I'm Lonely: Maybe the Secret Service Will Come Visit Me Now
In our slow national transition from republic to monarchy, the powers-that-be are so concerned about their safety that it is now a suspicious activity merely to make oblique comments that could be interpreted by the paranoid as wishing the powers-that-be were dead:
Y'know, after writing that, I don't think it would be as satisfying for Shrub to be killed – even by torture – as if he died after also sinking into powerlessness and squalor. Like, if he were impeached, and then just quit caring and stopped trying to conceal his drinking, and the fawning media tried to turn him into an Elder Statesman [which would be both entertaining – as with glazed eyes and slurred speech he took offense at softballed press questions and tried to assault the questioner but lost his balance, fell down, and had to be poured into his limo by his Secret Service detail – and appalling – the final triumph of celebrity over competence in the rise of infotainment], but seeing the pity in the eyes of the punditry during the news coverage made him aware of just how much of a fuck-up he is and in his torment he wandered outside for hours, finally slipping off the curb at the start of the morning commute in front of a metrobus that came to rest with its front wheel on his lower abdomen, crushing his pelvis and rupturing his stomach so that the digestive acids leaked all over his spleen and pancreas. OK, I'm going to stop now, because I'm beginning to gross myself out. What I need is for the Rude Pundit to finish this up.)
Am I going to make any efforts to see that these things come to pass? Puh-leeze. I was too lazy to kill myself when I actually wanted to be dead. But, should they, I won't shed any tears. Except maybe crocodile tears. (Or tears of laughter, in LieberToad's case.)
Or would that be schadenfreudliche?
(Attention Secret Service: including my commute, I work from 7 A.M. to 6 P.M. weekdays. You won't have to come to my workplace to search my car because I take the bus to work. Also, I have a cat, so be sure not to send agents with cat allergies when you search my place [she hates everyone but me, but she won't try to bite if you just leave her alone]. And I finally organized my sock and underwear drawers last night, so if you would leave them neatly arranged when you're finished, I would be exceedingly grateful. )
Pa. Man's Letter Brings Secret ServiceHell, I'll go a bit further than that. I do wish President Shrub were dead. Preferably by the kinds of torture that he has had inflicted upon hundreds of fellow humans. But it's not that simple, because dead Shrub = President Cheney, and that would be even worse than live Shrub. So, first, I wish Cheney were dead. Then, after that, I wish Shrub were dead. And since dead Cheney + dead Shrub = President Pelosi, which would be (as neo-Leona-Helmsley Martha Stewart might say) "a Good Thing," I would be content. (Unless, of course, Toad Lieberman then decided that would be too great an opporunity to pass up leveraging his pusillanimity with the Republicans, and made his party switch formal. Then I would wish for...no, I wouldn't want him dead, actually. At least not right away. I'd prefer him to live long enough to see the people of Connecticut utterly repudiate his sorry ass. Then he could become dead, ideally in sordid circumstances involving hookers, cheap booze, and Frederick's of Hollywood lingerie — all in a sleazy hotel.
Sun Jan 21, 2:51 PM ET
BETHLEHEM, Pa. - An elderly man who wrote in a letter to the editor about Saddam Hussein's execution that "they hanged the wrong man" got a visit from Secret Service agents concerned he was threatening President Bush.
The letter by Dan Tilli, 81, was published in Monday's edition of The Express-Times of Easton, Pa. It ended with the line, "I still believe they hanged the wrong man."
Tilli said the statement was not a threat. "I didn't say who — I could've meant (Osama) bin Laden," he said Friday.
Two Secret Service agents questioned Tilli at his Bethlehem apartment Thursday, briefly searching the place and taking pictures of him, he said.
Full story here.
Y'know, after writing that, I don't think it would be as satisfying for Shrub to be killed – even by torture – as if he died after also sinking into powerlessness and squalor. Like, if he were impeached, and then just quit caring and stopped trying to conceal his drinking, and the fawning media tried to turn him into an Elder Statesman [which would be both entertaining – as with glazed eyes and slurred speech he took offense at softballed press questions and tried to assault the questioner but lost his balance, fell down, and had to be poured into his limo by his Secret Service detail – and appalling – the final triumph of celebrity over competence in the rise of infotainment], but seeing the pity in the eyes of the punditry during the news coverage made him aware of just how much of a fuck-up he is and in his torment he wandered outside for hours, finally slipping off the curb at the start of the morning commute in front of a metrobus that came to rest with its front wheel on his lower abdomen, crushing his pelvis and rupturing his stomach so that the digestive acids leaked all over his spleen and pancreas. OK, I'm going to stop now, because I'm beginning to gross myself out. What I need is for the Rude Pundit to finish this up.)
Am I going to make any efforts to see that these things come to pass? Puh-leeze. I was too lazy to kill myself when I actually wanted to be dead. But, should they, I won't shed any tears. Except maybe crocodile tears. (Or tears of laughter, in LieberToad's case.)
Or would that be schadenfreudliche?
(Attention Secret Service: including my commute, I work from 7 A.M. to 6 P.M. weekdays. You won't have to come to my workplace to search my car because I take the bus to work. Also, I have a cat, so be sure not to send agents with cat allergies when you search my place [she hates everyone but me, but she won't try to bite if you just leave her alone]. And I finally organized my sock and underwear drawers last night, so if you would leave them neatly arranged when you're finished, I would be exceedingly grateful. )
posted by Anonymous at 11:15
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