“I actually feel sorry for Bush”

uh…hmm?

Feel...sorry for?  Born with a silver spoon in one hand & a gold spoon in the other.  Cowboy gangsta falls back on pop for decades & eventually buys a seat wherein he legislates like Jaba the Hutt.  Earns little, takes much.  Provided with face, …falters face, …annihilates face and pisses on Constitution.   Scary little yellow-eyed dude behind scarier but more regal mannered pop @ the photo op…makes it to the big show on connections and palpable strings.  Had the greatest opportunity to be extraordinary, opted instead to feed the jester crown?  Runs the best notions of our fathers into the dirt, heh-heh-&-yee-hah, ain’t I sumthin else…how m’shit don’stink?  Like pop coined, read ma lips:  Y’better betcha, I’m the kling-klang-King of the rim-ram-room…

SO BRING IT ON!! 

You gota be kiddin me.  I don’t wish him any ill will, man to man, but I certainly hope he meets with the Ghosts of Christmas, past present & future…as they sidle-in on the furies  of betoken atonement & redress….

~~

You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.
And after a while, you can work on points for style
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake
A certain look in the eye, and an easy smile
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to
So that when they turn their backs on you
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.
You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder
You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you get older
And in the end you'll pack up, fly down south
Hide your head in the sand
Just another sad old man
All alone and dying of cancer.
And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest that you've sown
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone
And it's too late to loose the weight you used to need to throw around
So have a good drown, as you go down, alone
Dragged down by the stone.
I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused
Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise
If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze?
Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And everythings done under the sun
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.
Who was born in a house full of pain
Who was trained not to spit in the fan
Who was told what to do by the man
Who was broken by trained personnel
Who was fitted with collar and chain
Who was given a pat on the back
Who was breaking away from the pack
Who was only a stranger at home
Who was ground down in the end
Who was found dead on the phone
Who was dragged down by the stone.

Dogs/Pink Floyd