In a “ticking time-bomb scenario” — you know, the kind that Liz Cheney so happily prophesies on the morning talk shows — I believe it’s perfectly appropriate to give the terrorist perp a twitty twister. But I draw the line at purple nurples. Should we open a Congressional Truth Commission to determine whether wet willies violate U.S. obligations to the Geneva Conventions? I’m not so sure.
Like our Cool Guy President, I wish Darth Cheney and his Demon Daughter would just go away. Of course, I also am smart enough to understand that Papa Cheney (or Cheeenie, as Chris Matthews stubbornly mispronounces the family surname) isn’t hanging around Washington just to criticize the President or rehabilitate his own tattered legacy. He isn’t troubled about such pedestrian concerns, never has been. Nope, Big Dick stays in D.C. for one reason only: to keep an eye on the multiple levers of legislative, legal and bureaucratic power over which he still has some leverage.
In other words, if you want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself. Cheney doesn’t trust anyone apart from his daughter to keep his A-Team out of federal — or international — court. (Liz is the apple of Daddy’s squinty eye — she previously served alongside convicted Iran-Contra stooge Elliot Abrams on the secretive Iran Syria Policy and Operations Group.) Hence the smokescreen criticisms of President Obama’s foreign policy and the aggressive obfuscation regarding the definitions of torture.
As Liz Cheney herself would have us believe, simulated drowning isn’t just a means to force confessional links between Saddam Hussein and 9/11, thereby justifying the corporatist takeover of a sovereign nation — it’s also the only way to prevent a repeat Al Queda strike on American soil. (This is commonly known in policy circles as a two-fer.)
Look, everyone with a fucking brain knows that Osama Bin Laden has been dead since at least 2005, when he expired in some remote mountain cave after his dialysis machine ran out of Energizers. And Al Queda? Are you serious? They’re just a crappy franchise now — a low-rent terrorist version of Taco Bell. They’ll put any old incompetent mouth breather behind the counter, provided they have a hard-on for heavenly virgins. And what 18 year-old male doesn’t?
Taco Bell’s got quesedillas; Al Queda’s got nailbombs. Both are murder on your intestines.
So give it a rest, Liz. Wasn’t it enough to stock Dubya’s cabinet and sub-offices with Daddy’s loyal goons? You gotta invade my coffee time with your neocon nonsense? That administration is history; you’ve been discredited. Go be a consultant on “24,” or find a fucking hobby like knitting American flag pacemaker cozies. There are other ways to make Papa proud.