Rocket Summer

It's an interesting and inevitable dynamic playing out here.  From their first day in office, the Bushistas have been giving away our Treasury to the wealthiest Americans, for the sole purpose of keeping them investing in American business, as opposed to moving all their money to more profitable climes.

The only thing that will keep that money here at home is high returns plus lower business and investment taxes. And looser regulations. Less restrictive standards. Lawsuit caps. Huge freebies to the oil, pharmaceutical, banking, and defense industries. Leaky pension plans, easily looted. Low minimum wage, lots of hungry immigrants, and a shattered and underfunded social safety net. All that, and unlimited, unimaginable debt, even unto the third or fourth generation.

They've been at this for five years now, and here we are, friend -- nearly to the endgame of this mafia bustout, this interesting dynamic. The endgame, where even all of this lush and livid thievery proves lacking, though the nation staggers in its stride, dizzy and drained, a victim of vampires.

The endgame is coming.

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The Five Percent Solution

The Republican plan for America, all along, was Banana Republic.

A nation of poorly educated renters and workers, ruled by their betters -- the wealthy five percent who own everything worthwhile, control all the capital, rule over the government, dictate laws in their own favor, stack the courts with their own judges, and send out the police and army to enforce those laws.

The Republican plan for America is the Five Percent Solution -- move all money and power into higher, tighter, whiter, righter hands.

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We're Way Up Ozzie's Pillar

As we approach this very last Great American Summer, the neocons have clearly given up on boiling the frog.  Time's up.  Now they plan to place it firmly underfoot, take aim, and pull the trigger . . . war it will be.

What transpires over the six short months before Election Day ought to be a steady eruption of hidden Republican corruption, and a steady erosion of patience and polity on the part of the public. Scandal alone should sink the GOP.

We ought to arrive at the second Tuesday in November with sufficient supply of tar and feathers to finish off the neocon experiment in full frontier fashion, and then begin to take back something of what's been stolen from current and future generations.

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Beware the Ides of March

War across the entire Middle East will boil over by March 15th, if you don't stop it. Yes, you.

You, me, everybody.  It's crunch time.  There are enough pressure points to force the White House to act now to take America into a wider war.  They can't afford to wait for the summer or fall.  The mad men and women in the White House wholeheartedly believe that they have no choice but to launch a regional war in the Middle East by the middle of March, by bombing Iran.  They must, to save their mission to establish the American Empire.

If you have other plans for America than endless war, you need to help derail any attack on Iran in the coming six weeks, because the game's afoot.  It's got the green light.  Bush is going smiting again if we don't all stand up and say no.

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A Game of Ghosts

Ten at once.  Ten marines meet their Maker in a flash of fire and fury and fallen friends.  Human meat on the street, shattered and smoking and seeping.  Eighteen more left lying about, leaking life's blood, hovering between heartbeats, waiting to be saved or to slip away.  The whole world watching, seeing that this is where we are, and this is where we are going.

Tomorrow is today.

Where is safe in such a struggle?  Point to the province that's been pacified -- there isn't one.  In a war with no fronts and no flanks there is only the ground you stand on at any given moment, and even that ground is compromised, under constant threat.  The foxholes are confused; there is no perimeter.  The turf you turn away from belongs to the enemy the second you show your back, because the enemy is every man, woman and child who lived here before you entered, and who lives here after you exit.

If you let them live.  If they let you live.

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Extraordinary Turkey Rendition

(Disassociated Press) Breaking News 7:40 PM EST Two tom turkeys pardoned earlier today by President Bush, and given a police escort to Reagan International airport for a first-class flight to Disneyland, were unexpectedly placed on a CIA "extraordinary rendition" flight to Jordan instead.

While the White House had no official comment, one very senior administration official admitted,from the side of his mouth, on super-secret deep background, that the birds have already undergone several hours of intense interrogation while in-flight, exploring unpatriotic remarks they allegedly made about all the chickenhawks present at today's Rose Garden ceremony.


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Don't Tread On Me

The American Senate has merrily voted to overturn the nation's Constitution.  Yes, the very same Constitution that is the envy of the world.  The Constitution that enshrines the inalienable right of every human being to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  And to prompt judicial review of any incarceration.  Forty-nine Senators have voted to separate these inalienable rights from hundreds of human beings, permanently denying them any hope of trial, explanation, or release.

As if it was within the power of these Senators to stand above the law and cast such a criminal vote. They make a mockery of themselves and the nation to even consider the gesture, much less carry it out.  It cannot stand except in the full breach of every fundamental law of the land.  Yet it does great harm that they have done so.  Their foppish action is a blow to civilization as well as international law.  They know not what they toy with here.

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Cowboys and Kingmakers

Some people say that public knowledge of secret American gulags and our use of banned chemical weapons in Falluja marks the final straw, the pivot point in this illegal war, and illegal Administration. It's over.

Absolutely not.

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The Twelve Days of Fitzmas

On the first day of Fitzmas my AG gave to me . . . . . .
The indictment of Scooter Libby

On the second day of Fitzmas my AG gave to me . . .
McClellan wets his pants
And the indictment of Scooter Libby

On the third day of Fitzmas my AG gave to me . . .
Karen moves to France
McClellan wets his pants
And the indictment of Scooter Libby

There's more...


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