09/11/2005: Compare and Contrast...
… The *almost president* we COULD have had: Former Vice President Al Gore's heroic efforts:
Gore airlifts victims from New Orleans:
"…On September 1, three days after Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast, Simon learned that Dr. David Kline, a neurosurgeon who operated on Gore's son, Albert, after a life-threatening auto accident in 1989, was trying to get in touch with Gore. Kline was stranded with patients at Charity Hospital in New Orleans.
"The situation was dire and becoming worse by the minute -- food and water running out, no power, 4 feet of water surrounding the hospital and ... corpses outside," Simon wrote.
Gore responded immediately, telephoning Kline and agreeing to underwrite the $50,000 each for the two flights, although Larry Flax, founder of California Pizza Kitchens, later pledged to pay for one of them.
"None of the airlines involved required a contract or any written guarantee of payment before sending their planes and volunteer crews," Simon wrote of the American Airlines flights. "One official said if Gore promised to pay, that was good enough for them."
He also recruited two doctors, Spickard and Gore's cousin, retired Col. Dar LaFon, a specialist in internal medicine who once ran the military hospital in Baghdad.
Most critically, Gore worked to cut through government red tape, personally calling Gov. Phil Bredesen to get Tennessee's support and U.S. Transportation Secretary Norm Mineta to secure landing rights in New Orleans.
About 140 people, many of them sick, landed in Knoxville on September 3. The second flight, with 130 evacuees, landed the next day in Chattanooga.
And this commentary on the Child-in-Chief we do have.
Click on the “more” button to read an excerpt from another Driftglass commentary. Driftglass is just so evocative of the despair and unmitigated anger so many of us feel at the failure of our hopes, prayer, wishes, dreams - that our country wouldn’t be left with this Child-in-Chief sham of a Feckless Leader. And it’s this ability to channel into word-images that which is reflective of our internal anguish and shuddering loss of hope - if we could but give these feelings the freedom to speak as they would about the pigeons of this false leader's incompetence, cronyism, blunders, irresponsibility, indecisiveness, callouness, ineffectiveness, arrogance, indifference, smugness and fallibility that finally came home to roost in NOLA.
Wakey-Wakey; by Driftglass:
"…I’ve-plunged-down-from-orbit-into-a-pit-of-my-own-hurl-and-effluvium morning. The suddenly bolt upright in terror in a strange city, in a stranger’s musty, stale-gin bedroom at 10:00 a.m. and I've missed my flight and what is that rash morning. The what-am-I-sleeping-in-that-my-toes-are-squishy morning.
The departure of Michael “The Horse Litigator” Brown from his resume buffing, frat-boy-storage-unit sinecure at FEMA means that a genuine storm has caught the Bush White House at anchor in a shallow harbor, and the cannon have started to break loose and crash around the deck.
And all so preventable.
For example, the rest of us out here in the real world looked on in a particular kind of horrified fascination as Fredo was elevated by the GOP, not to merely the status of stong leader, but to Sun King.
Dear Leader was Infallable. 100% mistake-free. Never a discouraging word spoken of Dubya the Wise. Dubya the Sage.
A man who has been a conspicuously wretched human being his entire life. The kind of mean stupid drunk who would shove a lit M-80 up a cat’s ass and then throw it though a box fan just to see which’d kill it quicker.
And then giggle.
A stumblefuck perfectly suited for the role of the Supervillains’s retarded sidekick, holding the bank vault door open for his pal Dick while Cheney loots the place and holds Dubya’s meager and meandering attention by telling him about the Rabbits.
(One can only imagine the scene at the White House as Cheney stomping back to D.C. to deal with the consequences of leaving George unminded and undiapered for weeks.
George doing a little gotta-pee dance, nervous that Dick might fire him or something.
"I can still tend the rabbits, Dick?")
For five long and ruinous years, Dubya has held the Cult of Reagan Party in a kind of trance that has been both tragic and morbidly riveting to watch. Millions of fat-assed, blue-nosed American Fundamentalists who expend every waking breath endlessly hectoring the rest of the human race on their moral failing on every subject large and small...and yet find Dubya as sinless as Sweet Baby Jesus. Moral turncoats who cower behind Calvary, defiling Christ and handing our free bareback blowjobs to every Republican Hypocrite and Pharisee...while they lob the every stone in the Old Testament at “the least of these”.
Men of God who excoriated Clinton for every one-pixel-wide detail of his life, and yet who (as I have said before) could catch Dubya throwing flaming kittens at homeless veterans on the White House lawn and find a way to call it Strong Leadership in troubled times.
Which all works fabulously well as long circumstances never force Dear Leader to admit he has made a mistake...because then things start to fall apart, and for the same reason that that Christopaths never admit to scriptural error: because if there is one, there may be two. And if two, why not many?
Which might lead to too many rocks being looked under by too many people who aren’t loyal to the Cult.
The problem being, when the whole sad circus depends on the absolute infallibility of Dear Leader, and Dear Leader compliments Brownie on the “heckuva job he was doing” ( which could only be considered true if his job – his whole job – was to successfully facilitate fucking NOLA back into the middle of the 16h century by the liquidation or exile of its entire population) and then Dear Leader has to sack his boy before the week is out behind his catastrophic, serial and lethal failures...the infallibility shield is breached and who knows what kind of impertinent questions the rabble might ask of Dear Leader?!..."
Karen on 09.11.05 @ 03:51 PM CST