Head swirling with mass quantities of vodka followed by grape cran, a bitch tumbled into sleep last night and dreamed a wee bit of speculation regarding Scooter B. and why his address to the nation was so fubar...
Scooter B. sat upon the golden jewel encrusted thrown he had designed long ago when he first decided to run for office. Placing it in the Oval Office had been met with some resistance, but…well, The Decider had decided and that was that.
Shoulders slumped, Scooter B. contemplated his pending address to the nation on immigration.
Things were so much easier when he was The Governor. He had people around him who knew that border news upset him and had the decency to turn off the television, ignore the critics and provide a barrier between reality and the bullshit he preferred.
Sighing, Scooter B. sat back and absently fingered the massive ruby beneath his palm.
Well, he thought, it’s time to decide some shit! The people want a plan…they demand a leader!
There was no way around it.
Rising, Scooter went in search of his brain.
With cautious deliberation, he skirted the sleeping minions littering the floor of the Oval Office. Making his way to the wall he hit the hidden button in the panel and slipped within the wall. Quickly, Scooter B. made his way down the dimly lit narrow staircase…traveling deep into the bowels of the secret underground caves beneath the White House.
After pausing at the base of the stairs and taking a gulp of the chilled damp air he made his way down the path passing dark cells. Unseen figures shifted in the darkness and Scooter wondered briefly if the reinforced metal bars would hold should the secrets of his scandal ridden Presidency attempt to break free.
Finally, he arrived at his destination.
"Karl. I need you, now more than ever."
Rove emerged from the darkness and pulled the rough fabric of his shroud from his head with surprising grace.
"You have turned your back on the dark path and me." Rove ran a single slim and bony fingertip down the length of one of the metal bars holding him inside and separate from The Decider. "What use am I to you now?"
"But, you are my brain! You serve at my will! I need to speak to the nation about immigration reform. Come with me, now. I need you." Scooter pleaded.
Rove fixed his milky gaze on Scooter and whispered…"I can not help you. Your fate is now in the hands of history. Go and let the people witness the farce that is this administration."
With that said, Rove eased back into the darkness.
Shaken, Scooter B. fled the dungeon.
Oh no! His brain…his entire ability to think…gone!
Shuddering, Scooter B. returned to the Oval Office and sat once again upon his thrown.
"Decide! Decide, damn you!"...he shouted to himself.
Desperate, Scooter B. grabbed several documents that had been scattered about and began to piece together a Presidential Address on immigration.
Once done, Scooter B. passed a shaky hand over his face.
"There. See, I can decide. I’m The Decider!"
Collapsing back against his thrown he continued to sob... "I’m The Decider…The Decider…the person who Decides…"
Damn, bitch! Was the address that fucked up?
Thanks for asking, y'all! Here's how it all went down last night...
A bitch arrived home from a long day at work, fixed a vodka cran and settled back to listen to Scooter B. address the nation on immigration.
ABB's Breakdown of the President's sorta-plan that isn't really a "plan" and in no way resembles the two sorta-plans currently floating about in the House and Senate...
6,000 National Guard Troops will spend their required 2 weeks/month training on the border…providing support…and, uh training…but with no authority to police or shoot or anything like that. This 2 week/month cycle-like commitment will be for 1 year only and then the number will be reduced.
Basically, Scooter B. has applied the same fucked up Iraq logic to this border situation…as the border control agents stand up then the National Guard will stand down. Hmmm…someone still needs to do some inner work and learn from falling off of that failed military strategy bicycle. Lawd, we could be committed militarily yet in an officially not militarized zone type way to the southern border for decades!
The President would like a Temporary Worker Program. It will involve a nifty identification card that will be outfitted with a micro chip, which the President believes will solve the issue of false documents.
A bitch is willing to bet there is already some 13 year old in San Diego ready to crank out 2,000 of those suckers an hour for a nice profit based fee. Anyhoo, this is supposed to help enforce the law and hold employers accountable for violating it…which is why we all have Social Security cards, but who wants to talk particulars.
Encode your ass off, Scooter B.! Intel ain’t gonna turn away that no-bid contract.
We need a path to citizenship…big time! Under Scooter’s plan, undocumented workers would pay a meaningful penalty yet to be defined but certain to be meaningful, pay taxes without representation and be required to learn the King's...ummm, The Decider's English.
This bitch’s plan would require citizens to pay a fine for voting for such a complete fuck-tool...it would overhaul the current tax system that rewards the rich while slashing the backs of working people...and it would require that everyone learn English, because plenty of folks born here don’t exactly have a full command of the language and have no bitness talking trash.
Oh, and Spanish and Chinese…so we can compete in the new global economy…and because a bitch has always wanted to learn Spanish and Chinese and why the fuck not have the federal government pay for it since their being so fucking generous with the money they no longer have due to an affection for pork (the spending kind not the smothered in yummy goodness kind).
Reasoned middle ground…blah, blah, blah….civilized debate…blah and blah…one
nation under Gawd and thank you and good night.
This bitch ended the evening by ingesting several…a lot…many…a multitude of vodka crans, one extremely large glass of water, 2 Excedrin and lots of cigs...which may explain the dream-based speculation that my ass detailed to start this post off (wink).
Okay chil’ren…all together now and loud as hell for the kids in the back row…
Fubar, thy name is immigration reform.