Uncivil Discourse

Because civility is overrated.

Friday, June 24, 2005

When Fat Men Who Haven't Gotten Any In A While Attack

Karl Rove, the organ grinder to George W. Bush's monkey, had this to say recently:

"Conservatives saw what happened to us on 9/11 and said we will defeat our enemies. Liberals saw what happened to us and said we must understand our enemies."

Rove also denounced Sen. Dick Durbin's comments comparing interrogation at the Guantanamo Bay prison camp to the methods of Nazis and other repressive regimes. He said the statements have been broadcast throughout the Middle East, putting American troops in greater danger. Durbin has since apologized for the remarks.

"No more needs to be said about the motives of liberals," Rove said.

Leaving aside how good of a job we're doing trying to defeat our enemies without understanding them (someone should shove The Art of War right up Karl Rove's puckered little ass), isn't this rich? "Democrats" are now "liberals," yes, even you sniveling fuckers like Joe Lieberman and Harold Ford who would fuck the zombie corpse of Dick Cheney if you thought it would make you look less "liberal." And, of course, we all hate America and want our troops to die, despite not being the ones not giving them equipment or strategy. Yep, that's us.

Here's the thing we have to remember, and what we should have learned by now. Karl Rove is nothing more than one sexually frustrated fat man. He's not a political genius. He's just a man who is willing to say or do anything, a man with no conscience and enemies who are willing to roll over at the slightest hint of outrage. He's the kind of motherfucker that would ignore all the safe words when beating his lover in some bizarre S&M display so that he could get off, trying to stick large, large things up his lover's ass. Not only will he ignore the safe words, but at any signs of whimpering or crying, Rove, that callous bitch, will respond with "Don't you love me? Why won't you let me please you?" right before he ejaculates at the thought and leaves the big, boxy flashlight half stuck up his lover's butt.

To deal with a motherfucker like that, you have to have the balls and the guts to pull the flashlight out and go to town on him like Bruce Willis and Ving Rhames on those two redneck rapists in Pulp Fiction. You can't say "Yes sir, maybe I have another?" every time he sticks an object in your ass and expect him to not try something, say, like his fist or the aforementioned big fucking flashlight after a while. Squealing doesn't help, there's no one to hear it; the media won't give this story as much play as they did "Why Howard Dean is a Big Bully That Makes Us Cry." You have to show the dominating cocksucker just what domination is, give the bitch a taste of his own medicine. So maybe, finally, this is a lesson we can learn.

One would hope. Ford and Lieberman and their cohort, however, might decide in the end that they truly, deep down, liked it, liked the pain, liked having their asses on the verge of tearing. It'd be consistent with what we know of them so far.