Bush’s Fecal World
Having only just escaped death a few weeks ago, I am now trying to focus on my healing process. I am attempting to follow my doctors’ orders, manage my pain, build up my strength and think positive, healing thoughts. Therefore, I am trying to ignore politics. This was not too difficult in the hospital, where nobody talks about politics except to laugh about Rush Limbaugh’s latest drug problems.
But now that I’m home, talking to clients and writing a new book at the computer, I can’t resist surfing the web, and finding, to my predictable horror, that the world, or at least the Middle Eastern part of the world, is indeed blowing up like a 12-truck collision, or going to “shit” as our American president has so eloquently stated on the global stage.
With dozens of Iraqis getting killed each day, often by men in police uniforms, central Iraq is obviously boiling alive in a Sunni-Shia civil war. Of course, no one wants to declare this war, since that is a certain way to get oneself killed. Then again, going to work, getting groceries or just sitting in one’s house huddled under one’s bed are also almost-certain ways to get oneself killed in this once fairly peaceful country that BushCo went and *liberated* into Hell.
Then there’s the “shit” between Israel and Lebanon, Israel bombing and slaughtering Lebanese innocents on a level that rivals the American bombing of Baghdad, as Hezbollah lobs Katyusha rockets into Northern Israel, killing civilians and wreaking havoc. In the past, an American president could come in and broker some kind of peace. It would be grudging and temporary, but at least it would save a few lives, humble the militants, and give the locals some breathing space. But the current American president is way too busy wriggling his middle finger up his ass, occasionally removing it to smell the situation which he then pronounces to be “shit.” Since he is doing as little as possible about this, as well as the other “shit” in Iraq, not to mention the toxic “shit,” ie., waste, that is choking our environment, one can only assume our Commander-in-Chief is a coprophiliac (another fetish he has in common with der fuehrer).
How is a pain-riddled convalescent like me supposed to think positive, healing thoughts in a brutal, leaderless world like this? Being an agnostic, I’m not much for praying. And now that I’m home, I don’t even have my morphine to comfort me. So I just take my Vicodin, give occasional blowjobs, and hug the cuddly stuffed bonobo that my H got me in the USC gift shop. I look into his worried plastic eyes, and I hope for healing. If my body could achieve this miraculous recovery, maybe the world can too.
P.S. Multiple thanks, a big kiss and a bigger orgasm to everyone who has sent me “get well” emails, cards, toys, goody baskets, Speakeasy donations, and yes, even prayers. Though recent studies have shown that prayers don’t help and may even hinder the convalescence of the sick, it’s the thought that counts, and I appreciate your positive, healing thoughts.