Tags: Barack Obama, Cheney and dithering, Dick Cheney, dithering, Donald Rumsfeld, Fox News, George Bush, George W. Bush, iraq, John Boehner, obama administration, obama and afghanistan, obama and gop, Obama and Republicans, war of choice, War of Necessity
If I were Dick Cheney -- not to worry; the Lord works in mysterious ways, but there are limits -- I’d be kicking up a fuss, too. A really good fuss.
I’d be scowling for whatever sympathetic cameras I could still find. I’d be flinging accusations of political payback, or institutional ingratitude, or diplomatic naiveté at the people who succeeded me.
I’d even let the occasional curse word fly, just to prove to one and all how ticked off I am.
If I were Dick Cheney, in other words, I’d probably be doing exactly what Dick Cheney is doing.
It beats going to prison.
How do you solve a problem like Korea?
How do you run Dear Leader out of town?
How do you find a way to stop Korea?
A chummy discussion? A punch in the nose? A frown?
Many a bomb you’d like them to dismantle,
Many a threat you’d like them to suspend,
But why even try to talk?
They bluster and then they walk,
When will they hear the messages you send?
Oh, how do you solve a problem like Korea?
How do you make a lunatic your friend?
can always use an extra transport plane -- that’s the way I figured it. After
all, when you’re thinking of moving a lot of people, or even a lot of cargo,
from here to there, what’s better than a C-17? And why not a brand-spanking-new C-17, instead of one of those ratty old used ones?
I knew just where to find one, too.
I called Congress.
And not just any old place in Congress. When you want to get things done, you have to go right to the particular people who make those particular things happen, so that’s just what I did.
I called the House Appropriations Committee.
They weren’t expecting me.
“I’d like one of your C-17s,” I told them.
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administration seems to pride itself on searching for some kind of middle
ground in policies addressing terrorism....But in the fight against terrorism,
there is no middle ground, and half-measures keep you half exposed.”
Dick Cheney, on the offensive.
Then lock ‘em all up. Lock everybody up -- not just the ones with a strange-sounding name or an odd way of speaking, but everyone. Every last one of us. The native sons as well as the foreign born. The old as well as the young. The rich, the poor, the city dweller and suburbanite and farmer -- we all go behind bars, locked away forever.
That’s the only way to be sure, you know. Anything less would be a half-measure.
It takes just one question afloat in the breeze,
One question to call ev’ry ear to attention,
To bring some Invincible down to her knees:
“What did you know,
And when did you know it?”
The pressure starts building,
But try not to show it,
You swear that you’re innocent,
Out of the loop,
Go swear all you want to,
You’re still in the soup.
It was the gnawing in his gut that gave it away, that creepy-crawly upset in the pre-dawn darkness. He turned himself to one side, then to the other, to absolutely no avail; the gnawing only got worse.
He was determined not to disturb her. (She’d been having the same problems herself lately, and the last thing she needed was another sleepless night.) So he lay there in silence and stared at the window, waiting -- it would be hours -- for the sky to turn pink.
He knew what it meant, the gnawing, the creepy-crawling -- he knew exactly what it meant. When Lenny Lefft’s stomach goes haywire, Lenny Lefft’s emotions are going haywire, too.
It was Obama.