By Saje Williams
Stitched together from the slain corpse of the last actually effective government, the lumbering monster that is the Bush Administration and its Congressional appendages seems to wander aimlessly from disaster to disaster, replacing thoughtful repose and intelligent consideration with a sort of savage bemusement, roaring at its "enemies" and swatting ineffectively at the pitchforks and torches jabbed into its ponderous bulk.
With the dexterity of a creature stitched out of a pile of dead criminals, it lumbers through a terrible war after diplomatic nightmare, unable to right itself far enough to do anything but gaze stupidly at its detractors and mutter "why do you hate America?"
Sure, there may be a mind behind the creature, but that mind stands blinking in astonishment at the sheer gross stupidity of the creature it's set lose, wondering if it would be wise to buy it diapers or shoot it in the back of the head before it kills anyone else.
We don't know precisely who played the role of Dr. Frankenstein in this particular debacle, but we can hazard a guess or two. Grover Norquist, who could be considered the father of the modern neo-con movement, might be such a one. I'm not sure he envisioned how badly his creature might turn out, how many dazzling failures it might achieve before the mob of angry villagers could bring it down. Or maybe it was someone else, someone not as loud, or as visible as the man who would drown government.
Or maybe it was a conclave of would-be political sorcerers, trying to create something wondrous and, instead, created something so terrible and monstrous that they themselves would prefer to distance themselves from its stumbling path of destruction.
Whatever its source, this paragon of mindless destruction, this corpse of a dozen murderers, even now stands in the town square, roaring its rage at its attackers, both infuriated and bemused by those who would bring it down.
We will only tolerate a monstrocity in our midst for so long. We can only tolerate so much death and destruction, and we, like the villagers that hunted down Mary Shelley's man-beast, are consumed with both fear and horror at what walks among us, wearing the form of a man (or government, as the case may be) but is, instead, merely an animated dead thing with no more conscience or concept of self than a machine built to destroy.
And, make no mistake, this monster must fall. Because, unlike Shelley's creature, which was simply bemused and aggressive, this one is truly vicious, and far more dangerous in its fury. If left to its own devices, it would slay all the villagers, and lurch out of town hungry to spread more blood and terror.
I think we've all had enough of that.
Posted in full with author's permission.
Originally posted at democraticunderground.com: http://tinyurl.com/ypj2vl