The Bourgeouslaise Affaire

Last night I opined a bottle of fine Bourgeouslaise (can't remember the year) and sat back and drifted into an ethereal state. I let my mind float back back, throught the misty mountains and shadows of the past, and thought over the momentous and forboding events of this past week.

Bush had restoled the election and anacted a war against his own people in the streets of his own cities , where we live. Tanks roaring and soldiers eating power bars like their's nothing to it. Rain from out of no where. People arrested for burning innocent effigies in the street, because they said it was a pagan ritual sacrafice.

After I wass finnished with those thoughts , I floated back even further into the past and recalled fondly the days when I was a visiting contributor to TheIraqWarWasWrongBlog. Those were such innocent times. We never knew how good we'd had it. I'm glad that Daisy, and IraqWarWrong, and Moses Gunn (revelutionary name) have been contributing to my humble project herein. But, it just relly isn't the same.

O, TimeT and Jim, we hardly knew ye. Our nation turns it's lonley eyes to you.

we need you hear my brother in these momentous times. When History is crushing down upon us like a prision rape. George Bush, the evil menace is running wild in the streets like Saruman in his tower , with the eye roving across the land. His secret police are the orcs and wringraiths of our momentous tale.

These are times of a big , gigantic story into which we have all been drawn. Who the story teller is, we can not say.

Let's hope that it is us.

But, we don't relly know much of anything.

I'm going to christen this a new age. This is not postmodernism anymore, becuase postmodernism was a good age, whereinn we were not bound by the limits of truth, but instead we knew the freedom of creative deconstruction, where we all tell the story together in one big wild conjoined cacaphonous orgy.

Oh yeah, sure we had the simulacrum to worry about , but that ain't nothing compared to this.

For now on, these momentous times I shall call the PostPostModern. It's not just the end of Histroy. History died and stood a rotting carcass befroe us and is now permeating our lands with its acrid stench of death. And that death is George Bush The Evil One. The Cruxus of Evil.

I will leave you with a poem,

O my brothers and sisters who now walk the night,
Look up from your frailness, into the red dawn quaking,
We will fight back like that dawn against the dark nightness,
Fight back like purple soldiers of peace and freedom, crashing,

No more will we take this lying down,
But instead we will get up from our knees and stand like men/women,
No, we will take this strongly, as we may be bent over
But we will never break
O We will never break

We need only to reach out and touch each other fingerstips,
which carry our fingerprints, the unique dna of skin
to Know that we all carry the bond of humanity,
what ever the evil that may be upoon us.

As the negroes of the sixties used to say,
Back in there own dark days, (before we recognized them for what they truly are
Africa-Americans)
We shall overcome
We shall
We shall overcome


I hope that neocon Wretchard reads this and that it brings the bile burning to his throat.