We don't hear about Iraq anymore. We haven't heard about it for months. It's still there. It still costs us a billion a day. The earliest our troops will be coming home will be sometime after the 2012 Presidential elections and even then it is doubtful. The puppet Maliki talks tough about independence but cannot stand without us. We pay the Sunni warriors $300 a month each, to be our friends. The Shiite majority hate us and champ at the bit to resume the Civil War. They are restrained by the reality of Hellfire missiles and precision artillery fire, in the close quarters of their densely packed, urban enclaves.
The Navy and Air force have been looted. Of leadership. Personnel. Ordinance. Funds. All poured into the desert shit hole. The Army is focused to a razors edge on the war in Iraq. Soldiers worn down. Materiel eaten away by years of constant exposure to abrasive dust. Every dollar not spent on the actual conflict, cut from the budget. No replacement of vital assets, reaching the end of projected usefulness, is possible.
Even Petraeus told Bush, if he continued on in Iraq, there would be nothing left to counter any additional threat that emerged and that was apparent in last months lightning war in Georgia and the humiliating defeat experienced there.
Bush leaves this country an empty husk. Militarily broken and impotent. Financially ruined. Populace out of work and demoralized. Hiding behind the walls of the border fence, guarded by the comic opera Department of Homeland Security. Our leaders objects of derision at home and abroad. Our court system corrupt. Our civil rights abrogated.
We are spared the face rotted, senile, stiff armed spectacle of McCain, who wants to continue on in this Republican Dance Macabre. He has abdicated his campaign, in favor of his comely young running mate, a woman he accuses us of referring to as a pig in lipstick. I would never use that term but one a good bit more intimately descriptive.
McCain does remind me of a pig but not one in lipstick. His china white skin. His lumpy, heavily jowled visage. His pink, pointy ears. His plump pumping little hams. His willingness to feed at whatever foul trough is nearest and more fragrantly enticing. His cannibalistic sensibilities. He claims to love and serve America, when in truth he loves only the lifetime of unsavory diversion it has offered him.
How low we have fallen. How far there is yet to go. What despair is ours, my brothers and sisters.
When this ordeal is finally over, I hope to gather with you all. Perhaps for a savory brunch. Afterwards, over coffee, I hope to be able to turn to you and say the phrase we all will have been waiting to hear.
"So, Sambo beat the Bitch."