Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane


Please, sir, may I have more vilification?
Desecration is a GOOD thing

Of course, it's great political propaganda for our side when a drunk redneck runs down a buncha fake cemetery crosses. And who gets harmed by this truck-venting? Karl Rove's carefully tuned lie machine. But he can afford to take a couple hits, he's the Wall-Mart of lies.

Maybe the thing to do is plant Arlington Wests all over the country, so more crazed yahoos can run 'em down and shoot 'em fulluva holes and the media, and offended war-widows and Goldstar moms, can wring their hands over the desecration.

I usedta wonder why more downsized workers and ripped-off shareholders didn't picket the homes of their financially-bloated former employers/CEO's. But now that I see how beautifully Cindy Sheehan's picketing of the biggest CEO of them all is going, I'm a bit more at ease.

In a lesser way, the mowing down of the crosses at Crawford works like the footage of the redneck Alabama cops turning waterhouses and dogs on peace Civil Rights demonstrators. It will forever be a blotch on the face of the Iraq warmongers. When media-Nazis like O'Reilly and Limbaugh try to vilify Sheehan, do their efforts similarly boomerang? I'm not so sure. They lie so well. When they say black is white, their listeners see white.

Maybe the media-Nazis' smear campaign against Sheehan will have a short term efficacy, rather like the Swiftboat Vets' For Truth libel of Kerry's war record. After all, their lies did help swing Ohio and re-elect W for another term. But in the longer term, the smear will live as a smear, just as Bush's smear of McCain in the 2000 primary lives as a smear. The lies helped get W elected twice, but they won't go away. They just stand out in sharper relief with each passing day.

It's very kind of W to pigheadedly continue his vacation in Crawford when he looks so bad doing so. He probably feels about his vacation the same way he feels about Iraq: He's going to stay the course, and he's not going to let no goddamn terrorist Goldstar Mom shake his resolve.

And now Cindy, thanks to a sympathetic Crawford rancher, is moving her desecrated cemetery even closer to the gates of W's spread. As Bush watches the crosses approach, does he feel a little bit like MacBeth, watching Birnam Wood close in on Dunsinane?

'Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane:' and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out!
If this which he avouches does appear,
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
I gin to be aweary of the sun,
And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.
Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back.

Maybe on Saturday, when W goes bicycling with Lance Armstrong, he'll face off with Cindy at the gates of Crawford:

"What ho', War Mom, did I not giveth you of my precious time in yon Oval Office?"

"Aye, my lord. But your manner did not suit me. I thought you insincere."

"But what's this clutter outside my gate?"

"'Tis the graves of all those you sent to their deaths, King W."

"Did they not go willingly?"

"Only because you lied to them about what the hell they'd be doing in Baghdad."

"Everything I say is the truth, including this."

"Yet my son Casey died for a lie."

"Calleth me a liar?"

"Aye, my lord."

"Then prepare to defend yourself!" The President pulls his bicycle pump from his bike and fixes to give Cindy a thumping. She jerks her son's cross from the ground and squares off against her leader. This gives the President second thoughts and he looks back at Lance Armstrong, who's still clipped into his mountain bike. "Haveth thou gotteth my back, my liege?"

"Helllll, no, Mr. President. I'm not going to thump on no Goldstar Mom. I don't buy your war any more than Cheryl does."

Cindy grins. "It's just you and me this time, George. You're going to get your first taste of combat at last."

"But the witches prophesied that I could not be killed by man of woman born."

"Great. Because I'm WOMAN of woman born, you miserable fool."

George's knees tremble at this revelation, but he gathers himself and prepares to sally forth against his nemesis. Just then the voice of Rove is heard from on high. Karl Rove is in a helicopter, hovering over the fight scene, speaking on a loudspeaker. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. President."

"Well of course you wouldn't, Turdblossom. You're completely outta shape. I, on the other hand, am in the upper 1% of 60 year olds. My pulse is 47 bpm's, my cholesterol is around 150, and my body fat composition is a mere 15%."

"That's wonderful, Mr. President. But it's going to look like hell when they broadcast footage of you thumping this lady."

"But what would Jesus do if a Goldstar Mom called HIM out, Karl? Would he chickeneth out? I don't thinketh so. Jesus never backed down from a fight, and neither will I. He woulda said: 'Bring her on!' And that's what I sayeth: 'Bringeth her on!'"

And George charges forth to smote the dragon lady and make her get her damn crosses off the road to his property. The terrorists have arrived at Crawford at last, and no one stands between them and the security of our sacred Homeland, or, at least, his sacred vacationland, but St. George himself.