By John Burtis
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
It's been a wild couple of days for three of the world's premier toffs, poseurs, and little Caesars.
Lil' Kim has finally gotten around to detonating his first atomic bomb, thanks to Jimmy Carter's brokering of a quick american surrender and the immediate gift of two reactors, back on the early Clinton legacy watch, which allowed the short shake-down artist with that inveterate propensity for khaki to enrich the plutonium necessary to construct his recent radioactive surprise. Then the Dear leader whistle stopped into his Nangnim Mountain train tunnels to safely watch his favorite anime without a fear about the problematic EMP effects of his lovely bomb, while his people starve.
John Kerry is said to be adding to our atmosphere's heavy side layer and his party's improving fortunes as he churns, girns, and grinds his way through our country's increasingly tender mid-section. He meanders in a long black baleful caravan of hefty wide-bodied black funereal SUV's in what passes for his eternal quest for a bedroom at the White House -- fabled cap and supporting secret documentation in a ready, well manicured hand. It is said that he is nowhere close to going hungry.
and Bill Clinton has returned to his own cozy but progressive barnyard after a prolonged series of long, atrociously pricey, but oh so exclusive, and glittering birthday parties. He celebrated the fall of the west, the rise of the east, the birth of an atomic Korea, the beauty of Canada, the death of america as we know it, the pressure washing of a tragically soiled legacy, the concomitant aging of the Rolling Stones, while he ate and drank aplenty -- and had other people pay for it all as he sniggered his way to the bank.
Yep, it's a great time to be a renegade communist dictator on the rampage; a billionaire raffishly hustling the presidential nomination for the new Democrats; and to be a jaded swinger and a heady healthy intern's swain who bartered the atomic reactors to the little man from Pyongyang for the short money, and handed Loral technology to the Red Chinese in Beijing so they could get their ICBM program back on track, on target, and in our faces.
Remember that 12-year-old freckled imp, amy Carter, Mr. Peanut's pre-cognitive daughter, whose greatest childhood fear was nuclear proliferation?
Thanks to her outwardly dynamic dad, his dynastic new Democratic follower, Bill Clinton, and Bill's fabulous retainers, Madeleine albright and Sandy Berger, and their strict vows of omerta, the nukes are popping up in North Korea with the regularity of those bodies which float to the surface in New Orleans after a prolonged rain and a sudden flood. and thanks to the prescient actions of these far sighted geniuses, the communist regime will soon have the ability to lay waste to asia and the west coast of america at their pleasure.
and very soon, that self-proclaimed cthonian kamikaze, Mr. ahmadinejad, will have atomic bombs too, thanks again to the good nature of Mr. Jimmy Carter, the generosity of Mr. Bill Clinton and his cronies, and still we have not acted. and old ahmad will slip a nuclear bomb or two to Mr. Bashir assad and al-Qaeda in time for spring planting just as sure as shooting.
and Mr. Kerry, out there on his mid-america traveling salvation show, is representing the new Democrats on the road. and we can rest assured that he will immediately show the white flag when Kim tenders a hearty, "Boo," at Hallowe'en.
Said to be in excellent physical shape, Mr. Kerry will exhibit whatever series of contortions are needed to match any sort of North Korean blackmail demand, after a lengthy, wobbly, openly painful, indecisive, and public deliberative process.
When the next nuclear gun barrel is drawn on america, it will be far easier on their aching Democratic backs to fall to the floor and go noodle limp as an active left-wing defensive posture. after all, it is a bold written tenet of the new Democratic Party platform that it is harder for foreign madmen to push large piles of pudding soft and stone deaf defensively arrayed spaghetti around a dirty linoleum floor with a baby spoon than it is to attack a resolute upright running al dente offense, which is prepared for the contingency of pre-emptive attack.
But now the sissified Republicans, who can be seen running in circles while looking over their shoulders as they draw closer to the looming abyss, have gone to pieces over the non-scandal of Mark Foley's sad electronic foaming at the mouth over a few young men and the constant calls for Dennis Hastert's head, as they out mewl a barrel full of alley cats.
If only Osama bin-Laden had known that the attack on terror could be so easily hobbled by a few lusty calls for the separation of Mr. Hastert's heavy brow-ridged belfry from his rather corpulent cuerpo, that war would be over now.
and Kim Jong Il has firmly realized that every time he needs anything from a Democratic regime, all he need do is rattle those cheap Democratic kitchen cabinets, and the hosers, willing dupes and convicted burglars like Kerry, albright, Perry, Richardson, and Berger, will shake and bake whatever recipe - including baked alaska -- that the little man craves.
and the Democrats are poised to re-occupy the congressional kitchen.
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