouth the words “George Bush,” and when I didn’t, that was fine too. Apparently, they’ll take you as long as you have a heartbeat. As long as you have a heartbeat, you can be all that you can be—cannon fodder, a debt surf or a drug addict living on the street. You can even dream of becoming a festering orb yourself one day!

Well, George Bush no longer has a heartbeat: he is finally dead. Hallelujah! Let the heavens rejoice!



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