Finally! As the bodies have continually piled up, I have asked the question over and over: Where are the parents of these dead soldiers? When do they start noticing? Why aren't they enraged? At last, they have awoken and cannot be shunned away as easily as pesky so-called 'journalist.'
The Bay Area's own Cindy Sheehan (Go, Cindy!) has had enough and she's channeling her grief with laser sharp focus, interrupting the luxurious five-week vacation of a tan, rested Dubya, who understands exactly how she feels (cuz he's that kind of guy) but . . . well, y'know, the problem is that . . . well . . . HE DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT.
Already, the right-wing puppets (O'Reilly, Drudge, etc.) are branding her a "traitor" which fills me with glee. Posessing a black, shriveled heart can serve you quite well in politics (see W. above) but sometimes, it can let you down. I am wringing my hands in anticipation of the show. These blockheads will quickly realize that there are certain things sacred in American society and mamas of heroically dead soldiers who fight in illegal wars of aggression certainly top the list.
What a great vacation gift! Perhaps the citizenry will start to notice, 'Hey, that guy at the podium . . he's . . he's not wearing any clothes!" This is my dream. And then they will all start eating one another in one giant, cover-your-ass implosion.
Everyone has their dream and this is mine.