The Surge...but not the one you think. or Bully for you!

After some time spent reflecting on the recent plotting events the Administration, with its typical low cunning, has been up to, I'm beginning to come to a curious conclusion.

Things are not necessarily what they seem to be. We may already be in the Twilight Zone 'cause we sure ain't in Kansas anymore Toto!

The recent Administration events I'm referring to are stuff like:

• The FISA debacle.
• Naming Iran's Revolutionary Guards as a terrorist group.
• Rejecting Congressional subpoenas.
• Admin spokespeople labeling Dem Prez Candidates as "Outrageous" and "Fatally Flawed".
• Rover's "Retirement".
• Sundry other "Feck You!" Repug fingers that have been raised heavenward recently.

Taken as a individual events, these could seem to be merely the continuation of the usual and predictable malevolent Administration behaviors.

Taken as a whole however, these events should do well to inform Democrats just what the Junya/Deadeye/Turdblossom-lead Repug endgame-plan for our future is all about. And that is to Surge, Surge, Surge!

Surge the use of the Repugs' "Fear" tactics as evidenced in how Junya and crew used "The Terrorists Are Coming!" meme and "You will be responsible if Terrorists attack again" meme to game the cowardly Democrats on FISA.

Surge the use of the Repugs' "Bully" tactics to force a Repug-desired conflagration with Iran as evidenced in how Junya and Deadeye continue to ratchet up the rattling of sabers at Iran.

Surge the use of the Repugs' "I am King, you are merely peons" tactics to force the Repug-desired court confrontations over Congressional subpoenas and Executive Privilege.

In essence, these Repugs have been, are currently, and will continue for the foreseeable future, to "Surge" their meglomaniac memes of Fear, Bullying and Tyranny.

Their endgame-plan is a fairly simple one to describe:

• No Retreat! Not. One. Inch!- The only direction that exists is "forward". Cliffs be damned! We be from the lemming branch of the weasel family and we can't help but jump into the empty air of our doG-promised future!
• Never Surrender! - Any "compromise" is unacceptable. Any "compromise" is failure. Any "compromise" is surrender.
• Always Surge! - Not only never surrender an inch, but always double the bet in order to terrify and tyrannize the opponent into their own compromise/surrender/failure.

It resembles in so many ways those futile and suicidal waves of Banzai and Kamikaze attacks the Japanese engaged in during World War II. Reality-denial was apparently as much in vogue then in the Japanese mindset as it is in Junya and crew's mental midgetry.

Some of a hopeful, optimistic nature might call all of this merely "brinksmanship". You know, where in the end everybody blinks, tensions subside, and life gets back to normal.

Some of a less hopeful, less optimistic nature might instead call this "over-the-cliff-manship". You know, where really suicidal, "all or nothing" type folks have as their most fervent desire going out in a hail of bullets. Something on the order of "going postal" writ large. Ala "if I can't have my way, nobody else will either!"

Rover's "Resignation"? Get real! If there is any unmutable fact in the universe, it is that Junya and Turdblossom lie. They lie effortlessly and continously. They are liars who lie for a living!

Turdblossom, in his Wall Street Journal "exit" interview, made it abundantly clear just what the Repug game-plan is:

Sitting in the book-lined living room of his townhome on Saturday afternoon, a relaxed, cheerful and typically rambunctious Mr. Rove...lays out an agenda for the next year and a half.
...Come the autumn, too, "we'll see in the battle over FISA" -- the wiretapping of foreign terrorists -- "a fissure in the Democratic Party." Also in the fall, "the budget fight will have been fought to our advantage," helping the GOP restore, through a series of presidential vetoes, its brand name on spending restraint and taxes.

(My Bold)

With the endgame-plan agreed upon by all the "True Believers", there is nothing left to do but get it on. Turdblossom has valiantly volunteered to go "underground and undercover".

Out of sight, out of mind will be what the credulous and fawning MSM agrees upon, much less reports if they deign to report at all.

All the while Turdblossom will be undertaking his saboteur's role of America's doG-given right to pander Disinformation (lying, in other words), "Terrorize Democrats (and happily Americans too!)" propaganda, and your garden-variety, take-no-prisoners, a "lie is worth a thousand truths" Repug Swiftboat attacks on any Democratic center of gravity (Bloggers, that means you/us!).

All has been made ready. Junya and Deadeye have taken to their bunkers, having well-stocked them ahead of time with Kool-Aid and Cheetos, and will oversee this agreed-upon endgame battle plan to lead "America Forward to Rapture!" Junya gets to toy with his joystick while Deadeye will mumble the incantations instructions.

I can hear 'em singin' it now, The Battle Hymn of the Republic Repugs: "Onward Christian Soldiers...the Empire is here for our taking, the Rapture and the Thousand Year Repug Reich is at hand!"

Surge Protector? or I'd Like to Sell You a Bridge In Minneapolis

The Repug lying-sack-of-shite spin machine is indeed ramping up for September. Just as if Junya were getting elected again (Arrrrrrgggghhhh!).

They’re primin’ the pump for the ol’ bait-and-switcheroo.

The play will be that the Surge is indeed working ’cause General Davy Crockett Petraeus says so and we be standing up without fear in all those Baghdad neighberhoods.

The switch you ask?

Follow the bouncing ball:

US Troop Surge x Iraqi Political Compromise = Suceess/Failure.

How do you and I measure this?

US Troop Surge x Iraqi Political Compromise (000.00) = Failure (000.00). ‘Cause in your and my math, X times Zero is still feckin’ Zero!

But Junya, Deadeye and all their toadies in the MSM and "Think(?) Tanks" want to do the math Rover’s way. To wit:

US Troop Surge x Iraqi Political Compromise = Success.

Guess we don’t count, doncha know?

Ashcroft sings signs?

As we re-live the moment:

Somewhere deep underground in his hardened bunker, Deadeye takes a short break from potting rats with his laser shotgun to meet with a couple of his toadies:

Deadeye, after removing his headphones: I thought I told you to get his signature?

Gonzo: Bu...bu...but he woke up before we got the pen in his hand.

Deadeye: Drat! Without his fingerprints, it won’t work. And just what the hell were you doing Joker?

Card: I...I...I was holding the paper.

Deadeye: Double-Drat! I knew I should have sent Scooter and the boys.

Gonzo: Ple...ple...please Boss, give us another chance! I bet he’ll go back to sleep soon. Puleeeeeeeze?

Deadeye: Nope! Can’t do! Won’t do! As your punishment, Gonzo you’re gonna have to take his job as Attorney General. And Joker, you’re gonna "retire". Just be glad you ain’t sleeping with the fishes!

Card: Bo...Bo...Boss! Puleeeeeze! Not that!

Gonzo: Bu...bu...but they’ll find out I don’t know shit about the law!

Deadeye: That’s the point! Now get outa here, both of you! And send Junya in, willya? He’s gonna have to tell a couple more whoppers.

And so it goes; just another day night of work for the living dead. More victims, more pleasure!

Junya herds cats or Junya's Pocketful of Miracles

While chopping twigs at his hogfarm ranchette in Crawford, Junya took time out for a Iraq stratergy session with the former Secretary of State during the Nixon years.

Junya: Howya doing there Hanky-boy? May ah call ya that?

Henry The K: Vell Mr. Preznit, I actually prefer...

Junya: Good, good! Park yer porkchops down on that stool right here next to mah desk.

Henry The K: Porkchops? I've never...Vell perhaps...ooof. Ahmmm...much obliged for the hand, Mr. Preznit.

Junya: Can ya see alright there Hanky-boy? Here, let me move mah crayon sharpner. There ya go.

Henry The K: Let me try to vind my glasses. They are somewhere here under your desk, Mr. Preznit.

Junya: That's alright Hanky-boy. Ah can see ya just fine without 'em. So, what do ya think ah should do?

Henry The K: Vell Mr. Preznit, ve can't let the North Vietnamese vin...I mean, the terrorists vin in Iran...I mean, in Iraq. Ve vould then have Dominoes.

Junya: And we're rootin' for Pizza Hut! Ah got ya! Ahm with ya the whole way Hanky-boy!

Henry The K: No, no Mr. Preznit. Dominoes are like...ahmmm...Chinese checkers.

Junya: Ah could nevah figure out how to play checkers. Guess that's why I like Pizza Hut.

Henry The K: No, no Mr. Preznit...ahmmm...other countries might fall. The next vun might be Laos...I mean, Saudi Arabia.

Junya: Now I gotcha. We gotta fight them over there before we fight them at Pizza Hut here. It's our pepperoni or the highway.

Henry The K: Vell...ahmmm...the Viet Cong...ahmmm...I mean, the terrorists probably don't eat pepperoni, but I'm glad you agree ve should escalate...ahmmm...I mean, vind a vay forward.

Junya: Well, that's settled then Hanky-boy. Say there, howdy Laura Belle!

Laura Belle: Howdy y'all! Ah hope ya can stay for vittles.

Henry The K: Vell, if you insist Mrs. Preznit.

Junya: Did ah tell ya ahm going to be doing a new kinda ranching here?

Henry The K: Vell, no Mr. Preznit.

Junya: Yup! Ah kept gettin' complaints from the neighbors 20 miles downwind about my prize pigs, so ahm gonna do something unique that no one else has ever done.

Henry The K: Vhat's that Mr. Preznit?

Junya: Ahm gonna herd me some cats!

Henry The K: Cat herds Mr. Preznit?

Junya: Yup! They say ya can't do it, but ahm just the honcho who can. Matter of fact, here's some of them cats now. Here, kitty-kitty. Nice kitty-kitty!

Laura Belle: Junya, lawd have mercy! Them ain't kittie-cats! Them are polecats!

Junya: Laura Belle, Sugarbun, cats is cats! You just watch, ah'll herd 'em!

Henry The K: Whew...cough, cough, vell, I like the white stripes Mr. Preznit.

Laura Belle: Don't you boys shoot the breeze too long 'cause the grub will get cold.

Junya: What did you rustle up for supper, Laura Belle?

Laura Belle: Ah made bean burritos, baked beans, lima beans and bean muffins. And all the 3 bean coffee ya can drink.

Junya: Oh my, I'm gonna be floatin' on air! What's for dessert, Sugarbun?

Laura Belle: I baked ya a special treat. Your favorite, tumbleweed pie.

Junya: My oh my. Did ya hear that Hanky-boy? Laura Belle's right proud of her tumbleweed pie. She caught and skinned it her own self.

Henry The K: Tumbleweed pie? Vell, if you insist Mr. Preznit.

And so that was how Junya came up with his new stratergy for herding cats...ahmmm...winning in Iraq.

Judy Who? Or Who's BFF are you?

- Knock, knock.
- Who’s there?
- Judy.
- Judy who?
- Judy Miller.
- Ahhhmmmm...Judy’s not here.
- It’s me, stupid. Judy Miller.
- Ahhhmmmm...there’s nobody here (sounds of Scoots and Deadeye giggling).
- Open up! I know you’re in there. C’mon, Scootie baby, Mama gots those Aspen shakes.
- What’s the password? (More giggling).
- WMD.
- Ahhhmmmm...sorry, but you must be mistaken (loud guffawing and...and...it sounds like a tinkle stream of water hitting the floor???).
- Well FU! I’m going home and play with my dolls!
- Judy who? (Shrieks of hysterical laughter and what sounds like people rolling on the floor).

Oh to be a Wingnut...

When I grow up, there’s nothin’ I’d rather be,
Than a stark-ravin’ Wingnut, swingin’ in a tree.
There’s nothin’ we wouldn’t lie about, so spare me the bile.
There’s nobody we wouldn’t steal from, gimme that sucker child!
We’ll charge your grandma for treason, iffen she makes even a peep.
We’ll lock her up in Gitmo and there for evermore she’ll keep.
Not ‘titled to a lawyer, not even a brief.
We’ll even waterboard your grandpa if he gives us any grief.
Oh the joys of bein’ a Wingnut, free from law and sense,
Everything belongs to us Wingnuts, even the President.
We don’t have no principles, no morals for me,
I’m a stark-ravin’ Wingnut, munchin’ Cheetos in a tree.

The soon-to-be-introduced preznit campaign theme song of Lord "We’re losin’, let’s escalate!" McCain. Lovingly illustrated in 4 crayon color by Junya. Adapted from a mumble by Deadeye Cheney.

Junya's General Custer Moment Or Is that a pancake on your face or are you just glad to see me?

After his "Longest Day" in his longest month, after interminable hours and days spent frantically scurrying for any Iraq advice from absolutely anyone throughout the halls of the Pentagon, the State Department, the Washington DC Mummers Convention, and even the White House Executive Men's Room, Junya could avoid the inevitable no longer.

No amount of whining or tantrums would suffice, so Junya was liberally doused with "Positively Pink Passion" pancake makeup and unceremoniously shoved out in front of a camera to make his latest excuses for explain his all-brand-new stratergizing for The Way Forward in Iraq.

The period spent blinking his beady eyes before the camera passed in a timeless blur for Junya and no amount of prompting or coaching could ever in the future tease even a fragment of memory from Junya on just what it was he promised.

And while the camera did indeed record what took place for posterity, our focus is not so much on the speech itself, but on it's aftermath.

In a daze, Junya was unstuck from his chair before the camera and then in a Deadeye Fireman's carry, was retired to his hideyhole, the First Family's bombshelter bedroom. Joining him was his better half, the always tranquilized effervescent First Lady Laura Belle, the First Court Jester Karly-boy, and his First, Last and Only cheerleader, Barney.

And this then is when we join them...

Junya: Ma...please Ma...don't make me go to school tomorrow. Those Twister Twins, Linda Joe-Bob and Sue Billy-Elvis are always givin' me snuggies. Ah can't never walk straight afterwards.

Laura Belle: Hush now Junya, you's just havin' a nightmare. Here, take another snort of this Ol' Grandpappy so ya stop tossin' and turnin'. Ahm tired of waking up on the floor in the mornin'.

Junya: Ma...oh Ma...do ya think mah eyes are too beady?

Laura Belle: Well Junya...ahmmm...they are your best feature!

Junya: Ma...Ma...did ya see me on TV? Ah waved at ya but nobody waved back.

Laura Belle: Ahm sure ya Mama saw ya Junya...unless Beverly Hillbillies was on. Grannie is her bestest friend, doncha know?

Junya: Ma...Ma...pull mah finger, heh heh!

Laura Belle: Ahm sorry ya Mama evah taught you that! Karl, it's your turn.

Karly-Boy: Yes'm Mrs. Preznit. And ah'll open the windows while ahm up.

Barney: Yip, yip...arrghhooooo!

Laura Belle: Now stop that Junya! What are we gonna say iffen Barney gets up in the mornin' missing his tail again?

As we bid adieu to the First Family and their nocturnal doings, rest assured that the protection of this fine nation's foremost menage is the first and only priority of "He who does not sleep".

Stealthily creeping from pillar to armchair, from behind curtains to behind the couch, that dark, paranoid, shotgun-toting visage of The President-In-All-But-Name, Deadeye has the watch. No terrorist will ever spoil the sleep of our Prince in Pampers while Deadeye is on duty.

It is a thankless task, made evermore desolate by the sudden unexplainable night-blindness of his BFF, the darling dear Lynne of Sharp Tongue and Deaf Ears. She always enjoyed the nights of deer-shining, but seems to have lost something ever since Deadeye potted shots at that Texas lawyer-friend. Women...can't take 'em hunting 'cause they tend to get nervous when ya ask 'em to fetch that birdie.

Oh well, onward Christian Soldier. Ours is not to wonder why, but to ensure that others die.

Never have so many have so few to blame.

A Hopin', a Wishin' and a Prayin' Or How does Junya do his decideratin'?

There have been many who pondered just how Junya goes about doing his "decideratin'". It has been the subject of endless speculation by the chattering class, the topic of innumerable inane PhD dissertations, and of course, fodder for every adoring wingnut whose own thinkin' it coincidently resembles.

But I'm here to reveal the complete and unvarnished truth that that has baffled even the experts. No expense was spared in divining this...ahm...stunning...ahm...feat of mental acuity.

There is a method to Junya's madness thinkin' process when he reluctantly needs to do some decideratin'. You know, like what to do about Iraq.

Junya, during his formative years as a cowpoke at his Connecticut dude ranch, always found things "easier" if something was "simplified". You know, like his prep-school teachers would "simplify" his math by sayin' "It's OK Junya, 2 plus 2 equals 3 is close enough. You can put your socks back on now." Or his prep-school teachers would "simplify" his readin' by sayin' "It's OK Junya, as long as you're colorin' within the lines on the pictures, those word thingies will help keep the pictures apart."

And after 3 years as a Senior and Junya had finally graduated, he had distilled his thought processes down to the very essence of "simplicity", the very core of the man today.

This "simplicity" is today now universally known as "a Hopin', a Wishin' and a Prayin'."

And the results of this distillation process are handily evident as Junya goes about his preznitin' where sometimes he is forced by circumstances to attempt some decideratin'.

The easiest way for one to "appreciate" this thinkin' process is to put yourself in the shoes of someone like...well...like...well, I suppose Junya will have to do. Just keep in mind that you don't have to do this in public and it probably...well, most likely won't...ahhhmmm...now that I think of it, you probably ought to get a signed release from your Doctor before you do this, but don't let that stop ya'.

Where were we? Oh, yeah, wearing Junya's shoes. Ok, now you're standing in line at the Wal-Mart after stocking up on a Super-Size-Me 10 gallon jug of lime-green Kool-Aid, 4 Mega-munch bags of Cheetos, a 64-pack of Slim Jims, a carton of unfiltered low-tar Twinkies, and a gross of Extra-Short and Pencil-Thin Trojans (discounted because they're unlubricated but hope springs eternal and Bertha Lil' Junebug Schwanzpuller and her Siamese twin sister Loueesha Pete always carry WD-40).

Ok? So now it's time to squint those beady eyes real hard, poke yer tongue into the side of yer cheek and wait 30 seconds. Ya always need to wait 30 seconds 'cuz that's what Yogi and Booboo used to do on TV before the lightbulb came on over their heads. And who said Junya never pays attention to nothin'?

Anywho, here's what's staring ya in the face: Gotta deciderate somethin' and the clock is ticking. "Geez Ma, do I have to?" Ohhhhh boy!

It's like when approaching the checkout line, you think "I sure hope there's some money in mah wallet." This means that while the possibility exists that you have money in your wallet, the likelihood is that you probably don't. This could be trouble.

Then there's this approach to the checkout line where it's like "I wish there's some money in mah wallet." This means that there is definitely no money in your wallet, but if you had wished hard enough, the tooth fairy might have slipped a dollar in when you were sleeping. You're starting to sweat.

And finally, there's the approach to the checkout line where it's like "I pray there's some money in mah wallet." This means that there never was any money in your wallet 'cuz you never owned a wallet and you're going to hell unless a miracle occurs right quick. Closing your eyes probably ain't gonna help much. But crossing your legs real tight sometimes works and if it don't, the Depends are just an aisle away.

Simple, wasn't it? I tol' ya!

So now we reach the finale where the most momentous decideratin' of his preznitcy awaits his undivided (huh?) attention, where the lives of loved ones are literally hanging in the balance, where mountains are separated from molehills, where mice are men...where...where was I?

Oh yeah, and since anybody can do it, why good ol' Junya is right this very moment decideratin' about Iraq and I betcha I know just what he's thinking:

"Ah hope Poppy and his friends stop writing those reports and Deadeye or maybe even Ma can draw some pictures for me. I wish that jug of ol' Grandpappy wasn't empty, and Rummy or even Santa would return mah phonecalls. I pray the voice in mah head is the Lawd speakin' and not Barney again."

And the collective judgement of the American public? Uh ohhhhhh...!