There’s one final myth about this President that the Rude Pundit would like to put to rest: George W. Bush is not a man you would want to have a beer with. No, not because if you saw him in a bar, you’d react like you had gone on the sex offender registry in Dallas and discovering that a guy who fucked babies in his basement was now living in the downstairs apartment. It’s that, despite any feints at finding him charming, he is not, in his soul, a kind or decent person.
[snip]
The Rude Pundit doesn’t drink with irredeemable dickheads, with self-righteous balls of fuck who think their very existence demands your respect and attention, with privileged cockmongers who can’t manage even a moment of self-awareness.
[snip]
Yet we can’t just bury this presidency alive in the cold, cold ground and have a picnic on the earth above it, joyously toasting as it screams and claws and tries to get free before it inhales dirt, gags, vomits, and dies horribly, not knowing why it deserved such an awful fate. No, alas, no.
Because the reason I will unreasonably hate this man, these men, these women, as human beings, and not just for ideologies and actions, is because neither I nor most of you will live to see the day that all their hurt is healed.
The snips are worth reading too, at the link above, but they were a little too civil for here, even by my standards… but by all means go read the whole thing.
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And I guess I’ve changed these past eight years … all I could see was how much in pain, raw pain, the rude pundit was, the language itself, no matter how crude, couldn’t express what he was feeling — yet somehow it came through anyway, especially in that last sentence.
Ach.
To me that wasn’t a rant — it was a purge.
… and here’s Meteor Blades’ GBCW.