The International Writers Magazine: Comment US Politics

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Dead Man Talking • James Campion Baby Bush's Garage Is On Fire 'This is not the fight we entered in Iraq, but it is the fight we are in'.       - George W. Bush State of The Union Address 1/23/07 A death rattle echoed through the chamber Tuesday night as the remains of the 43rd President of the United States meandered through a few flaccid domestic issues that no one has any attention in seeing through and then moved onto the main topic of the night, what every frothing pundit from coast to coast was creaming to hear: Military Surge In Iraq.

Predictably, despite growing dissent from generals on the ground, a few ship-bailing exercises at the Pentagon, a minor exodus from key Republican senators, and mid-term election results that voiced national concern, George W. Bush is not backing down.
    There will be a military build-up.
    The only question remains will the Democrat-controlled congress fund it or not. Non-binding resolutions are cute, but they have as much bite as loonies waving signs in the streets. The process of this republic was set up a little more tangibly. As stated last week in this space, Congress is granted the power to represent the people and act accordingly. They talk tough, we will see.

    But the fact remains that if this president sends any more Americans into the cauldron that is Iraq now, (unless it is 150,000 to 200,000 strong, as suggested by trained military minds, not draft-dodging milquetoasts like Dick Cheney) it is a suicide mission and nothing short of first-degree murder. Planned. Manipulated. Cold and calculated. He will affectively take that dark turn into warmonger and rouse the ghost of Lyndon B. Johnson.
    Why would we think differently?
    How many times do we let these idiots screw this thing up at the cost of American lives and boatloads of cash? I'm not sure I'm all in favor of a mass-exodus either, but it is abject folly to allow those currently in charge of this botched occupation to make any more decisions. Enough is enough. Either do the job right, or don't do it at all.
    Analogy time!
    (Warning: The following paragraphs are replete with blatant and juvenile metaphors, but we're running out of fancy ways of saying the same fucking thing.)

    Let's say, for instance, you took your car to the Baby Bush Auto Garage. The old girl has been burping up hills lately. A hint of burning oil is evident when you hit the gas. Perhaps there're even some additional noises in there. He tells you his staff is experienced with these types of problems. They're chomping at the bit to do a major overhaul. You're skeptical at first, you've been screwed by mechanics before, but there is some significant evidence that the car will soon break down and leave you stranded. You tell Baby Bush and his boys to have a crack at it.

    After a few weeks, it's done. From first look, the car is practically brand new, and for the first month or so it runs fairly well. It isn't exactly the souped-up roadster the blustery Baby Bush promised, but it's better.

    Oh, but wait, after a few more weeks a couple of different burps and odors arise, and yup, looks like the original problems are returning. You bring the car back. A steadfast Baby Bush is adamant about another go-round for a nominal fee. He also assures you that it isn't the same problems after all. Now it's the transmission and some breaks are needed. You're pretty skeptical, again, but you're already into the repairs for a good sum of cash and these guys are pledging like mad that they're the right men for the job -- "We love your car more than any we've had in here!" they exclaim. Against more cautious judgment, you let them have at it.

    After about a month or so of excuses and revisions in the diagnosis and more proposed costs, you return to the Baby Bush Garage to find the car in serious disrepair. Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ! You're now convinced these guys are not just incompetent, but crazy. One of them is stomping on the hood, another stands around kicking the tires mumbling incoherently, and still others are doing god-knows-what. It's an odd scene, but Baby Bush has now informed you that if not for these eccentric but brave souls the car would be declared dead and buried. They are so close to not only reviving it, Baby Bush tells you, but also making it like new, saving the very nature of auto travel for you and everyone on America's byways.

    At this point you want to have your car towed out of there and run for the hills. Forget the whole thing ever happened. But what if Baby Bush is right? What if you only wait a couple of days more --you've waited all this time, and all of it on blind faith -- and you're beloved car will be yours again, running smooth and true. And what if these apparent lunatics are onto something big? Once more you leave with trepidation, but you figure one more chance at this juncture won't be the end of times.

    Two or three days later you return to find that not only is your car complete engulfed in flames but the crack Baby Bush team is ranting and raving like savages. One of them is on fire and the entire garage is exploding all over the block. You are understandably appalled. You demand your poor vehicle back, or compensation, or something. Out of the carnage Baby Bush strides confidently towards you, smiles, and calmly says, "Okay, I have one more plan."

© James Campion Jan 29th 2007
realitycheck@jamescampion.com
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