Biggles of 266
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Apr 26, 2001
- Messages
- 1,128
- Points
- 36
STATEMENT BY THE PRESIDENT BRIEFLY STOOPING TO ADDRESS GLOBAL ANTI-FREEDOM TRAITORS AND THEIR GIRLISH 60'S PEACE CHANTING
THE PRESIDENT: Good morning. Normally, I'd greet you glasses-wearing press nerds and squatty dykes with a sneer and a convoluted non sequitur wrapped in a down-home, poll-friendly malapropism, but today I'm super-jazzed to see you bleeding heart scribbling whores whose corporate bosses voted for yours truly.
So point those cameras, microphones, and pencils at me, because I want to talk straight, heart to heart, fist to septum, to the supposed tens of dozens of anti-war protesters around the world farting up a noxious shit storm of gripes about a little innocent killing for fun and profit. Let me repeat: profit. Both political and "cha-ching" style.
Hey protester kids - remember all those groovy stories about how your body-painted, granola-crunching hippy mom and mom stopped the war in Vietnam? Yeah, well all those star children grew up to invent green ketchup, market it as a vegetable to the impoverished parents of malnourished welfare kids, and drive their SUV's and their fat checks all the way to the local mega-bank!
We Baby Boomers know how to spin a good self-myth better than anyone, but at the end of the day, all we want is a warm, indestructible cocoon of wheat grass shakes, fancy bath salts, and IKEA furniture.
I fought in 'Nam just like Colin and I'm damn proud of it. Unlike Colin though, I flew jet planes totally semi-sober throughout the Vietnam War's "TEXAS FRONT," so I got to take a close gander at all those 1960's long-haired freakazoids who effectively invented America's institutionalized tradition of sedition - this dumbly treasonous exploiting of one's barely legal "right to assemble" and mucking up a perfectly awesome media manipulation strategy.
You see, all you bored college-aged twats -- the yellow-bellied long hairs who invented all this protesting garbage were emotionally stunted, free-loving, pot smoking middle class brats! And me? I was a hot-blooded, beef-chomping, beer-guzzling, sorority chick finger-banging Ivy League layabout who knew, one day, he'd be sitting pretty in the power sofa just like his Daddy, handing out favors, tax breaks, defense contracts, and dibs on Savage Arab Oil patches to the chosen few.
The blood of those lowly suckers in ROTC greased my rightful ascension to Boss Hog's barber chair throne, just like my Pa. It's the same now, only I'm all ascended! But the point is -- I know that patriotic bones fuel the engine of power and you naïve ingrates don't. I'm learning you now, so I don't feel bad when I open up the Spoiled Liberal Arts Major Gulag and fill its cages with you pierced and tattooed Noam Chomsky quoting vegan zombies.
So hoister around your giant puppets, chant your chants, wave your signs, and when you're celebrating tonight over some avocado sushi rolls and apricot micro-brew pussy beer -- remember: your opinions, your protesting -- it don't matter for shit. Because the rights of the Lower 95% of American Earners to safely gorge themselves on the soothing, narcotic Consumer Buffet is greater than your rights to question or resist or think that your weak-willed morality can put the breaks on what I want.
Yes, to protest, rebel, revolt, or to assert any individuality that diverges from sanctioned government group think is Anti-American. You will ingest my diet of paranoia and you will cheer when Saddam - The Butcher of Baghdad, The CIA Blowback Madman Who Could - gets his bunker nuked.
If you do not cheer, then I will lay the death of every soldier I marched off to this cynical war of political domination at your doorsteps and when you're publicly hung, your parents will applaud.
America isn't the bad cop in this new, Cold War-inspired New World Order. We're the judge, jury, and executioner too. Oops, did I say "we"?
I mean - ME! PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH!
www.whitehouse.org
THE PRESIDENT: Good morning. Normally, I'd greet you glasses-wearing press nerds and squatty dykes with a sneer and a convoluted non sequitur wrapped in a down-home, poll-friendly malapropism, but today I'm super-jazzed to see you bleeding heart scribbling whores whose corporate bosses voted for yours truly.
So point those cameras, microphones, and pencils at me, because I want to talk straight, heart to heart, fist to septum, to the supposed tens of dozens of anti-war protesters around the world farting up a noxious shit storm of gripes about a little innocent killing for fun and profit. Let me repeat: profit. Both political and "cha-ching" style.
Hey protester kids - remember all those groovy stories about how your body-painted, granola-crunching hippy mom and mom stopped the war in Vietnam? Yeah, well all those star children grew up to invent green ketchup, market it as a vegetable to the impoverished parents of malnourished welfare kids, and drive their SUV's and their fat checks all the way to the local mega-bank!
We Baby Boomers know how to spin a good self-myth better than anyone, but at the end of the day, all we want is a warm, indestructible cocoon of wheat grass shakes, fancy bath salts, and IKEA furniture.
I fought in 'Nam just like Colin and I'm damn proud of it. Unlike Colin though, I flew jet planes totally semi-sober throughout the Vietnam War's "TEXAS FRONT," so I got to take a close gander at all those 1960's long-haired freakazoids who effectively invented America's institutionalized tradition of sedition - this dumbly treasonous exploiting of one's barely legal "right to assemble" and mucking up a perfectly awesome media manipulation strategy.
You see, all you bored college-aged twats -- the yellow-bellied long hairs who invented all this protesting garbage were emotionally stunted, free-loving, pot smoking middle class brats! And me? I was a hot-blooded, beef-chomping, beer-guzzling, sorority chick finger-banging Ivy League layabout who knew, one day, he'd be sitting pretty in the power sofa just like his Daddy, handing out favors, tax breaks, defense contracts, and dibs on Savage Arab Oil patches to the chosen few.
The blood of those lowly suckers in ROTC greased my rightful ascension to Boss Hog's barber chair throne, just like my Pa. It's the same now, only I'm all ascended! But the point is -- I know that patriotic bones fuel the engine of power and you naïve ingrates don't. I'm learning you now, so I don't feel bad when I open up the Spoiled Liberal Arts Major Gulag and fill its cages with you pierced and tattooed Noam Chomsky quoting vegan zombies.
So hoister around your giant puppets, chant your chants, wave your signs, and when you're celebrating tonight over some avocado sushi rolls and apricot micro-brew pussy beer -- remember: your opinions, your protesting -- it don't matter for shit. Because the rights of the Lower 95% of American Earners to safely gorge themselves on the soothing, narcotic Consumer Buffet is greater than your rights to question or resist or think that your weak-willed morality can put the breaks on what I want.
Yes, to protest, rebel, revolt, or to assert any individuality that diverges from sanctioned government group think is Anti-American. You will ingest my diet of paranoia and you will cheer when Saddam - The Butcher of Baghdad, The CIA Blowback Madman Who Could - gets his bunker nuked.
If you do not cheer, then I will lay the death of every soldier I marched off to this cynical war of political domination at your doorsteps and when you're publicly hung, your parents will applaud.
America isn't the bad cop in this new, Cold War-inspired New World Order. We're the judge, jury, and executioner too. Oops, did I say "we"?
I mean - ME! PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH!
www.whitehouse.org
