The Day John Ashcroft Finally Went Away
The day John Ashcroft finally went away troops from America conducted the largest ground assault since the Vietnam War and there was nary a buzz in the shopping aisles. The day John Ashcroft went away people in America with standing walls nibbled on their toast, ingested their morning news vacantly, and headed off to their jobs which they don't really like. They were sorry to leave their dogs behind.
The day John Ashcroft finally left office he pronounced the world safer. The day John Ashcroft finally went away 300,000 civilians not involved in the 'incursion' remained in Fallujah, approximately one-third of the normal population there. Children were developing nervous disorders from the loud bangs of bombs and traded gunfire. Nutrition lacking, the mouths were hungry for song, prayers were murmured, few said them loud enough to seem indignant. Still, general anger persisted at circumstance and the disappointing circumspection of the human disposition. Hope was still on the lips of the gifted, innocents who had seen too much to remain so pure in the essential places in their taut chests. Children who had risen in their pajamas doe-eyed to see flashes of light in the night, stayed inside. Their mothers eyed them with a mixture of emotion we can only marvel at. 'Good' and 'bad' actions were being planned in standing buildings and ruins. Another round of horror and rebuilding was being instituted the day John Ashcroft left town. He didn't ride into the sunset and nobody wept a tear, except maybe a few of joy. The horizon was burning oil.
Halliburton was ready for a clean-up.
Richard Ashcroft sang a song and laughed a pain-ridden laugh, thankful that the bastard with his last name was finally retiring into history's backpages. If you chance upon those backpages feel free to curse at the son-of-a-bitch who thought he knew so much that unilateral, unprovoked war was within his destiny to carry out. Beware the mechanical mind in all its forms of deduction and reduction. Pretty soon a life is just a life, or a commodity to exploit. We should remember the scientific method of the internment camp showers. To give up on life like that is to give up on the miracle. Don't try to tell that to John Ashcroft if you chance upon him in some mansion or tropical resort or in a town near you on the circuit when he's speaking at high-falutin' conventions---we have more important things to do if humanity is to survive with any sense of self-respect.
The day John Ashcroft finally left office he pronounced the world safer. The day John Ashcroft finally went away 300,000 civilians not involved in the 'incursion' remained in Fallujah, approximately one-third of the normal population there. Children were developing nervous disorders from the loud bangs of bombs and traded gunfire. Nutrition lacking, the mouths were hungry for song, prayers were murmured, few said them loud enough to seem indignant. Still, general anger persisted at circumstance and the disappointing circumspection of the human disposition. Hope was still on the lips of the gifted, innocents who had seen too much to remain so pure in the essential places in their taut chests. Children who had risen in their pajamas doe-eyed to see flashes of light in the night, stayed inside. Their mothers eyed them with a mixture of emotion we can only marvel at. 'Good' and 'bad' actions were being planned in standing buildings and ruins. Another round of horror and rebuilding was being instituted the day John Ashcroft left town. He didn't ride into the sunset and nobody wept a tear, except maybe a few of joy. The horizon was burning oil.
Halliburton was ready for a clean-up.
Richard Ashcroft sang a song and laughed a pain-ridden laugh, thankful that the bastard with his last name was finally retiring into history's backpages. If you chance upon those backpages feel free to curse at the son-of-a-bitch who thought he knew so much that unilateral, unprovoked war was within his destiny to carry out. Beware the mechanical mind in all its forms of deduction and reduction. Pretty soon a life is just a life, or a commodity to exploit. We should remember the scientific method of the internment camp showers. To give up on life like that is to give up on the miracle. Don't try to tell that to John Ashcroft if you chance upon him in some mansion or tropical resort or in a town near you on the circuit when he's speaking at high-falutin' conventions---we have more important things to do if humanity is to survive with any sense of self-respect.
posted by Jason @ 9:38 AM
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