Mr. Rumsfeld - I have to ask

Mr. Rumsfeld - I have to ask.

Mr. Cheney - I have to ask.

Mr. Bush - I have to ask.

Why? Wasn’t an outright lie for war enough? Didn’t the plan for reshaping an entire part of the world in your own twisted image satisfy you? Hadn’t the slaughter of tens of thousands of innocent civilians cleverly painted as heathen non-believers meet the quotient? How much more did you need?

In some type of warped evangelical blood sport known only to you the Christians get dog collars and digital cameras, while the lions get blindfolded and are told to head for the door. The crowd performs the Three Monkey Shuffle (see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil), while Pat Robertson sells Pentecostal Punch for $2000 a glass. Jerry Falwell tells all within earshot that God hates lions but loves animals. He also reminds all not to miss National Prayer Day, as another lion carcass is hauled away. The overflow crowd chants “frat boy prank! frat boy prank!”, gulping down double malt Scotch and little blue pills while complaining of ongoing back pain.

Between dead lions, metal boxes with American flags as decoration move from point A to point B. Nobody notices. Nobody gives a shit. The lions, they say, are our concern. We must be afraid of the lions. We have been told to be afraid of the lions. The fact that all the lions are blindfolded seems to escape them.

The lion tamers, ripe with the stench of the game, lie with impunity. We didn’t know. We can’t recall. We never authorized. We would have moved heaven and earth had we known. The leader in name only apologizes to the Philadelphia Zoo and runs away thinking the teacher believed the dog really did eat his homework. Like his compatriots, he has no soul, only a vicious hole where it purports to be. Like his compatriots, he has no heart, only a steel-plated scorecard sitting just proud of his ribcage. Unlike them, he has no brain, so he must rely on them for his every waking move.

As they sit for another showing of Dead Lion Theater, they call for Pat to quench their thirst. Imagine their surprise when instead they are served a Constitution Cocktail from The Man From Massachusetts, who tells them to watch the new improved version of the show.

In this one, the lions can see. So can the crowd.

we were at a restaurant tonight and our 25 year old waitress did not know who Halliburton is. Amazing, 25 years old, unhappy with being a waitress, excited because she has a new job and does not know who Halliburton is!

Oh my god! You just have to be kidding me. Nope. No Clue. This is in Dallas, North Dallas mind you, home of the educated and informed.

It is a challenge every day.

BTW, 5(!) more boxes ready to go overseas - just need more addresses.

Mom works at a college, so I got her involved.

of days. I'm giving it through the weekend. Thank you, DancingBear.

What exactly were they betting on in Iraq? Was it all about the oil? What price are these warmakers willing to pay for Middle East supremacy. Their job just got 1000 times harder in Iraq and they don't have a plan that has any chance of succeeding without a committment of enormous proportions both in terms of lives and treasure.