Ten things I learned from “The First 48.”

A steady, but depressing diet of death

A steady, but depressing diet of death

Recently, at our monthly dinner, two of  my siblings started chatting about The First 48, a documentary-style program on A&E that focuses on  murder investigations by homicide detectives.   I started watching the show and after a few months worth of episodes I have reached several conclusions.

1.  Criminals are not only a cowardly, superstitious lot, most of them are dumber than a sack full of rocks.  The worst example of this was the brain surgeon who walked into a office building full of cameras and rode the elevators until he found one unlucky woman.  He took the elevator down, let her walk out, then trailed behind her, pulled a gun and shot her in the back of the head.   All of this was recorded on camera but mercifully the show’s producers spared viewers the gruesome sight of the woman being executed.  

 To hammer hope the epic stupidity and senselessness of the crime, this idiot couldn’t even carry off the robbery because the dead woman had fallen on top of her purse so the killer took off with nothing.  Nothing but  two teenaged sons who will now grow into adulthood without their mother.

2.  Black criminals primarily kill other Black people and almost always for no good reason.

3.  The only White people that seem to get killed by other White people on The First 48 are the homeless.

4.   Most cases are solved because somebody talks to the cops.  All that CSI exotic crap does is produce enough evidence for a conviction.   Only rarely does it lead to an actual arrest.

The First 48: When faked murders arent entertaing enough.

"The First 48:" When faked murders aren't entertaining enough.

5.  The police detectives on The First 48 are  always polite, never curse and treat all suspects like perfect ladies and gentlemen.  They don’t threaten suspects, use racial slurs or barely raise their voice.   And they play to the camera like nobody’s business.

6.  Crime scenes are a lot messier and bloodier than television cop shows would lead you to believe.   Blood tends to splatter. 

7.   Every negative feeling you have ever had about Blacks will be reinforced by The First 48.   Hispanics come off almost as bad, but blacks are overrepresented as victims and perpetrators on the program.  Perhaps that stems  from the show being shot on locales such as Memphis, Detroit, Cincinnati, Birmingham and Houston. 

8.   There are no Hannibal Lecters, clever serial killers or grand mysteries in most murder cases.  Once the identities of the victim and suspect are established it’s mostly a matter of figuring out what the connection was between them and why it went sour.

9.   A lot of suspects break down into a blubbering mess when they go into the interrogation room.   I can’t believe so many of them crumble like a warm cookie because the detective tells them “you have to do the right thing here.” 

10.  The First 48 is a really depressing show.  You get really sick really fast of watching young brothers shooting, stabbing and beating each other over dumb stuff.   It can also be an incredibly boring show because often all the police do is sit around drinking coffee (haven’t seen a single donut yet) and wait for the phone to ring.  Usually on the other end of the line it’s someone dropping a dime on their cousin Pookie who shot someone because they had a beef over money, drugs or a girl.    

There are some good people who come forward to report crime or help the cops solve the murders.  I get why the police departments cooperate with the show and permit the cameras and microphones to follow them around.  If things get tense and a F-bomb gets dropped or a N-word casually uttered (by the suspects or witnesses of course—never the cops), it will be cleaned up in the editing room.  The day-to-day lives of the cops look rather mundane, boring and repetitive.  

After watching a few months of the show I’ve already started becomg jaded.  Some murders are more grisly than others and some cases more tragic, but otherwise there’s a certain sameness to the carnage that is both horrific and numbing.

 I can’t imagine what a homicide detective who’s been standing over corpses for five years or  more gets out of it.   

I feel a bit like a voyeur as I watch The First 48 and see mothers and fathers wailing and weeping over a loved one’s body.  Some things don’t need to be shared with the public and as a journalist I’ve always felt grief fell within that category.

Like “To Catch A Predator,”  it’s difficult to guess how long The First 48 can go on.   Those of us who live in urban areas have some familiarity with the senselessness of street crime.  The entertainment value of a seemingly endless parade of predominantly dead black kids doesn’t seem like a substainable long-term concept.

The Oscars: Who Won? Who Lost? Who Cares?

...and the Oscar goes to...who gives a damn?

"...and the Oscar goes to...who gives a damn?"

Hey, Wolverine is hosting the Academy Awards tonight.  Yay. 

That about sums up my level of interest.

I gave up on the Academy Awards a long time ago when I realized they only reflect the taste of a small cadre of out-of-touch Hollywood elitists.  Not to be equally snobbish, but I can’t work up enough interest to care about who wins  or loses a Oscar. 

It’s a three hour wank fest of self-congratualatory speeches, lame jokes, tacky dance sequences and navel-gazing that has very little to do with actually celebrating the best in cinema.

I won’t watch a single solitary second of the show. I don’t give a damn what wins what. I’m not even interested in this year’s minority slapfest of whether or not Viola Davis beats out Taraji Henson for Best Supporting Actress. More Black folks will go see Madea Goes to Jail than the Oscars which only goes to show rotten taste in movies knows no color.

I began to bail on the Oscars in 1989-1990 when in back-to-back years, sentiment won over substance and Driving Miss Daisy beat Do the Right Thing and GoodFellas took a back seat to the wretched Dances With Wolves. But when Saving Private Ryan lost Best Picture to Shakespeare In Love, I was done. That is when the Oscars became dead to me.

How many complete farces can one man take without getting ill?
 

Sorry bub.  Grit your teeth all you want.  Im still not watching the Oscars.
“Sorry bub. Grit your teeth all you want. I’m still not watching the Oscars.”

 

Why bother to watch? Slumdog Millionaire is gonna win everything anyway.

UPDATE:  Feb 22nd, 2009 | LOS ANGELES — “Slumdog Millionaire” is the Academy Awards champion, wrapping up its ghetto-to-glory story by winning best picture and seven other Oscars, including the directing honor for Danny Boyle.

A story of hope amid squalor in Mumbai, India, “Slumdog Millionaire” also had wins that include adapted screenplay, cinematography, editing and both music Oscars, score and song. link

Told you so.

Monkey Business

Hidden racism or just a really crappy cartoon?

Hidden racism or just a really crappy cartoon?

I don’t read The New York Post and don’t know anyone that does.

The Post is owned by Rupert Murdoch and its editorial board is largely Australian.   From what I understand the Post has a habit of engaging in nasty race-baiting like this.

Which doesn’t mean being Australian makes anyone a racist. I think it’s more an indictment of what happens in newspaper editorial meetings when there isn’t a conscious person of color at the table to say, “There might be a problem with this..”

This cartoon didn’t tick me off as much as The New Yorker’s “terrorist fist-bump” piece of shit.

Still, it is a badly drawn, totally insipid, heavy-handed attempt at satire.   There’s not a damn thing funny about a monkey going on a rampage and maiming someone.   It’s even less so when some hack cartoonist tries to tie a tragic incident to the President’s stimulus package.

So it’s a piece of shit too.

“Dirty bombs,” Neo-Nazis and the next Timothy McVeigh?

Amber Cummings is charged with killing her husband, but did she stop a terror plot?

Amber Cummings is charged with killing her husband, but did she stop a terror plot?

While we’ve been endlessly amused by Michael Phelps getting toasted, Jessica Simpson getting chubby, Alex Rodriguez admitting to juicing and Nadia Suleman cranking out litters of babies, some other news has been happening that might be a wee bit more important.

Such as James G. Cummings of Belfast, Maine, a neo-Nazi, White supremacist with access to a trust fund of $10 million who was shot and killed by his wife last December 9. When police investigated they found Cummings was in possession of radioactive materials and instructions on how to create a “dirty bomb.”

According to an FBI field intelligence report from the Washington Regional Threat and Analysis Center posted online by WikiLeaks, an organization that posts leaked documents, an investigation into the case revealed that radioactive materials were removed from Cummings’ home after his shooting death on Dec. 9. link

…four 1-gallon containers of 35 percent hydrogen peroxide, uranium, thorium, lithium metal, thermite, aluminum powder, beryllium, boron, black iron oxide and magnesium ribbon were found in the home.

Also found was literature on how to build “dirty bombs” and information about cesium-137, strontium-90 and cobalt-60, radioactive materials. The FBI report also stated there was evidence linking James Cummings to white supremacist groups. This would seem to confirm observations by local tradesmen who worked at the Cummings home that he was an ardent admirer of Adolf Hitler and had a collection of Nazi memorabilia around the house, including a prominently displayed flag with swastika. Cummings claimed to have pieces of Hitler’s personal silverware and place settings, painter Mike Robbins said a few days after the shooting.

Cummings was shot by his wife April in their home. She says her husband whiled away the hours in an interesting way.

An application for membership in the National Socialist Movement filled out by Cummings also was found in the residence, according to the report. Cummings’ wife, Amber B. Cummings, 31, told investigators that her husband spoke of “dirty bombs,” according to the report, and mixed chemicals in her kitchen sink. She allegedly told police that Cummings subjected her to years of mental, physical and sexual abuse. She also said that Cummings was “very upset” when Barack Obama was elected president.

According to the Southern Poverty Law Center the National Socialist Movement is the largest neo-Nazi group in the nation with 69 chapters in 30 states.

Nobody knows what Cummings planned to do with his dirty bomb materials, but apparently he was independently wealthy according to the Bangor News story.

Cummings grew up in California and lived in Texas before moving to Maine in August 2007. Although Robbins said Cummings told him he made his money in Texas real estate, it appears that the actual source of his wealth was a trust fund established by his father, a prominent landowner in the Northern California city of Fort Bragg. An Internet search of the James B. Cummings Trust indicated that it has an annual income of $10 million.

Hmmm…a wife-beating, Hitler-loving, Obama-hating,  Neo-Nazi White supremacist  sitting on a trust fund of $10 million dollars gets his dirty little fingers on “four 1-gallon containers filled with a mix of uranium and thorium, both of which are radioactive, along with highly toxic beryllium powder and containers that also held a hydrogen peroxide-based solution needed for making peroxide-based explosives, along with lithium metal, thermite, magnesium ribbon, black iron oxide and other substances that are used to amplify the effects of homemade explosives”  (source: Hatewatch) and this ISN’T a national news story?

Look, I’m as guilty as anyone else on focusing on the silly, the shallow and the strange, but you might think even in what passes for mainstream media, SOMEBODY might think there’s something more to this story than meets the eye.

It didnt happen, but was it going to happen?

It didn't happen, but was it going to happen?

Public officials in Maine are saying the usual reassuring stuff such as Public Safety Commissioner Anne Jordan who said,  “I’ve been told by federal officials that the items seized could be purchased legally and that there was not sufficient quantity or quality to pose an immediate threat or hazard to the health and safety of the public.”

You don’t have to be a conspiracy theorist to wonder if  a neo-Nazi who was “upset” about the election of President Obama who was collecting materials that could be used to create a “dirty bomb” might just be a lone nut, part of a wider network of extremists or just vying to be the next Timothy McVeigh?

Or is those the kind of questions we’re really not su pposed to ask?   Maybe Cummings didn’t  have the quantity of materials to make a bomb, the intentions of doing so, or affiliations to any dangerous organizations.   It’s just as likely that he was just some racist nut who was only a threat to his wife and not the president or the community.

But what if he wasn’t?  What if Amber Cummings by killing her husband possibly saved the lives of others?

Move along, folks.  Nothing to see here.  Everything is under control.

(special thanks and giving credit where it’s due to http://www.unattributable.com/)

Living With Post “The Shield” Syndrome.

Whaddya mean you missed the last episode?

"Whaddya mean you missed the last episode?"

Now what  am I gonna do on Tuesday nights?

There’s what life was like before The Shield and life after and life after is a lot less interesting as far as television goes.

The last episode of The Shield aired nearly three months ago.  And every Tuesday night since the credits rolled for the final time, I’ve been missing it like a amputated digit.  Though it’s gone, there’s a “phantom pain” in its absence.

No more  Vic.  No more Claudette trying to nail Vic’s ass to the wall.   No more Biz Lats, Spook Street, Armenian money trains or  Los Angeles looking like a racially diverse neighborhood in Hell.

The Shield gave me six years of satisfaction.  What made it great was how it never dumbed the characters down or tried to make them anything they weren’t.  Even in the final episode, Vic Mackey remained the scheming, sneering, anti-hero who I pulled for despite knowing what a rotten  father, crooked cop and lousy human being he really was.

This was like a bad relationship.  Bad for each other.  Totally toxic and doomed not to end well,  but irresistable.

It’s a rare thing when a show wraps it up and you don’t want any more from it.  In the last scene when Vic pulls the gun out of the file drawer, I never thought he was going to go out eating a bullet like Shane.  It would have been a betrayal of everything the character Michael Chiklis and show creator Shawn Ryan breathed life into. 

Vic was not just the ultimate bad-ass.  He’s also the ultimate survivor.  As canny and streetwise as he is, he doesn’t see all the angles.  But he’s blessed (or cursed) with the instincts of a shark and like a shark he has to keep moving or he dies.  Unfortunately, he also leaves a path of destruction in his path, but that was part of the genius of The Shield.  How can viewers embrace a character whom in the very first episode ruthlessly guns downs another cop?

Unfortunately, while The Shield was brilliant, it wasn’t popular.  The final episode drew only 1.9 million viewers.   Which makes the praise lavished on the show as it ended by magazines like Entertainment Weekly not just bittersweet, but embittering. 

In the year-end “Best of” issue, EW listed The Shield as the fourth best television show of 2008 and critic Jeff Jensen hailed it as part of “TV’s second Golden Age.”  High praise from a publication that almost totally ignored The Shield until it’s final season and never once ran a cover story.  EW slaps Lost and Heroes on the front with sickening consistency while it treated The Shield like a bad dog at a cocktail party. 

From the bottom of my heart I’d like to tell Entertainment Weekly to collectively go screw themselves.  

Their praise for one of the best television shows of the last 1o years was far too little and came far too late.    Flowers for a funeral are a thoughtful gesture, but a meaningless one as the dead can’t appreciate them and the living don’t need them.   Entertainment Weekly can keep their worthless recognition because what good does it do now?

I don’t need any snobby critics to legitimize for me what I already know is good.  I would have liked for others to have known what I and a select few already did—The Shield was what great television should be.  There’s a big hole in my Tuesday nights at 10 p.m.   It looks to be a long time before something fills the space left by  The Shield

There  hasn’t been a release date set for the Season 7 DVD, but hopefully it will be sometime in Spring ’09.  I’m looking forward to sitting down and losing myself one last time in the magic kingdom of Farmington and all the craziness that came with it.  

Rumors are there could be a Shield movie to wrap up some of the unresolved plot threads, but I’m fine it it doesn’t happen.  I’m satisfied by the ambiguity of the final scene.  To quote the Beatles, let it be.  You can’t improve on perfection.

You cant keep a good bad man down.

You can't keep a bad man down for good.

Cornell McCleary: Calm Like a Bomb

1952 - 2009

Cornell McCleary: 1952 - 2009

It would be a gross exaggeration to describe Cornell McCleary as a friend of mine.  We weren’t friends at all.  In fact,  over the  last few years there were times when I couldn’t stand the guy.

Yet  he believed passionately in things and wasn’t the least bit interested in tailoring his principles to be popular or well-liked.   Cornelll was the type of guy who wasn’t the least bit shy about calling you a dumb ass if he thought you were one and that might include anyone from the mayor of Columbus to the President of the United States.

He hosted a radio show for six years Sunday nights on WTVN (610) radio.  The format was to talk about whatever was on his mind, take phone calls and interview guests while Cornell would play old school soul music, rip into whatever politician  that had got on his nerves and not take any of it, including himself too seriously.

Cornell was the first person I’ve  met who could dominate a room through the sheer force of  their outrageious  persona.  The other was Don King.

We sparred verbally when I was a reporter and then the editor of The Columbus Post newspaper.  I invited him to write for The Post because I wanted a Black conservative voice, but it didn’t last more than a few columns because McCleary had butted heads in the past with The Post’s publisher, Amos Lynch.

That was Cornell’s way.  For him there were no sacred cows.  He ground them all up like hamburger.  He didn’t care if he was ticking off Democrats on Monday,  Republicans on Tuesday and a good portion of the Black community on Wednesday.   He’d laugh at all the drama as if he was enjoying a private joke nobody else quite got.

McCleary was an activist in the community, but he was also the  quintessential political gadfly.  He could form alliances with liberals like Bob Fitrakis, the publisher of the progressive Columbus Free Press and then turn around and with  Ohio GOP chairman Bob Bennett, standing by, announce he would be leading minority outreach efforts for the Republicans.

Cornell’s seemed to delight in biting the hand that fed him.  In 1999, he publicly backed the Democrat, Michael Coleman over the endorsed Republican candidate.   Local GOP officials were furious with McCleary, but he could have cared less.

Still, with his prodding,  the paper did become more receptive to the Republican Party and when we endorsed Pat Tiberi for Congress in 1999 it was largely due to Cornell’s introduction of the unknown Tiberi to the paper’s editorial board.

I appeared on Cornell’s radio show once and he worked me over pretty good  with his questions and biting sarcasm.  But I didn’t get mad about it because I knew that was just how Cornell rolled.   I listened to his program and when he left in 2006 over a dispute with the station manager, I sat in one night as a possible replacement.   I flat-out sucked and when I ran into Cornell a few months later on the set of  Columbus On the Record, a public affairs tv show,  he didn’t fail to mention how bad I was.

Losing the show really seemed to throw  Cornell off his game.   When he appeared on On the Record he would often show up dressed head-to-toe in black, wearing combat boots and an attitude.   Cornell’s “mad as hell and ain’t gonna take it no more”  Angry Black Man persona was made for radio.   It didn’t thrive in a structured 30-minute television program where he was sharing the spotlgith with three others.   Where once Cornell was entertaining, now he was merely cranky and abrasive.

It got so unpleasant  finally I asked the program host  to stop scheduling me with Cornell.

I don’t think Cornell meant to be so in your face.  It was just his way.  He always had to show he was the Alpha male.

With his profile diminished by the loss of his radio show,  Cornell tried internet radio and a blog  with middling success, but it lacked the impact and reach he had enjoyed before.  Every so often, he’d sent out a mass e-mail blast to everyone in local media about what his thoughts of the day were, but now it seemed more to remind us he was still hanging around.

Cornell  passed away at his home from complications due to high blood pressure, heart disease and diabetes.

I didn’t know Cornell well enough to mourn him.  I do know that he did things to bring about changes, improve the lives of others and shake people awake even as he was shaking things up.  He cared about people and he cared about the causes that were important to him.  If that means stepping on someones toes hard and repeatedly, he’d do it.

Cornell was liked by many, disliked by others, but respected by all.  If he ever changed his ways to please anyone but himself  I never caught him doing it.

That’s all.

Brett Favre, the Jessica Simpson of Pro Football.

Even Football Jesus couldn't get the Jets in the playoffs.

Even Football Jesus couldn't get the Jets in the playoffs.

Brett Favre retired from the National Football League.

What?  AGAIN?   Haven’t we seen this movie before?

Nothing would make me happier as a football fan than to get rid of Favre and the cult of sportswriters, broadcasters and slaves that worship at his feet.

I don’t think this publicity seeking whore is done yet.  Sometime next season a quarterback will go down and immediately the speculation will start.  Will Favre come back?   Let’s put it this way.  If the Cincinnatti Bengals have an opening for a signal caller, hell no, Favre won’t go.  But if it’s one of the NFL “glamour” franchises like the Dallas Choking Dogs with a job opening we will see Number 4’s tired ass back in the league.

When Brett the Holy One hung it up last time it was a big deal.  This time the response was, “big deal.”

I know some people are hanging on every detail about Alex Rodriguez using steroids, Chris Brown pimp slapping Rihanna before the Grammys, Michael Phelps losing sponsors due to his fondness for sparking up and hitting a big-ass bong or that crazy octo-mom Nadia Suleman and her 14 kids,  BUT I DON’T CARE!

Last week the hot story was whether or not Christian Bale needed anger management treatment after threatening to go postal  over some crew member who distracted him on the set of Terminator: Salvation.   Oh wait.  Bale apologized.  Okay.  Let’s go to You Tube and watch Joaquin Phoenix’s incohrent mumblings on The David Letterman Show.

Or let’s not and say we did.  Well, what about Salma Hayek whipping on one of her milk jugs and popping it into the mouth of a baby in Africa who’s mama ran dry?  That should be good for a totally gratitutious boob shot .

Or better yet.  Look at Jessica Simpson.  Hey, she got fat!  God, how hard up are we for entertainment?

Simpson put on some weight.  Stop the presses!  Throw a picture up there.  Okay, so she’s a little thicker, but nobody would confuse her with Queen “I am not a lesbian” Latifah.   Some more curves, but she’s wearing mom jeans and  still ain’t got no butt to fill in those pants. 

Brett Favre is the Jessica Simpson of pro football.  A bit more talented, but ever bit as irrelevant.

Got mo curves.  Still aint got no talent.

Got mo' curves. Still ain't got no talent.

Favre retiring was a major news story the first time he tried it last year.   ESPN treated it like it was the announcement of a new pope.   Even non-sports media picked up the story and mused over how soon the overrated QB would walk into the Hall of Fame.  Favre was celebrated as the greatest quarterback ever and he milked it for all it was worth.  Never mind the fact that after 14 seasons he’d only won ONE Super Bowl.

Favre isn’t the greatest quarterback in the history of the NFL.  He’s the greatest egomaniac in the history of the NFL.  The way people like Sports Illustrated’s Peter King and NBC’s John Madden talked about Favre, you could almost see the child-like wonder in their eyes and the worship in their voice.

The mindless adulation of Favre was all out of proportion to his accomplishments on the field.   Sportswriters are no different than the fans.  They’re predominantly White men writing about sports that are dominated by Black men.  It’s a lot easier for a middle-aged guy to relate to a talented, but overrated QB from Mississippi than a tattooed brother from L.A. sporting dreads and dancing like a maniac in the end zone.

When  Simpson failed as a pop singer, she made a career change and came back as a country singer.  I doubt real country fans are buying into her change up, but what else is she going to do?  Start rapping?

Same thing with Favre.  He went as far as he could go with the Green Bay Packers and even they were getting tired of his penchant for throwing brain-dead interceptions at critical moments.   Favre looked around and saw a Packers team on the down stroke, so he when the team rightly refused his selfish demands to  trade him to a competing team in their own division, they shipped him out to the Jets.

As it turns out, the Jets cleared the deck for Favre bycutting starting QB Chad Pennington who signed with the Miami Dolphins.  The Jets came out hot, faded in the middle and flopped at the end missing the playoffs entirely.  Meanwhile, Pennington led the Dolphins into the playoffs and won Comeback Player of the Year.   Is that the sound of poetic justice?

So let Favre retire.   He’ll be back.  Just like when Simpson will after she drops 20 pounds. She’ll be all over the celebrity mags boasting of how she lost the flab and you can too (provided  you can afford a exclusive trainer to work you out).

Meanwhile I’m bored with this week’s celebrity news.  What’s up next?  Madonna or Amy Winehouse fighting over who’s going  to steal Favre from his wife? 

So many clowns.  So few circuses. 

Hey look, its Jessica Simpson in her mom jeans.

"Hey look, it's Jessica Simpson in her mom jeans."

The Limp Return of Evil Dick.

I want my live rats done medium-rare and I want them NOW!

It is totally untrue that Dick Cheney has a fondness for eating live babies.

Dead babies are another story.  They don’t put up as much of a fight.

But that’s only if there aren’t any live rats available.   Now that’s some good eatin’.

In a city which has seen the likes of J. Edgar Hoover, Joseph McCarthy, Jesse Helms and Richard Nixon has there ever been a bigger bastard in Washington than Richard B. Cheney, the 43rd Vice-President of the United States and one huge waste of skin?

Out of power, but always a dick.

Last week, Evil Dick  arose from his crypt, licked the blood of a particulary tasty rodent from his thin lips and sat down with  reporters from Politico.com and predicted the United States may suffer a terror attack using nuclear weapons.

And guess what?  This time it’ll be Barack Obama’s fault because he didn’t carry on the policies of The Cheney-Bush Administration.

“When we get people who are more concerned about reading the rights to an Al Qaeda terrorist than they are with protecting the United States against people who are absolutely committed to do anything they can to kill Americans, then I worry,” Evil Dick said.

Evil Dick added, “If it hadn’t been for what we did — with respect to the terrorist surveillance program, or enhanced interrogation techniques for high-value detainees, the Patriot Act, and so forth — then we would have been attacked again,” he said. “Those policies we put in place, in my opinion, were absolutely crucial to getting us through the last seven-plus years without a major-casualty attack on the U.S.”

Evil Dick says despite being undead himself he worries about terrorists getting their hands on some kind of nuclear device.  Then all hell would break loose.  A location he himself is intimately familiar with.

“I think there’s a high probability of such an attempt. Whether or not they can pull it off depends whether or not we keep in place policies that have allowed us to defeat all further attempts, since 9/11, to launch mass-casualty attacks against the United States.”

Being Evil Dick means never saying you’re sorry for the illegal, immoral and quite possibly futile policies the Cheney/Bush bunch put it place to “protect” the United States.  He considers the fact Al Qaeda hasn’t struck again as proof of success.

But you can’t prove a negative.  Because nothing has happened doesn’t mean it didn’t happen because Evil Dick found the terrorists, ripped open their throats with his fangs and bled them dry.

You ever notice how Evil Dick and other apologists for George W. Bush make it seem as if they weren’t in charge before September 11, 2001?   It’s always what they did the seven-plus-years after 9/11 and never what they failed to do the nine months before.

Funny, but last I looked Al Qaeda was still a viable and potent threat to the U.S.

And seven-plus-years after the murders of over 3000 Americans, Osama bin Laden was still running loose—-  probably in Pakistan which has both a wobbly government,  a military with officers sympathetic to Al Qaeda and the Taliban and nuclear weapons to boot.

Not that facts matter to Evil Dick.  He didn’t need ’em before he convinced his retarded running mate to invade Iraq and he sure doesn’t need ’em now.

Nobody knows when or if terrorists will attack America again.  Evil Dick sure doesn’t, but if they do, you can be sure he’ll have a new secret bunker to hide in.    He just stuck his head up long enough to say, “Hey, you idiots voted for the wrong guy.  So next time you’re ALL GONNA DIE and this time it’s the Black guy’s fault.  Bye-bye.”

America may not survive.  Democracy may not survive.  But Evil Dick will.    Sleazy bastards who feed on dead babies and live rats are damned  hard to kill.   You have to stake them in the heart (which Evil Dick had surgically removed by now), cut off their heads, stuff the mouth with cloves of garlic, burn the body and salt the earth where they’ve fallen.

But being a evil dick like Evil Dick Cheney means as long as you stay out of direct sunlight, load up on the biggest rats you can catch and keep your fangs carved to a sharp point, you never have to give up  trying to scare the hell out of people.

Because that’s what Evil Dicks do.

I know I shouldnt eat babies, but theyre so damned tasty.