G.W. Bush - An Equal Opportunity Hater
Much has been made in recent days about the role of racism in the Katrina debacle. One side believes that, "Bush hates black people," as Kanye West maintains. On the other side, the Bushwhacker's wife, Mizz "It's Katrina Not Corina" Laura, says that charge is "disgusting". Condi "I Just Love Candies" Rice agrees. We believe they should both know, because one sleeps with him - we're sorry, but that just gives us the willies - and the other is black, kinda, sorta, maybe if the lighting is just right.
While we would be the first to believe that racism isn't past the Lil' Gipper, we're not sure about it in this case. We believe the more likely problem may be the Bushster's complete lack of knowledge about poor people. Racism is probably just a bonus - icing on his fabulous Linzer torte if you will.
Face it. The Commandant of Disaster Preparedness has lived a life of privilege since the day he was born. He had the benefit of not only a silver spoon, but a diamond-encrusted silver spoon silently delivered to his mouth by a staff of waitpersons poised to respond to his every beck and call.
"I want a taco," he says and one mysteriously appears. "I'd really like some of them pretzel things," and a bowl materializes on his end table. "HELP ME HERE I'M CHOKING TO DEATH," and someone races to his rescue. We're talking about a man whose own parents refer to him as, "The President" and whose father was so clueless about everyday life he couldn't tell reporters how much bread cost. He then went on to marvel at the "amazing" scanners in the grocery store.
The apple didn't fall far from the Bush if you get our drift.
Now some would ask, what do you know about poverty Mr. Sub Urban? It's true that our Omnipotence grew up middle class when one still existed. However, we do have plenty of first-hand knowledge about the most crushing poverty our economically stratified country can dole out. Let us tell you the tale of going to Grandpa's house.
Gramps' house in West Virginia was near the end of a 10-mile stretch of washboard road. Along the way you forded a good-sized stream that was impassable when it sprinkled. You found the trail down to the house by looking for a small clearing in the trees, usually having missed it several times before finding it. There, you disembarked for a long, ass-over-teakettle tumble down the side of a steep hill before reaching the "house".
The "house" - a term we use loosely - was a tar paper shack that would have made Snuffy Smith's cabin look like the Taj Mahal. Water was carried by bucket from an unprotected spring a quarter mile up the hill. The toilet was an ancient outhouse filled with the most incredible stink you can imagine. To use it, you squatted on a splintered board over an open hole and wiped your ass with pages from a Spiegel catalog (they were too poor to spring for a Sears catalog). You bathed - when it wasn't too cold or the water wasn't running dangerously high - in a creek that ran along the back of the property. The house, filled with live chickens living alongside the human folk, was heated by an ancient pot-bellied stove. Our Grandparents once disassembled and burned the dining room of the house to keep warm when the snow was too high to get out and cut wood. The menu at dinner was most likely squirrel, spuds, and maybe a biscuit. For a fancy meal, our Grandfather killed a hen past her prime. Did you know that chickens really do run around like chickens with their heads cut off? We remember when electricity came to the house. The power company strung the wire from the back of a mule.
So the point is this - most people in this country know little about this kind of life and El Presidente is several more steps farther removed than most. All he and his entourage know about poor people came from briefing papers delivered on a silver platter and accompanied by the finest coffee, served in fine china, on an antique tablecloth. To him, poverty is best represented by a Beverly Hillbillies marathon.
He once famously bragged that he never reads newspapers. Displaying monumental arrogance, he said they never held anything that he didn't already know. He chuckled as he said it because he actually believes it. He talks big about "hard work", but nothing ever seems to get done. The closest he comes to empathy for the poor is to give speeches in "hick-speak" so thick our Grandfather - who only had a third grade education - would be embarrassed.
And therein is the real knock against Cowboy George. He's an equal opportunity hater. It doesn't matter if you are black or white, as long as you don't interrupt his vacation. After all, it's "hard work" being The President.
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Truth Told by Omnipotent Poobah, Tuesday, September 13, 2005