Monday, January 9, 2012

A Republican friend writes:

I see all you latte-sniffing Volvonauts are trying to make a federal case of how none of the candidates ever seems to mention George W. Bush, as if to suggest there's something we're ashamed of. I find the irony delicious, given that you're the ones who never stop shoving it in our faces that he wasn't elected in the first place. Now you expect us to go around apologizing to all and sundry for all the ghastly things he supposedly did when he wasn't president?

I'm not normally one to play the blame game, [jump]
but it's high time someone called out the real villain in the parlous state our nation has fallen into--I mean, obviously, your Saint Albert of Gore, the actual president. Unlike poor George W.--a simple man, a simple soldier, who served his country uncomplainingly but never really wanted anything other than, like that other George W., to get back to his ranch, how did Gore spend the years from 2000 to 2008? Hanging out with the Hollywood elite, that's how, swinging himself a sweet deal in the media business and cranking out best-selling books and movies. Couldn't even bother to come to Washington to get himself inaugurated, or maybe he just didn't have the guts. We didn't see him standing tall next to America's Mayor when the Twin Towers fell--or descending from his machina in his flight suit to announce the news when we finished punishing the bastards who didn't knock the Towers down. Where was Gore when Katrina struck? Probably back in Tennessee, basking in an air-conditioned tanning room and chomping on pure carbon. And when the bottom fell out of Merrill, Lynch, Pierce, Fenner, and Smith as used to be in the good old days?

I tell you, if you keep up these mean-spirited attacks on Bush there will be retaliation--there will be blowback. The word about Gore is going to get out--Worst President Ever!

Sorry I missed you at the Harvard-Yale game--oh, wait, you didn't go to Harvard or Yale, did you? Warmest regards to you and the little lady,

Yours,
Chipster
Harlem, 1932. From Dust on the Shelves like Gossamer.
ALSO POSTED AT DAILY KOS

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