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[photo courtesy No animals were harmed in the taking of this photograph, but I suspect some bathing suits might have gotten a bit wet.

for the week ending 11/24/06:

Poor George.  He didn't think his last two years in office were going to be such a bumpy ride.   It was humiliating enough to have to fire his Secretary of Defense With the Kung-Fu Grip® and incur the wrath of his own party. But when those A-rab students in Dubai verbally abused Poppy, forcing him to defend his son's failed war?  And then those Iraqis tried to ruin Dubya's Thanksgiving by literally immolating one another while their own soldiers stood by in the worst week of "sectarian violence" to date! A man can't stuff his gaping meth maw with turkey and gravy and his good friend Jack D. in peace, I tell you.  Why, it's just not fair. 

So what did Mr. Braggadocio do in response to this latest rash of violence?  Absofuckinglutely nothing. Over the past six years, The Deciderer has repeatedly proven that he is not — how you say — spontaneous in the face of catastrophe.

I remember one Thanksgiving when my family awoke to the smell of burning bird.  The oven thermostat had gone beserk and wound up torching the turkey we were supposed to serve later that day.  Instead of freezing like a deer in the headlights, curling up in full fetal position, and repeating "stay the course, stay the course, stay the course" until the hungry guests arrived, my mother snapped into action, called the local diner and haggled with the owner for several cooked chickens.  Everything else was prepared on the stove top. Thanksgiving was saved.

Now, the ramifications of a charred turkey dinner hardly match the global implications of a botched invasion and war.  But the fact of the matter is, during the execution of this "democracy enforcement," the Bush administration has had ample opportunity to take action when faced with each looming crisis.  And what did they do?  They sat on their increasingly fat asses reviewing Halliburton's receipts with shit-eating grins, came up with ridiculously goofy names for their folly like "Operation Together Forward" (which sounds more like some group activity at Club Med), and avoided making any decisions that might hurt their party in pivotal elections.  Because this entire fiasco, this worldwide tragedy, has been about the Bush junta pissing on as many trees as they could, maintaining Republican power home and abroad. 

Sure, they'll tell you that they're taking action: Dick Cheney waddled off to meet with the Saudis to beg for the Iraq reconstruction funds they'd promised, and Bush is going to meet with al-Maliki this week, but it's not going to be a plastic turkey photo-op in the deteriorating safety of the Green Zone. The meeting will undoubtedly result in more of the old, tired same: "Leaving means quitting." Nobody, not even Laura or Barney, is going to convince George that his latest experiment in futility has plunged one country into a death spiral and destroyed the other country's — and his own — credibility.

At the end of the day, George Bush would rather Iraqis set each other on fire than admit he was wrong.

The Rude Pundit:

At times the stunning narcissism of George W. Bush just makes you wanna find the guy who bullied you back in elementary school and beat the shit out of him.

So much pathetic "look, I'm so good" begging for attention. 'Cause Bush is the type of man who likes to look at his own shit. Who brags about how big a turd he left in the toilets of the UN or the White House. 

Josh Marshall asks, "Is it just me or has George W. Bush checked out of the stumbling national crisis we know as 'Iraq'?" Neil Shakespeare phrases Josh's question a bit differently . . . with the toe of his boot. 

Oliver Willis grabs Poppy by the shoulders and shakes him, hard.  And it looks like Poppy can't count on Jeb to bail his family's reputation out.

The Editors at The Poor Man Institute has developed a whopping migraine trying to figure out the wingnut reaction to Charlie Rangel's call for a draft. 

Jesus' General sets out the Boner Republican agenda for its first 100 hours.  It's very . . . tan.  BooMan at the eponymous Booman Tribune ponders the extraterrestrial that calls itself "Newt Gingrich."

And I'd like to note that Steve M. at No More Mister Nice Blog had written the alternate "O.J. Simpsonized" titles well before MoDo coopted the idea for her column yesterday.  

Kerry at 100 Monkeys Typing gives thanks:  (if I could figure out how to link just to that page, I'd be a much happier camper.  But I can't, life is short, so I'm reprinting it in its entirety here): 

Thank You

Thanks for Abramoff and
the corruption he spread.

For Enron, Skilling,
and Lay, though he's dead.

Thanks for the hubris,
the lies and dissention.

Terry Shiavo, gay marriage
and misdirected attention.

Thanks for DeLay, Foley,
Cunningham and Noe.

All them sonsabitches just
had to go.

Thank you for George, Laura
and their two tramps.

The chemical infused turkey
that'll give me the cramps.


Once again, we give thanks that Agitprop's Blogenfreude corrals the crazies, so we don't have to.  Max at MaxSpeak re-tells the story of Thankgsiving, and Gavin M. sends everyone a Sadly, No! Thanksgiving greeting.

And since no Thanksgiving is complete without the sinister horrors of muzak-y holiday carols slithering in and out of your ears, Spiiderweb™ finds the perfect ornament for your Christmas tree.

Eli at Multi Medium secretly wishes for a hockey player named Jesus. 

The King of Innuendo, Dr. Atta J. Turk of Rising Hegemon, questions Derbyshire's sexuality.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.

s.z. at World O' Crap provides dream analysis for one of Town Hall's resident splatterbrains, Mike Adams.

Rogers at Kung Fu Monkey asks the seminal question of the week:  What the FUCK was Michael Richards doing in a comedy club in the first place? 

Really, it was the photo at Bitch, Ph.D that caught my eye.  Now that's a retriever!

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NYC-based aquatic feline that likes long walks on the beach, illuminating the hypocrisies of "family values" Republicans, and engaging in snarling snarkitude.