Re: OT What God REALLY told Bush


Harry Krause wrote:
> atl_man2@xxxxxxxxx wrote:
> > What God Really Told Bush
> > Apparently, it wasn't just "invade Iraq and Afghanistan in my name." A
> > special report
> > By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist
> >
> > Wednesday, October 12, 2005
> >
> >
> > Printable Version
> > Email This Article
> >
> > Mark Morford
> > Archives
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> > Who is this guy?
> >
> >
> > --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> > What God Really Told Bush - Apparently, it wasn't just "i...
> > 10/12/2005
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> >
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> >
> > Love Still Rules San Francisco - Leather, techno, sex & war: mor...
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> >
> > Kneel Before The Meteorologist - At last, one scientist BushCo w...
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> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > Scene: White House private residence, night, not long ago. President
> > Bush present in his most favoritest guns 'n' bunnies PJs. Laura asleep,
> > knocked out by a combination of too much Good Housekeeping and
> > excessive hair-spray fumes. Suddenly, a burst of black smoke. A deep,
> > resonant voice speaks:
> >
> > "Psst! George! God here, taking a break from supervising the well-being
> > of eight billion troubled souls along with infinite galaxies of
> > unimaginable vastness to speak with you directly one more time because,
> > well, you're special, aren't you, George? Yes you are! Yes you are! OK,
> > stop giggling. I have more commands. Get off the damn hobbyhorse,
> > George, and get a pen and a notepad. No, not a crayon. I don't care if
> > blue is your favori-- George! Get a pen! OK? Good. Here we go:
> >
> > "As you know, I'm not quite what everyone thinks. I am not all
> > benevolence and love and light. In fact, I have a downright dark side,
> > mean and nasty and cunning, and I want you, George, to continue to be
> > my special right-hand man. My special little guy. In fact, you shall
> > help enact my wrath, Dubya. Doesn't that sound fun?
> >
> > "There are three things I love, George: war, revenge, suffering. Oh,
> > and smiting the heathens. OK, four things. And kickboxing. Five things.
> > There are five things I love, Dubya. You with me? And you and your
> > demon monkeys are enacting the first four admirably, George. Don't be
> > shy, go ahead and tell those Palestinian officials you were commanded
> > by God to "restore peace" in the Middle East by bombing nearly
> > defenseless, pip-squeak Iraq and Afghanistan to smithereens. They love
> > that stuff.
> >
> > "But let's put the delicious war stuff aside for a moment. I need to
> > round out my oeuvre. Here's the plan: I'm gonna wreak some major havoc
> > on one of your poorest, most racially mixed, underfunded cities by
> > hurling a massive hurricane at them, flooding the place and killing
> > hundreds of poor people you don't even know exist because you thought
> > they all lived somewhere in Africa. It's all right, the biggest city,
> > New Orleans, will be full of Kerry-loving Democrats. Yeah, I thought
> > you'd like that.
> >
> > "Here's where you come in, George: When those rains come, I want you to
> > sit back for a few days, stay in the hammock in Crawford, have a
> > lemonade, OK? Let those dead bodies float around New Orleans like it
> > was some remote village in Nigeria. Then look completely baffled when
> > everyone blames you for your administration's miserable response.
> > You'll take some flak for it, but did I ever say serving me would be
> > easy? Besides, people need to know I'm still here, still angry, getting
> > angrier. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you. How does eternal
> > damnati-- er, blessed sainthood sound? Good.
> >
> > "OK, moving on. I have a secret, George. Here it is: I hate this
> > me-forsaken planet. All this so-called beauty, nature and the magic of
> > science and the poetry of cells -- you know what Earth is to me? High
> > maintenance, that's what. A massive pain in my hallowed ***. Growing
> > all that food, blowing the wind, churning the oceans -- it's
> > exhausting. Plus my energy bills are skyrocketing. Heating India and
> > Turkey cost me 87 trillion last month alone. What am I, made of money?
> > Well yes, of course I am. But no matter. I'm sick of it.
> >
> > "Here's the plan, George: I want you to despoil, OK? Rivers and air and
> > lakes, wildlife preserves and pristine forests and salmon runs and bird
> > sanctuaries. Screw 'em, Dubya. Screw 'em all. I want you to be the
> > worst environmental president in 50 years, OK? Hell, make it 100. I
> > want you to roll back more environmental protections and do more damage
> > to the place in eight months than my bitch Ronnie Reagan did in eight
> > years. Rape the joint clean. Sell it all off to your cronies in big
> > industry and help me hasten Armageddon. Deal? Here's the truth, Dubya:
> > Earth's a giant liver-flavored Kong toy and you're a rabid terrier.
> > Now, go get it, boy!
> >
> > "Damn kids these days. Who needs so many? Why not send tens of
> > thousands of them off to fight your two brutal, unwinnable wars? Why
> > not Vietnam 2.0? Hell yes! Because if there's one thing I love more
> > than useless wars, George, it's thousands of mutilated soldiers coming
> > home in body bags, all draped in the pretty American flag. Twenty-one
> > gun salute! For God and country! Righteous.
> >
> > "Speaking of uppity kids, I know my own brat Jesus came down here once
> > and mumbled some flower-child gibberish about turning the other cheek
> > and not killing anyone and doing unto others as you would have them do
> > unto you and yadda-yadda-yadda. That's what happens when you give the
> > kids the car keys and an unsupervised weekend, am I right? It's all
> > complete bupkes, but I don't have to tell you that, now do I?
> >
> > "So here's what I want you to do, George. I want your demoralized
> > military shlubs to capture as many swarthy types as possible, whenever
> > they raid an Iraqi home or school or Afghan farm, and throw them all
> > straight into a military prison and let 'em rot and wait for months,
> > years for a fair hearing. Got it?
> >
> > "Strip them naked! Stick electrodes on their genitals! Smear menstrual
> > blood on their faces! Beat 'em senseless! I don't care if they're
> > innocent. I sayeth unto you, innocence is overrated. Rape the boys,
> > too. Then cover it all up and blame it all on a poor, dim-witted female
> > soldier from Kentucky and shove her into prison for three years while
> > all the honchos who sanctioned the torture (hi, Rummy!) merely smirk
> > and walk away. God sayeth unto you all, rock on!
> >
> > "I know, everyone says I'm made of pure love. Ha. Truth is, I'm made of
> > aluminum chloride and coal cinders and something I'm not quite sure
> > about but I think might be MSG. Oh yeah, and money. Fifties, mostly.
> >
> > "I gotta run, George. But rest assured, I'll be back soon, with more
> > ideas. But there's one more thing you need to know, one thing you
> > absolutely cannot forget. Remember our Super Triple Secret, George?
> > Pinky swear? Spit handshake? Atta boy.
> >
> > "Here it is: We both know who I really am, don't we? I know you
> > secretly admire my scaly red flesh, my shining black eyes, these
> > bitchin' horns, the breath worse than Rove's after his morning meal of
> > seared panda hearts. Of course you know the real God is more than a
> > little disgusted by you and your administration, right?
> >
> > "Well, screw her. Typical woman, all benevolent and chthonic and
> > compassionate. We know who's really in charge of your nasty
> > administration, don't we, Dubya? Damned right. And I mean that
> > literally. Keep your hands in the fire, if you know what I mean. Now
> > c'mere and give me a hot tongue kiss. Sorry about charring the carpet.
> > Sweet dreams."
> >
>
>
>
> I'm reassessing Bush.
>
> I've thought he was the worst president in my lifetime, but I'm
> beginning to think he's the worst president in the history of the United
> States.
>
> Even poor NOYB's Rasmussen Poll is becoming consistent:

Wish he'd quit hiding, I'd love to see how he would spin the polls now!

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