I realize I’ve already posted my lists for the year, but I always find that it makes it easier to move forward with purpose and optimism if you take the time to analyze the year past in more detail… delve into the forces that shaped events on a personal – and global – level (and, really, is there a difference?)


Here, then, is a look back at the events, both small and large, that embodied 2008 for me. And, by extension, for you.

Obviously, the single event that defined this year, and molded everything that followed was the surprise publication in March of Laura Bush’s tell-all autobiography, My President, My Husband, My Monster, that led to a bodycount worthy of Hamlet and the kind of chaos that can only result when brutal truth is unleashed on a soporific, despondent mock-democracy like ours.

For the few of you who haven’t read the book (I’ve still got an incredibly rare first U.S printing that I kept well-hidden during the weeks of attempted suppression when Bush/Cheney declared anyone owning the book to be an enemy combatant and disappeared nearly 100,000 people – including Rupert Murdoch and most of the HarperCollins staff – to various extraordinary rendition prisons around the world for “questioning”), believe me, the hype doesn’t do it justice. In her surprisingly well-written memoir, Laura Bush tells how she believes she married and assisted in the rise to power of the AntiChrist in the person of her husband.

For many of us, our reaction was “welcome to the party, hon.”

Being a deeply religious woman, this belief plagued Laura. Not only was George W. the son of Lucifer, she was certain that his closest advisors were the personifications of various greater and lesser demons, and identified each by name, finally revealing that Dick Cheney was – as we had long suspected – Beelzebub. After years of suffering the presence of this scourge to her faith, she decided she had to speak.

On a less metaphysical level, Laura also laid bare the disturbing, disgusting and hateful inner workings of the most secretive administration in history. She confirmed that her husband was, in fact, a highly-functioning moron who could barely read the simplest of sentences, much less understand them; a real-world Forrest Gump for the 21st century. In one delightfully ingenuous passage, she relates how W. came to her after the September 11th attacks to explain that he sat in that Florida classroom reading My Pet Goat not because he was frozen with indecision (as we all thought), but because he was stuck on the word “barnyard” and was trying to sound it out without moving his lips.

Of course, Laura tells us, she and George had known the attacks were coming that day; he had simply forgotten. Had it not been a prologue to more than seven years of the most destructive neo-fascism our country has ever seen, you could almost feel sorry for the poor dope.

Another anecdote relates how “Dubbie,” as Laura called him (we’re led to believe the nickname “Little George” was reserved for other uses), would frequently mistake her for his mother during his pre-Whitehouse coke-and-booze binges, and demand to nurse, reacting violently if she refused. Apparently Laura (who admits earlier in the book that she graduated from the University of Texas “on her back”) found this charming until the twins were born, at which point she explains “I often wished I had a third teat.”

This practice of literally wetnursing her husband continued throughout his two terms as president.

“After particularly stressful events, especially press conferences or television appearances, Dubbie would come nuzzling and there was only one way to relieve his tension,” wrote Laura. “Luckily, the Good Lord blessed me with an ample supply of milk. It’s sinful to say it, but I was almost grateful for the war in Iraq. George was never more at ease with himself and the world than he was when he was killing something.”

All of this was damaging enough, but the real destructive power of My Monstercomes near the end of the book. In the final chapters, Laura Bush reveals that the relationship between George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Karl Rove, Alberto Gonzales, Donald Rumsfeld and the rest of the “Cabal of the Anti-Christ” was much more intimate than anyone had ever imagined, or wanted to imagine. She tells how Bush and the greater and lesser demons would gather at various locations – the Crawford ranch, Cheney’s hunting lodge, the Bush family home in Kennebunkport – for sadomasochistic homosexual orgies, or “rituals,” as Laura refers to them.

It was arriving unannounced at one of these rituals that was the final straw for Laura Bush. She describes in detail making a surprise stop at Crawford with the twins in tow, only to discover a secret door left ajar into a basement room she didn’t know existed. Curious, the three Bush women walked through the door to find a blood-chilling tableau: George W. Bush, the President of the United States and Laura’s husband, wearing Laura’s wedding dress, on his back, crying out in a ludicrous falsetto while being sodomized by a naked, sweaty, corpulent Dick Cheney.

At the other end of the room, Alberto Gonzales – dressed as Sailor Moon – was on all fours tossing Karl Rove’s salad and fucking himself with a dildo molded to look like the Virgin Mary.

While passages like this sent Laura’s book immediately to the top of the sales charts in porn shops all around the country (and inspired the “Gonzales Moon” ball recently held in San Francisco), it wasn’t quite so popular with the President’s “base.”

These were people who claimed not just to hold and cherish, but to virtuallyown Christian Family Values. The graft and corruption? Childsplay. Being complicit in the 9/11 attacks? A necessary step in the War on Terror. Drugs, booze, nursing at the age of 61? Personality quirks. Possibly being the Antichrist? Well, that just makes him an agent of the Lord bringing the End Times ever closer.

But deviant sex with a man? That was something that couldn’t be tolerated.

The book was printed secretly in France, and delivered unmarked to bookstores in the middle of the night. It was also released on the internet, and an immediate firestorm of righteous Republican vengeance was unleashed.

Predictably, Laura Bush was immediately assassinated, though we were told at the time it was “pulmonary failure.” Using the provisions of his own Executive Orders Bush declared martial law, collected every copy of the book that could be found for destruction, instituted the renditions and disappearances mentioned earlier, and crippled three of the internet “backbone” servers to keep the public from reading Laura’s act of contrition.

But it was too late. After 7 weeks of near anarchy, a joint task force made up of Navy SEALs, Marine Recon fire teams, Green Berets and embittered Log Cabin Republicans stormed the Whitehouse (where Bush and his Cabal had been holed up since the first publication), killing several dozen Secret Service agents.

Alberto Gonzales tried to escape through the President’s evacuation tunnel that leads out of the Whitehouse, but was caught and skinned alive by a group of angry Larry Craig supporters. Bush, Cheney & Rove barricaded themselves in the Oval Office. The standoff lasted for ten days with Colin Powell and Henry Kissinger trying to cajole the three Hellspawn into surrendering, but it was not to be.

A gunshot was heard within the Oval Office, and the SEAL demolition team blew the heavily-armored door. The smell of rotting flesh was powerful. Behind the desk, Cheney held the naked body of George W. Bush, who he had apparently just shot through the head. Cheney growled, “go fuck yourself,” to the assembled soldiers and took his own life.

It was apparent that Rove had been dead for days. Bush and Cheney had been peeling off strips of his flesh and eating them to survive.
In accordance with the Constitution, Nancy Pelosi became the first female president in history, but only for a few weeks. The power-mad Pelosi, whose grasp on reality was tenuous at best, snapped completely when handed the reins, and ordered that martial law continue. This lasted until she had Condoleeza Rice’s head mounted on a gigantic, sharpened steel penis statue at one end of the reflecting pool after which many of the same Marines, SEALs and Green Berets gathered to remove her from office in much the same way.

Actually involved in their own political system for the first time in living memory, the American people – disgusted with the complete lack of viable candidates on both sides – elected Al Gore as the nation’s first write-in president. Gore was so reticent to accept the job he had to be physically extradited from Geneva (yes, by the same SEALs, Green Berets and Marines), cementing, in most people’s minds, the notion that he was the right man for the job.

How he’ll do as we move into 2009 remains to be seen, but after the last eight years, there’s nowhere to go but up.


Whatcha think?

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Often it does seem a pity that Noah and his party did not miss the boat. — Mark Twain