Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Storm-chaser

Just as the "Troubles" in Ireland were compared to "having an elephant in your living room" (and somehow being able to ignore the presence of this elephant), I now find myself wanting to write about having started my new job, but knowing that it will seem understandably trivial compared to the damaged caused to the city of New Orleans these last few days.

So, instead, I will talk about my dream Hurricane Katrina:

My dream hurricane Katrina would've turned away from New Orleans at the final moment, bringing palpable relief and making Christian fundamentalists proclaim that the hidden hand of God had once again demonstrated His Special Regard for the American people... that would've been pretty hideous. However, no sooner were the men and women of faith rejoicing, than something new and terrible became clear. Hurricane Katrina had now turned and was heading straight for Crawford, Texas. Perhaps the storm would spell out "IMPEACH BUSH" as it wound its way across the country, maybe not. However, it would be clear that God was indeed making his displeasure known. The men and women of faith would now reappear, desperately spinning God as victim of liberal activism. I quote Pat Robertson, "With all due respect, God doesn't know what he's doing..." and an unnamed televangelist, "Put simply, God is a fag whore, and probably a Communist..." Others claimed that the storm was being variously steered by a global conspiracy of Jewish bankers, by Satan, by Osama Bin Laden, or, finally, by the mental projection of a group of yogic liberals, affiliated with Hilary Clinton and moveon.org, ensconced in an underwater bunker at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean...

As hurricane Katrina zeroed in on Crawford and the president's ranch, Bush faced the toughest decision of his political life (or, at least, his advisors did, advisors who had now safely retreated across state lines and were happy to conduct business through "the calming media of the telephone and Microsoft Net Meeting"). If Bush moves and the hurricane follows him, it's obvious what is going on, divine retribution is coming for him. If Bush stays, he runs the risk of being torn a new asshole by the mother of all storms.

How do I call it?

Bush runs...

Hurricane Katrina chases him to Washington, where Bush is suddenly persona non grata. He is moved by military helicopter towards the Canadian border. It doesn't work. Finally, Bush is flown to Alaska and deposited at a scientific observation facility on his very own glacier. He sits there reading his comic books and making up powdered food, taking good luck calls from Cheney and Rumsfeld and Wolfowitz. He addresses the American people, insisting that he's in good spirits, "Gosh, folks, I saw a polar bear this morning while on my morning run. And I outrun him. Such is the resolve of my presidency and I will emerge from this strange meteorological situation. I will prevail. Freedom loving people will not sit idly by and be whisked into the sky and deposited hundreds of miles from their starting position. God Bless America."

Hurricane Katrina skirts Canada, heading out to sea and respecting its borders. It approaches Bush, roaring with unthinking intent, ready to vigorosly stir the President, to paddle the ass cheeks of his pride with the Big Stick of 165 mph winds and raindrops the size of watermelons.

Last transmission of Bush, lit by a candle as power fails, attempting to look steadfast. The picture begins to shake, the scientific instruments in dim sight behind him begin to shake. As Bush starts to cry, the pictures are lost...

... you fill in the rest...


2 Comments:

Blogger banana said...

if only.

11:41 PM  
Blogger L said...

That wouldn't happen. It's always the poorest who get blasted...

8:55 PM  

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