Toles Says It All

More GOP Bushshit?

What's your take on the alleged new bin Laden tape? Why alleged? It hasn't been exposed to the usual scrutiny by the "experts" yet. I'll go on record as saying I think it's a hoax, or worse.

What do I mean by worse? I'll tell you very simply, so that if you're one of those still undecided types who have trouble following a train of thought even if you're tied onto it, you'll understand my reason for the way I feel about it.

I listened to part of the tape tonight. I heard the translation. The term "messing with," or "mess with" was used in the news segment. Very un bin Laden like. It's extremely American in its terminology. Mr. bin Laden would not refer to New York City as Manhattan, a term that was also used in the news broadcast.

If this whole deal doesn't sound like a slimy Republican put up job, nothing does.

I would like to hear it again. I would like to hear it in Arabic, then a good professional English translation afterward. The tape is 18 minutes long. I can spare 36 minutes to hear it in both languages. I would like to hear Mr. bin Laden NOT use the name of Allah repeatedly, as he ALWAYS does. Do not forget…Mr. Bin Laden is as fanatically religious as your fearsome leader. Without the name Allah used repeatedly, it, simply put, is not Usama bin Laden.

Mr. Bin Laden would not address the American people, as he appears to have on this tape. He would never be conciliatory, as he was on this tape. By conciliatory I mean that he warned the country, told it how to avoid another attack. Everything about this tape is wrong.

This tape, as it will be used by the bush-bastards in the next couple of days, can be very easily construed as being favorable to John Kerry. You don't think so? Well you'd better start thinking like a devious s.o.b. just like I do. I didn't get to be a Wolf by being a dumb lamb on the way to full-blown sheephood. I was born a wolf, and I'll die one.

You know, sometimes your Wolf gets tired of having carrier pigeons come home with all that cooing and carrying on, bringing back the words the Wolf sent out in the past, like prophesy coming home to roost.

During the spring, a friend and I were having breakfast together. My friend said he was sick of all the political talk on teevee. I decided not to mention the subject out of deference to him, so I sat chawing on my bagel, sipping at my tea, and being amiable. This lasted five minutes. All at once, out of the blue, he said, "What do you think Bush is going to do to get reelected?"

I shrugged my shoulders and remarked sarcastically, "Well short of doing his old man in to get the sympathy vote, I guess he'll just have to pull Usama bin Rabbit out of his hat." And lookee here. My, my, my.

Timing is everything.

Bush's Best Friends

Voting in 2004

In 1998 I read a book by Jim Hightower that had a very alarming story within it's pages. The story concerned Karl Rove, and his attack on Ann Richards, the then governor of Texas.

This man destroyed her chance of re-election. He lied about her. He's so good at lying manipulations, even his mama would believe him. He's a total completely fanatical devotee of the GOP. The evil he does is his biggest rush, making orgasm seem as interesting as chewing bubble gum. For Karl Rove, it's all in the game. He loves the game above all else.

I knew about Karl Rove when most, if not damn near all of you, were asleep in the arms of a comfy Democratic Administration.

A short article in The Texas Observer by Molly Ivins gave the first hint that George W. Bush was possibly going to run as the GOP contender in the next presidential election.

Karl Rove was/is George Bush's engine.

Bush wasn't the only thing that was running...my blood was running like ice water in my veins, and I was cynical enough then to realize no one stood the chance of a snowball in hell of beating him. If they couldn't win it, they'd buy it, one way or another they'd get the White House back.

And they did.

Today, I sit here wondering why I bother. Is your Wolf demoralized? You bet. Why? Because I'm still a cynic. Because Rehnquist will drag his dying body back to the bench to, make sure their man gets in. Because a terrible precedent was set in 2000 when the Supreme Court was allowed to pick the pet GOP gelding for president.

Short of arranging a plane crash for Kerry, there's nothing else to do but screw with the poor (many already intimidated, black) voters down there in the south-land, fix the voting machines, lose thousands of ballots, flood every possible form of media with their unconscionable lying evasive bullshit, and generally brainwash the braindead who can't conclude which hand to wipe their asses with unless they consult some kind of oracle.

The present blitz of bush-bullshit has overwhelmed my senses. Living without a television set was a choice I made in 1989. I do not regret it. I am shielded from the visual input of the product of the advertising industry, which is a major step toward true freedom of choice regarding what I'll buy.

So where do I get my information? The radio supplies some, the Internet the rest of it. Hard copy information is already old news by the time it hits the den. My choice? NPR.

However, on Wednesday and Thursday of this week, I heard the NPR so-called news broadcast several times, and discovered that for every sound byte Kerry got, Bush got two. Last night there was a news "story" that gave Bush so much exposure it amounted to a short campaign speech on his part. This was the news, NOT All Things Considered. The news aired late in the evening carried an expanded byte from the stump speech that was aired on All Things Considered. What did Kerry get? He got balls. He got shit upon. He got screwed up the ass without lube.

What happened?

The only sound byte regarding Kerry was one of his daughter speaking, telling a man there would be no draft if Kerry got into office. He was extracting a promise from her. Nice distraction. Was he a plant? Maybe. See. I told you I'm a cynic.

There you have Mr. Kerry's gentle spoken daughter, versus the bullshit puppet spewing out his self-aggrandizing rhetoric to one of his hand picked cheering audiences.

I make a vow here. NEVER again in my lifetime will I support any NPR affiliate. My money, when I can spare it will go to Pacifica stations.

Imagine what it's like for the uninformed who watch the crap on teevee as their heads swivel from side to side, and their vacuous minds swing from side to side, when they're confronted with the ballot, the voting machine, the touch screen...what will they remember? The last loud thing they heard. And that's most likely going to be that bullshit artist in the White House.

It's up to us to get our bodies up on Tuesday and cast that vote for Kerry. Saving America is in your hands.

Need more input by a better writer? Let me introduce you to Mark Morford here. Go read.

FLUB-A-DUB-DUB

The link that was not functioning earlier today for the matinee showing of the fine film spoken of in "The Truth About the Guys in Charge" is fixed (again). I have only this to say about the system at the moment. &%#%!#&*!&#!&(!&*^%$!$!$$!##*((()*^%%$@#^%!!*($!. Have I repeated myself?

Okay. That's done. Here is your link in case you can't stand scrolling down to be disappointed once more. ME LINK. ME ALREADY OLD NEWS. CLICK ME TO MAKE WOLF STOP CHEWING OWN LEG.

Ah. You good person. Enjoy photo below. Brad loved it.

A gift suggestion

For the appointed and annointed unworthies of the administration who starred in the preceeding fine film. With ever deepening gratitude to Dave at Midnight Mecca.

To be forgotten tomorrow?

The heat is on, and all parties are in full swing attempting to best each other. From small hamlets to great cities, to sprawling plains…the fervor and fever claim more attention than any presidential election has in my lifetime.

The fighting is dirty, and getting dirtier. When it's over, there will be family members and neighbors who will not speak to each other and regardless of who sits in the Biggest House, the snaps and snarls from the little dog houses will be heard.

Eventually, unless you have your own big house, with lots of kibble and bucks, you become as important to the occupant of the Biggest House, as a dog that grew into it's paws, out of it's cute stage, and refused to be housebroken. You now live outside.

As the outside dog, having been left in the cold, you will snarl at people who have nearly nothing to do with how poorly your life is going. The neighbor who voted against your choice has nothing to do with it, and might be the guy who comes to your rescue if your house catches fire, or something simpler, like just giving you a jump-start when your car battery is low on some vicious cold morning when he's in his pajamas, and still half asleep.

Remember that.

The big fat happy dogs merely need to cast an eye on their respective piles of bucks, and every one falls into line in the Biggest House.

The big dogs don't know the meaning of losing a job, losing a life to poverty, losing a child to the hard streets, losing hope….

You should know that but you may not think of it much. It's easier by far to hate your Republican/Democrat neighbor, much easier to direct ire toward your spouse or kid, your subordinate at work, the clerk in the grocery store, and all the other little people that you vent at, than to take on the big dogs.

Some of the big dogs don't lick the hands of the Big House residents, but they still have a better dog house, a bigger pile of kibble and bucks, and even though they were there in your hometown for a while, trying to sign you up to vote, entertaining you with song and gyrations, and telling you they love you, they still went home at the end, and home is not down the block.

You can't blame them for having made it. You can't hate them for having a bigger share, because that's the way life is. They go home because that's where they live.

It's possible they'll even think of you with a certain sadness because they saw your lives and heard your cheers above the cries of inner distress that you carry with you day after day, and remember this too: some of them came from the same places you do, and they really do know how it is.

Those are the ones that actually do help. They put their money where the bullshit mouthpieces of the government are. They are often silent, or at least, very quiet activists.

The place to point your finger of blame and condemnation is toward the administration, of whoever sits in the Oval Office. Whether it's your man, or "theirs".

If you are poor, and are neglected by all who could actually do something for you as a collective of people, and I am thinking of Cleveland, Ohio as I write this, you must not allow yourself to fall by the wayside, after the party is over. The dance has just begun.

Additional link to an article in The Plain Dealer regarding poverty in Cleveland, Ohio.

In the land of the Wolf

...it is never too early or late for a howl at the expense of the bloated and terribly important. Your Wolf enjoys excellent digestion because the Wolf has been favored by destiny with a sense of humor that can cause trouble at times. Your Wolf however, refuses to contain or curtail it, due to a perhaps excessive, fondness for good digestion.

This made the Wolf laugh mightily, with great guffaws and an annoyingly loud smacking of lips.

Now then, while said Wolf has your attention, let it be known that a new segment to this tapeworm of words has been added. If you are competent, relatively vicious but lyrical, you are invited to share your talents from this (never) humble part of the lair called Wolf Song.

Many thanks to Dave of Midnight Mecca for the Wolfish delight his link has engendered. The Wolf could just lick you! We will confine this enthusiasm though, to a sweeping wag of the freshly groomed, fluffed up tail.

I Had A Dream
March 18, 2003

Several nights ago, actually probably quite early in the morning of the 14th, I dreamed I was looking at a very large flat-screened TV. (For the record, I do not have television.) I saw the city of Baghdad. It was totally silent. A man (voice over) was narrating the events as they unfolded. He pointed out that this was Baghdad, and America had decided to launch an attack upon it.

It appeared that the cameras then drew back, and I saw many, many ships with huge guns mounted on them. Planes began to fly over the city. But all was still silent there.

There were no people visible. For a time, nothing happened, and then a single bomb was dropped from one plane. It seemed to fall slowly, then hit a building. For a second, still nothing happened, and then all at once, the entire city was engulfed in flame. It was an inferno, and it happened faster than the eye or mind could take in.

The voice, now agitated, remarked that Saddam Hussein had booby trapped every building in the city with explosives which would in turn spark fires all over Baghdad, and would burn the city to the ground. Then I saw some bodies melting in the heat, and a few people running covered with flames. I heard screams of agony and terror.

Suddenly I was seeing the whole of Iraq, and it wasn't just Baghdad that was burning. It was every town of any size, and finally the oil wells too were burning furiously, spewing out thick black clouds of smoke. I was in the midst of it, on land, then at the Turkish border looking back, and seeing people running and stumbling across the sand toward us.

The border was thrown open, and the soldiers and guards threw down their guns and ran toward the people who were pointing to the black cloud and saying it was poison. The people, just a few at first, kept coming, and the Turks continued to try to rescue all they could. There was peace between the Kurds and the Turks. All tried to help.

This dream moved around. At one moment I was there in Iraq, then Turkey, and in the next, I was watching the screen. There were headlines on the screen saying the United States had been declared in breach of International Law and was now classified as a rogue nation unanimously by all the countries of the world. It was charged with the obligation of acting solely as a humanitarian body, and cleaning up the horrors it had precipitated.

The entire world was against America because it had started World War Three. What was left of the world wanted peace on earth. There were people saying those words on the screen, people from all the remaining nations of the world saying in their own languages, "We want peace on earth."

Finally, there was a large newspaper page on the screen in black and white. The headline said: Experts Agree, Impact of Radiation Upon World Ecology Irreversible-Millions Are Dead or Dying.

We were all dying. I saw eruptions on the skin of all the people around me, and finally, I saw one on my own wrist.

After word: This article is a true recounting of a dream I had on the 14th of March 2003. It was originally posted at "Politically Cherry?"

There is a conspiratorial silence regarding the prevalence of depleted uranium in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Kosovo. The "experts" investigating Gulf War Syndrome have ruled out Sarin as the culprit, but do not whisper the words depleted uranium. Instead these people we are supposed to trust, say they simply don't know what it is. Meanwhile men women and in the case of those other countries, children, continue to sicken and die here, and in those places we have graced with the poisonous kiss.

See articles below, particularly the first one.

San Francisco Bay View Newspaper article:
"UC Regents lose control of nuclear weapons program"

New York Daily News article: Poisoned?

In Memoriam

I was very saddened to learn of the death of Christopher Reeve. In many ways this man was a beacon of hope to people in similar circumstances because he believed in himself, and he never quit trying.

When you consider his longings, and his faith in the possibilities to be derived from continuing stem cell research, it makes his death at this time even more painful.

His is one more voice silenced in the face of George Bush and his reprehensible insane Christian fundamentalism, which I've never respected, and have always viewed with great suspicion, seeing it as merely another tool being used to sway masses of mindless voters toward him, no matter what kind of liar, thief and shill he is.

Christopher Reeve had the attention of this nation every time he tried to walk, every time he tried to get one millimeter ahead of the thing that killed him.

He was an actor who played a part, and finally, in the most egregiously unfortunate condition, he became a hero.

I believe many people who hoped he would be able to sway opinion on stem cell research enough eventually, to make it not only allowable, but vigorously pursued, are deeply distressed and grieved by his death.

I will always see him as whole. And I will never forget his incredible struggle, and his great accomplishments, brought about by sheer willpower, and courage way beyond that of the ordinary.

I tender my condolences to all who loved him.

Man of Leisure, King George

Washington artist Kayti Didriksen's painting 'Man of Leisure, King George' depicts President Bush in the well-known style of Manet's 'Olympia', as he is presented with his crown by a depiction of Vice President Dick Cheney. The cartoonish painting has been taken down from the wall at the City Museum of Washington, awaiting a more welcoming venue. (AP Photo/Artomatic, Jim Tretick)

Monkey Wrenches by Ralph

A friend of mine has been waiting for an absentee ballot to arrive, having sent in an application 2-3 weeks ago. Normally this process takes a few days at best.

On calling the Board of Elections in her county, she was told that the absentee ballots hadn't been sent out yet. She was silent, in a state of mild confusion. Her silence spurred the woman she was speaking to, to say, "it's because of the Nader thing."

The light came on.

Here in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, there's a court case pending, regarding whether or not Ralph Nader will be allowed on the ballot here.

Meanwhile, the county Boards of Election in Pennsylvania are faced with the choice of whether or not they will send out ballots containing Nader's name without knowing whether he will be allowed to run here.

No decision has been made regarding his legitimacy as a candidate in the state yet, and the court battle(s) could go on for a long time.

The problem facing county election officials is one of potential confusion among the voters.

If Nader's name is on the ballot, and he's disqualified, there may still be people who assume that since his name is on an official government form, he will be getting their vote if he's the candidate of their choice.

The vote for president is null and void in that case.

Some counties have sent the ballots out for fear too many people may not have adequate time to get them filed before the deadline, which is October 29, 2004.

The last date the ballots may be mailed to the voters is October 19, 2004. Since many people request absentee voting due to travel plans, in the short time allotted the voter has raised some concern. Justifiably so.

The Commonwealth has stringent requirements for issuing an absentee ballot. Either one is unavailable due to being out of the area (military personnel, people who travel for business, vacationers…it encompasses a lot of voters)or infirm individuals.

Tight, but also a large enough group.

My friend is severely disabled. She depends on others to bring her mail to her, and then also, to mail letters out. Needless to say, she's somewhat concerned. I am also concerned. Time is of the essence.

The Commonwealth is now making it more difficult than is reasonable, to vote. There are new requirements for two forms of identification (perhaps only for first time voters---am foggy on this---sorry) which many elderly or poverty stricken people might not have. There are alternatives to this, but those people may have difficulty understanding them. A protest is fomenting, especially within "minority" communities, which is where the greatest backlash of all the new complications are most likely to be felt.

In the year when the most important election of my lifetime is taking place, all this razzmatazz really makes me sick. I'm already untrusting, and paranoid enough. Need I ramp that part of my nature up a notch or two?

Many blindly follow Bush despite failings

BY JOHN SOMMERS-FLANAGAN
October 1, 2004

I still feel stunned when a woman tells me she's returning to live with a man who recently broke her jaw. With her teeth clenched and mouth wired shut, she says she's going back, "because he loves me and I love him."Pardon me if I'm not bowled over by the magic of love.

I still feel shaken by the boy who tells me, in great detail and with boundless enthusiasm, all about the father who abandoned him when he was 4-years-old. And I am still disturbed by the good soldier who blindly follows his leader's orders and marches into danger -- although his leader has shown, time and again, poor judgment, lack of planning, and disregard for the men who serve him.

As a psychologist, I should know better than to be stunned, shaken or disturbed by these images. After all, I know why humans behave irrationally. I even do it myself.

On Sept. 9, 2001, President George W. Bush's approval rating was 55 percent. Only three days later, after the worst attack on U.S. soil in history, his approval rating was 86 percent.

In psychology, the enhanced allegiance to a person associated with your abuse is referred to as trauma-bonding. It is a powerful phenomenon. It accounts for why a woman might return to the husband who broke her jaw. It explains why otherwise intelligent people begin worshiping those very people whose behaviors have threatened their safety.

When our world is shaken, we seek safety. And who better to protect us than the big, strong, tough-talking leader who has been in charge all along. The competence or morality of our leader becomes less relevant. We are afraid. Change might make things worse. As Vice President Dick Cheney has so eloquently claimed, we'd better not vote for John Kerry or we may be hit again by terrorists, this time even worse. Never mind that Cheney's former company is a big benefactor from the hit that occurred on his watch.

Bush and his people consistently claim to be results-oriented. That the American people and the press accept this statement is irrational. The facts and results suggest that Bush has repeatedly and sometimes perversely failed the American people.

He claimed to be a uniter, not a divider, but Republicans and Democrats are more divided than ever. He asserted ad nauseam that Iraq and its weapons of mass destruction were an imminent danger to America. But time has shown these assertions to be untrue. Never mind the absence of weapons, he now says, because Saddam Hussein had links to Al Qaeda and was an architect of terror. And although Hussein was very bad, with 1,048 Americans dead, 20,000 Iraqis dead, 27,000 Americans wounded, and Iraq a center of insurgency, there's more terror emanating from Iraq now than before our invasion.

Bush said he was not interested in nation-building, but now we're begging the international community to help us build a new Iraq. He said he was a fiscal conservative but has racked up record budget deficits.

Still, despite the facts and, yes, flip-flops, we follow him. We still approve his performance. In this regard, we're being irrational in the massive and self-deceptive way characteristic only of humans.

The abuser never admits mistakes, never truly apologizes and never shows weakness. The abuser, despite his inconsistent and capricious decisions, insists he has not changed his philosophy. He is determined and resolute.

The abuser manipulates us with fear.

Unfortunately, the abuser does not have our best interests at heart. He's interested in oil, money and power. He's interested in control and domination. He will act like he's concerned and compassionate, but when he has regained control, he will turn away from the poor, the weak, the hungry, the women and the children.

The choice is clear: Shall we believe in ourselves, risk his disfavor, and assert our independence, or will we continue to irrationally cling to our failed leader? Shall we boldly vote for change November 2, or will we wire our jaws shut for another four years?

JOHN SOMMERS-FLANGAN, PhD, is a clinical psychologist and author on the faculty of the Counselor Education Department of the University of Montana in Missoula.

A wag of the tail to Dave Steimling of Midnight Mecca for this article. There are times when something crosses your desk that is so well stated, it would be foolish not to get it out before the public eye. This is one such piece.

Reprinted material is copyrighted by its original publisher.

It is reprinted by Red Wolf Redux without permission, solely for purposes of criticism, comment, and news reporting, in accordance with the Fair Use Guidelines of copyright material under § 107 of U.S.C. Title 17.

Vice Presidential Debate

Nearly every political writer/blogger/pundit and so forth, will be in the process of, or already has, written something intelligent/thoughtful/critical and so forth, about the debate that took place last night.

Your Red Wolf however, is in a state of mourning, and is having a difficult time at the moment.

Recently, The Red Wolf agreed to share the den during the winter months in order to defray the high cost of living, and to have another soul with whom to exchange anecdotes during long months of snow/sleet/winds, and bad radio shows.

Things seemed to be going along well enough. Oh, there were the usual disagreements to be expected during a period of adjustment. You know how it is...little things...like whether the toilet seat was to be left up or down, whose turn it was to lick the platters clean, run the sweeper, pick up the mail...but all in all it seemed to be working out.

Then tragedy struck.

The Wolf's roommate's work had been outsourced, he lost his job, and became depressed. No amount of Wolfish humor, joshing, pep talks, or concern could lift the mood. The die was cast, and trouble was in the wings.

Some time late Sunday night, or early Monday morning, Rodney Q. Mouse lll, leaped to his death from the rim of the toilet. The Coroner's report declared the death by drowning to have been self-inflicted. A brief note was found at the scene.

In his note, Rodney stated that even though the present administration continues to tout the improved economy, the freedom and well being of the Iraqis, and the idea that we are living somewhere over the rainbow, his life was miserable.

His job was gone, some of his Iraqi friends had either been blown to bits, or eaten by starving cats, and there was yet another scheduled appearance by Dick Cheney on teevee later in the week.

He said he could live with the lack of grain in the larder, the deaths of his friends were premature, but wadda ya gonna do...the life expectancy of a mouse isn't all that great anyway. It was the thought of seeing Cheney's cartoon shark face staring out at him in livid color, from the giant teevee screen at the local pub yet one more time, that caused him to decide to end it all.

He was a kindly fellow, a good Yellow Dog Democrat, and a polite little being who never farted at dinner.

He will be missed.

The Vice Presidential debate? More un-sexy lies, not worth a video tape.

After a solitary dinner, which was pretty damn good in spite of everything, your Wolf curled up near the embers with tail draped over snout, and rested peacefully.

A short while later, a Wolfish commentary on the debate was broadcast from the den. In stereo. It is reproduced here for your convenience.

Z z z z z z z z z z z z z z

Oh, you wanted a flash of a sparkling incisor did you? Can't say sumthin' about yak-yak that amounted to nothin'.

See all the other guys' writings. This time around I will bow out of the spotlight and let a better creature breathe life into the recounting of this historic event, which was declared a draw by just about everyone who threw their high-priced opinion into the wind.

'Nuff said.

A Class Act

It is with great pleasure that I welcome The CultureGhost to the mix here.

Since I got it together to arrange my favorite rogues gallery of likeminded parties more or less alphabetically (applaud here) you must scroll down to see the name in pale gray non-lights. (Saving on the energy bill.)

All links here are first vetted thoroughly by your Wolf, which means I had both eyes open at the same time. Therefore you may rest assured The CultureGhost, (who B.T.W. likes Smokin' Joe's place, and is not afraid to confess to it--tripple tail wag for that) is of as great a quality as any other link on this page since they were all examined with both Wolf eyes open while actually awake.

It don't get much better than that. Go visit. You have my blessings on your haid.

What overkill? You can never give too much praise if you are pure of heart and full of food. Since you will then have no ulterior political type motive, and will not be trying to disarm your dinner with sweet talk.

The Red Wolf Recommends:
$olpugid $pring$---A great Place To Raze The Kids

$olpugid $pring$ is an ongoing book of short stories that are strange, hypnotic, and full of dark fascination. It sinks a hook into you, and you can't quite reach it to pull it out. You're caught.

The author winds you in questions that stretch over you like a spider web by dint of his obscured face, his mystery, and his surreal writings.

At times it can seem he's a man living in a crumbling mansion filled with frayed decadence, deep in the south. The last of his line. A wastrel son who has a perverse interest in his realm, which is immense, and stuffed with peculiar variety. In some ways, it's like Jumanji. He tosses the dice, and then….

He takes you with him on fearsome journeys, from which you may never return.

At other times he appears to be a simple desert dweller, at home with spiders that can kill, and snakes that tranquilly observe his presence, along with coyotes that watch him from a distance. He's quiet within himself, perhaps seeking peace from the nightmares of $olpugid $pring$, that never leave him.

If you looked into his eyes, there could be troubling dreams looking back at you.

To read this evolving book, is to see raw cynicism, and skewed visions rendered faithfully by a consummate storyteller, who has a familiarity with the dark side, and little, if any, fear of exploring that risky landscape. His illustrations are beautiful and exotic, and as compelling as the stories he tells.

Stephen King is a child alongside Smokin' Joe.

The difference between them is that Joe would squat beside you next to an abandoned building down in the poor side of town, out of the wind. He'd roll a cigarette, smoke it, and drink his whiskey while just looking at the world moving along, passing you his bottle when the evening chill got a little too close to the inner self for comfort.

Stephen King would not be there in the first place The writing of Smokin' Joe pulsates with raw life---sharp, bitter, dangerous, outrageously funny, and twisted like a hard tornado bearing down on you from the prairie.

He's an author who stands in a long line of storytellers that will be remembered for the effect they have had on their readers, and he fits in seamlessly. He is in good company, and so are they.

Join them at $olpugid $pring$

Debatio Delicioso-Vintage 2004

Without intending to, on Thursday evening I listened to the debate between the Titans of the moment, Mr. Kerry and Mr. Bush, arranged here in order of credibility.

I have a difficult time hearing Mr. Bush, which is why I was going to forego the stress of the debate. It's not the timbre of his voice that interferes with my aural abilities; it's the volume of my own voice hurling colorful and fulsome obscenities in the general direction of the radio.

This time though, I was having a much-needed lie-down at the mouth of the den when 9:00 P.M. rolled around. The stereo seemed impossibly far away, and your Wolf was near to drowse state. As it is with most critters of my bent, curiosity about the buzz and hum of political voices made me perk up my ears and give a listen.

Now, I'd had the idea this was to be a neatly choreographed event, sorta like a nice Cotillion in the days of yore, so I was expecting very little in the way of excitement. The Wolf will confess to having found gratification in listening. Not as much perhaps as a nice marinated rib roast of Republican schmeckle would have provided, but good. Better than good.

To begin with, let's look at the beginning. A coin toss decided who would be the first speaker. Anyone who's ever gotten a divorce will know, he who speaks up first tends to haul off the spoils. The advantage of an aggressive opening shot is that the opponent is put instantly on the defensive. It's then up to number one to keep him there, sweating and twitching.

In my opinion Mr. Kerry did that for the most part. He did get caught in one of those cleverly baited traps Karl Rove is so adept at laying in the minefield of Bushspin, but no matter...one of the best points he could have made, he did. When he said, "we're now 90 percent of the casualties in Iraq and 90 percent of the costs."

America is paying with 90 percent of the casualties in Iraq, and 90 percent of the bread to sponsor Bush's Folly. This slides very neatly into a truth spoken in print by Jimmy Breslin:

"There is no political power outside of a gun, available to man, that is able to withstand a populace that experiences abnormal pain when it reaches for it's money."

You can't beat the number "90 percent", for shock value. Americans are cheap. They don't want to pay taxes; schools, roads, services; they should all be free. Pixies should pay for it, or maybe the tooth fairy. They want everything for unrealistically low prices, hence the success of Wal-Mart, and of course we'll have only our attachment to the cheap side to blame, for the subsequent flood of sub-standard, shoddy merchandise that will inevitably follow all the confetti and balloons of celebration at the low prices.

Now pay attention. You get what you pay for. To win this thing in Iraq, it will cost more, more, more.

So Americans were told they are footing a hell of a bill for Iraq. They were told it many times. Good for Mr. Kerry. When you say something costs xyz number of billions or trillions of dollars, it's so beyond the pale, people can't relate to it. It floats past them as in a dream.

When somebody puts it in terms any buffoon can understand, like 90 percent, which we can all relate to, it takes on a new meaning. Here: we are sharing a meal. We have one plate. I have a big fork, you have a toothpick. I eat 90 percent of the food, and you're so hungry you could eat your own shorts, so you want to kill me.

Bush belabored to the point of absurdity, the "coalition of the willing" of thirty nations which is composed of , in some instances, small countries that sent just a few guys over there. What are they doing? Sometimes only cleaning the floors. This was his version of the numbers game. Futile when placed beside the figure of 90 percent of damn near anything.

So, Mr. Kerry scores with his point, which due to American educational standards that allow students to sleep through school and still get a diploma, must work as subliminal advertising. That's alright though, because Mr. John has placed it within their pea brains attached to something they can relate to. MONEY, in terms of the percentage of loss to us.

Excellent.

A stroke of genius.

The nation will mourn it's dead, but due to an attenuated ability to focus on anything for more than a nanosecond, they will soon forget them, unless one of the fallen is one of their own, which in some cases makes them want to do a Fargo on el Presidente. Some settle instead, for painful vociferous complaint and accusation against the administration. The media whores gobble this up, and there it is on the teevee while America eats it's Tuna Helper din-din. But it's still just a blip on the screen of the American consciousness. You mention money however....

By comparison, the Bushspin figure of thirty nations "sharing " the burden, looks so pathetic, you could almost feel sorry for the poor man.

I said almost.

The fact the debates were staged as they were with so much physical control over the entire proceeding, worked to Kerry's advantage, and much to Bush's disadvantage. Kerry is a self-controlled, and self-disciplined individual. The Bush self-control can only be achieved by a continuous turning to God in the form of prayer. As a markedly dependent personality, he relies heavily on the outer force of religion (giving things over to God/Jesus); Kerry has the personal inner resources of a self-reliant, self-confident and poised individual. In a situation where Bush can't very well fall back on the power of prayer, publicly beseeching his God to keep him from screwing up big-time, he's on his own, and he's on shaky ground.

He is not comfortable with one on one exchanges, unless he's in control. We know this well from descriptions of one on one interviews he's had with single reporters.

Jim Lehrer controlled the entire 90 minutes of the first debate.

Essentially, as I understand it from written accounts on the web and little sound-bytes on the radio, Bush was twitching like a horse with flies on his back. It looks bad. It looks terrible in fact. His audible sighs added to the picture of discomfort in his situation. This is a man the nation is supposed to be able to lean on in times of trouble because he is the default Papa. He has the club in his hand, and will get rid of the intruders. Papa don't
twitch.

He also doesn't repeatedly sigh aloud, and tell you how hard the job is. Papa doesn't grouse and whine, and curry sympathy. Papa is a strong ball-buster of a man who takes care of business. Bush wants to play Papa, and yet, also play the baby, complaining of the (self sought) burden of presidency to make himself look like an heroic martyr for America by using emotional blackmail, a tactic of the child attempting to control his surroundings, and winning what he wants. You can't have it both ways. His swaying, vacillating modus operandi, is the ultimate example of flip-flop---to borrow their stupid term.

In the controlled atmosphere, one of the most weakening aspects for Bush was the absolute silence of the hall. I described it to my friend H3ath3n as being quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Since the silence was not only imposed on the candidates between questions, but on all present, it was eminently fair. It was also refreshing not to have the candidates straining the vocal chords to get their words across. Kerry has a well-modulated pleasant voice that was warmer than expected.

Bush, to his credit at least in the beginning, was bearable, and he only caused the Wolf to break into raucous howls twice. The rest of the Wolf's snarls and growls were also well modulated and unintrusive, so as to hear everything uttered by the opponents.

To Bush, such silence is not golden. The sound of cheering, and applause in his favor is lifeblood to him. He's a vampire who shows up on the scene full of hunger and need, and a little wan looking.

As he recites his well scripted lines composed by the spinmeisters of his administration, his little cheerleaders with their bubble headed mentalities, and their cute little tits and asses stoke the vetted audience up by starting the chant, "Four more years!"

George glows with vitality and the precious life force, that only approval and applause supply to him. He shines. He's at ease; funny and quick with a quip, an adlibber supreme. It is here he's at his best, and here is where you will see the younger man, before he sold his soul completely---amusing, charismatic, convincing as any good flimflam man should be; winning, winning, winning the love of the selected mass before him. He is flying, he is onstage which is his true place in the sun. His timing is enviable, and he exudes warmth, and the inevitable concern, and the now famous "love" he has for us all.

He is the Pied Piper, in his finest hours.

You take this man, and fetter him with the bondage of a silent audience, and you see the core. He's covered his emotional tracks so well in front of you for so long, you have no idea of whom he is. He's frequently frightened, and dependant on so great a power, that he bends to what he thinks might be it's will, just to keep from drowning, even though that causes him to be mocked the world over at times.

He is the child forever seeking parental approval. An individual resorting to the twitches and sighs of the put upon, hoping against hope that this will make time dissolve, and that he will be released from the torture of being held accountable for his actions. His famous arrogance is a mask covering a neurotic manipulative/manipulated being who is often lost at sea.

Throughout the long (and painful for Bush) debate, your Wolf seized upon every tender morsel of faux pas tossed out by el Presidente, who managed to get a dig in about France, never giving thought to the idea it was out of place, out of time, and strategically damaging. There are many Americans, born within the boundaries of the United States, whose veins carry the blood of France within them. Your Wolf is one of them. It is likely enough that many of these people of French descent, who may have done well in this country, are Republicans. What a poor idea to insult any group among your constituents.

Ah yes, the mention of Poland as one of the great nations who are part of the coalition of the willing, thrilled the Wolf to bits.

This is no slur upon Poland, or the people of Polish extraction who live in, and love this country. It is a slap against the tasteless use of a country that is struggling these days for cohesion, and economic solvency. The people of Poland have suffered much, and now they are trying to change things, but to do this they need help from America-the all powerful and filthy rich.

If you were in dire straits, and the big dog had a bone that might save you and your family, would you tell the big dog to go Cheney itself, or would you try to show yourself as a ally willing to shed blood for said dog? It's called survival, and no man should criticize it. The criticism here is directed strictly toward Bush, who, no doubt , promised gold for blood, then held Poland up as a prize to serve his own purpose.
Amen.

Oh yes, and then there was England, and Tony Blair.

England, the jewel in the crown of the boy king. He waved England around like a pennant. He said, " My opponent says we didn't have any allies in this war. What's he say to Tony Blair?"

This is one of the lines that caused a great uninhibited politically incorrect sound to spring from the throat of your Wolf. Your Wolf howled out, "why you dickhead, you call him America's poodle... here puppy, c'mon boy, good dog, nice poodle. "

The finest moment of the night though, was when Mr. Kerry said in answer to the question, "What criteria would you use to determine when to start bringing U.S. troops home from Iraq?"

Kerry: "...Now I believe there's a better way to do this. You know, the president's father did not go into Iraq, into Baghdad, beyond Basra. And the reason he didn't is, he said -- he wrote in his book -- because there was no viable exit strategy. And he said our troops would be occupiers in a bitterly hostile land."

Ah yes, those magic words, first suggested by The Rude Pundit, of this very Land of Blog (you MUST read this...follow the link). What could be better? The meat closest to the bone is always the sweetest, and that was the meat. How can a man contest the actions, the philosophy, or the wisdom of his father, a former president of this country? He cannot.

Kerry won this debate. He was Tha Man. Time will tell how well he will hold this lead.

The handlers of the boy king are sweating, and burning the midnight oil trying to make the king a seamless piece of invulnerable armor-covered presidential material for just a little longer. Long enough to grab this election.

After that, if he should win, all hell will break loose, but none of them will care because the purpose was served. Dubya is in the White House, the rights of those who are dissenters will shrink, more extreme conservatives will achieve powerful positions in the government, The Supreme Court will be renamed Torquemada's Cozy Corner, in honor of the attitude it will now have, and the power it will mercilessly exert when needed in cases like picking a new president, or dismantling the rights of so many groups and people who are tiresome dissidents in the eyes of the Party.

It takes my breath away.

Special regards to the special people listed in alphabetical order below, for their help and/or political acumen, intelligence, bravery, articulacy, and dedication to the cause of continuing freedom.

H3ath3n of Heath3n's Fried Meat Shed
The Rude Pundit at the site of the same name
And last, but surely not least, The Good Uncle Horn Head

I bow my head to you gentlemen.

May the wind always be at your back, and may there be a chicken in your pot every Sunday.

T.R.W.