feral intelligence

color me cranky

02.20.06 @ 02:40:46 pacific

cheney snarlingwhether or not cheney deigned to visit the bedside of the friend he’d just shot and whether he’s fucking some ambassador are of mild, admittedly prurient, interest to me. what is of much greater interest is cheney’s relationship with his hostess during the shoot, katherine armstrong–the reigning doyen of texas oil society–and the part she played in getting him his halliburton multimulti millions during his brief tenure as a corporate exec. this year’s oil profits alone prove he’s more than repaid the favor. also interesting is the unabashed, hands-off approach texas law enforcement agencies take with the oil royalty of their state. ‘left side of the face? right? drinking? not drinking? whatever you say, ma’am.’

one other thing that’s nagging, nagging, nagging at me is the admission in that cozy fox interview that cheney finagled declassification powers. what other powers does he have that no other vice president ever had? what part have the loyalties exposed by this little hunting accident played in recent global events? and what exchanges exactly went back and forth between the armstrong ranch and the white house during those first, long, silent hours? we’ll probably never know because the press and the democrats are too busy chasing their own behinds, bucking and braying, hoping to impress upon us their own credibility.

the bottom line is that cheney’s behaviors during quailgate only serve to exemplify his much greater sins of greed, callousness, power-mongering, and secrecy. if these larger sins aren’t what is at the heart of media discussions about the event, if there is no attempt to shine a light on the larger discrepancies, then all this blather about whether or not he sat by a bed or valentine-fucked some woman other than his wife will serve as nothing but a cheap little side show. the circus will leave town and all we’ll have left is a some cotton candy stuck between our teeth and the memory of tinny-voiced hucksters arguing about exactly how many bird shot fit on the head of a pin and we won’t even remember why we ever gave a damn.

color me cranky.




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