Concerto for blunt instrument

An irregular heartbeat from d.o. to you. Not like a daily kos, more like a sometime sloth. Fast relief from the symptoms of blogarrhea and predicated on the understanding that the world is not a stage for our actions, rather it is a living organism upon which we depend for our existence.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Thanks, neocons



Ok, so it's that season once again. We contemplate all that we have to be thankful for and look ahead to a bright future here in the land of the free, right?
Then we..........go shopping! Sooooooo,

Thanks to the neocons and all their bible-banging friends for establishing a brand new training camp in Iraq for international terrorism where one did not exist before. Thanks for helping to foster a whole new generation of distraught and disgusted war veterans, not to mention filling all those invisible caskets with young men and women who will never again have the opportunity to enjoy all the freedoms you are so busy trying to take away. And thanks for doing all that is in your power to destroy what little is left of a healthy environment while you put up the remaining unspoiled land for sale to the lowest corporate bidder. Thanks for your efforts at privatizing not only our public lands, but the public's water as well (you clever little devils, but what about all that free air out there?).

O, and thanks for enriching yourselves with the fruits of our labor, far beyond anything that even vaguely resembles reasonable (actually even beyond Dickensonian!), while the rest of us scrape through the month, paycheck-to-paycheck, or scrape through dumpsters to get a bite to eat. Be sure to enjoy your Thanksgiving dinner while all the little people go about their business, doing whatever all those little people do. And, by the way, thanks for not running us over in your speeding limos or obnoxious SUVs as we attempt to cross the streets without sidewalks or crosswalks, or attempt to share the road with you on our bicycles. Finally, thanks for not taking our first-born sons or raping our daughters on their wedding nights (that's soooo 15th century!) and thanks for allowing us these few holidays to blow off steam and plot your eventual demise.

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