I’m not going to counterpoint the Sunday news shows beyond saying BRAVO This Week with George the Greek! A SOLID SHOW!
The continued wringing of hands and gnashing of truth takes me back to the buildup of 2003. One of the most earnestly sculpted piles of what the bull left in the pasture to be served to the timid world had nothing to do with weapons of mass destruction or the pesky Al Quaida procreating like unchaperoned bunnies in Baghdad. It appeared that the longer #43 and accomplices delayed the “grand entrance” into that sovoreign nation, the truth about the womdees and heathen terror bangers from Afwhatistan would sink into the heads of sensible legal citizens of the United States of America. It was time to play that trump card, the fifth ace in #43’s dirty deck. Here is what was written on that card.
We must go now. It will be summer soon over there, and we know how uncomfortable a hot sandy war can be. For the love of Emairka, we don’t want to subject our brave men and women to an exceedingly distressful temperature, does we?
And the answer came.
Our military should fight cool because they are cool. We better be done before July kicks in because nobody likes a really sweltering war.
And the Right Studs prevailed. Why? Because it was more convenient for Congress and too many of the rest of us to vote for a cool invasion than a hot invasion. But the lingering spirits of those who died and the mouths of those who continue to fight, will be the first to tell you this: When your troop transport is barreling down a highway between Point A and Point B in Iraq and suddenly your eardrums are punctured by the explosion, and the last thing you see through your closed eyes is a terrible flash of light, it’s not the heat that kills you . . . .
It’s the stupidity!
Live long . . . . . and proper.
