Planted in my Stratolounger, glued to this procession of money lenders and loan sharks lining up around Capitol Hill with hats off and hands out ready to accept $700 billion worth of government cheddar, I'm about ready to start puking and never stop. Fanny Mac, Freddy Mae, Francis Farmer - you should all be ashamed of yourselves. I pay my taxes so the government can drop bombs on Muslim women and children, not bail out banks. I spent $1,500 on my 50-inch plasma flat screen television to watch high explosives dropped by US war planes on Baghdad and Fallujah make Dresden look like a fraternity couch fire, not to see the Lehman Brothers suck George Bush's scaly, three pronged cock live on CNN. Seriously, if the higher rate of inflation and increase in taxes that are bound to result from this whole business were the aftereffects of just barely doubling this nation's dangerously underfunded military industrial complex so our boys could finally start bombing the shit out of the bazaars and day care centers of Iran I'd be all for it, but as it is... not so much.
As we speak there are probably dozens of wedding parties going on all over Iraq and Afghanistan, and the idea of the constituent molecules of their attendees’ bodies not being vaporized by 72-hour death storms of cluster bombs and Tomahawk missiles because my tax dollars are being diverted from defense spending to indemnify a bunch of usurious shylock bankers for granting enormous mortgage loans to every crackhead and janitor with a raging gambling addiction who refused to believe that their lack of two red cents to rub together should stand in their way of sharing in the great American dream of home ownership is truly a sad state of affairs that has left my soul crippled with grief. After all, these Muslim women and children aren’t going to blow themselves up. Well, some will… but not enough for my taste.
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