September 17, 2008
Port-a-potties, pissants, and politicians
Originally published January 8, 2002
Monday was a pretty shitty day except for two things: the "Service Engine Soon" light went out on my truck about halfway to work that morning, and it has not come on again, and when I arrived home, someone had come and removed the Port-A-Potty that had been in my front yard since I bought my house more than two months ago. Since I have NOT serviced my truck engine, I can only assume that the light is no longer nagging me because either the problem healed itself or the bulb burned out. Whatever happened, I'm delighted that it did. But I'm having ambivalent feelings about the missing Port-A-Potty. Hell, I had the only THREE BATHROOM HOME in the neighborhood as long as it was there. Besides, I had an easy time giving directions to my friends when they couldn't find my house-- "Turn right, go about 100 yards down the street, and look for the shitter in the front yard. THAT'S WHERE I LIVE!." I believe I am going to miss that thing.
While I was pumping my first cup of coffee down my throat this morning, CNN was engaged in one of those navel-examination grief-fests about the pitiful nerd who flew the plane into the high-rise bank in Tampa. They were busy interviewing teachers, classmates, the guys who picked up the family's garbage and anybody else they could find to repeat the same mantra, that the boy they all knew and loved would NEVER do a thing like that. He was so sweet. We never saw it coming. We can't believe it happened. BWAA-BWAA-BWAA!
I never knew the misguided little twit, so I'm not going to cry into a CNN microphone about him. But I know exactly what I thought when I saw the first pictures of that airplane hanging off the side of that building like a bug stuck in a roach motel. I thought of Wile E. Coyote and another one of his mail-order, Acme, Inc. devices guaranteed to finally catch the Road Runner. The only thing missing was the sound effect of "ziiiiiiiiing......BOOM!" as the coyote falls to the pavement, breaks into small pieces, then reassembles himself and goes back to his Acme catalogue for a better idea.
I fully understand what a lonely and spooky place your very own head can be when you are incredibly upset and see no light at the end of the tunnel of pain you're travelling down. I can understand the desire to end it all. But if you decide to take that ultimate step and are determined to do it gloriously in a 9-11 copycat scheme, AT LEAST HAVE A BRAIN IN YOUR HEAD WHEN YOU PLAN IT!! That pathetic dolt probably intended to make a spectacular crash into a tall building, take as many innocent souls as he could along with him on his demented journey to glory, and end up pushing the Columbine Killers off the front cover of Time Magazine as the MANIAC OF THEM ALL!! Instead, he stuck his plane through a window so that it hung there like a bug in a roach motel. He didn't even manage to start a fire. The poor bastard couldn't have fucked the whole thing up any worse if he had tried, except by maybe living through it.
Can you imagine that? What would he say to CNN? "BWAA, BWAA, BWAA?!!"
I also saw another reference to President Caligula, Bill Clinton, regretting that he never had a "defining moment" in his presidency the way George Bush does with his war on terrorism. I have news for you, Bill: IF YOU HAD BEEN PRESENTED WITH A "DEFINING MOMENT," YOU WOULD HAVE FUCKED IT UP, just the way you did the rest of your presidency. You would have agonized over details while never making a decision. You would have tried to micromanage while dodging responsibility. You would have waited on opinion polls to tell you what to do, because you always wanted to be loved a lot more than you wanted to be respected, and even after reviewing the poll results you would have waffled, delayed and parleyed rather than actually DO SOMETHING. The only thing you were ever good at was getting elected to offices you didn't deserve and screwing a lot of women, which is the real reason you wanted to be elected in the first place. It was a good way to pick up chicks.
Jimmy Carter was once governor of my state before he went on to become a really rotten president. I never voted for him as governor nor president, but I never disliked the man as a person. I believe he meant well, but he was a perfect example of the Peter Principle, and he actually achieved his level of incompetence when he was still governor. But he had a wide smile, lots of teeth, and he was anything but Richard Nixon. The much-ballyhooed "American People" fell for him, only to regret it later.
On the other hand, President Testosterone, you filled me with disgust the first time I saw you on the campaign trail. Not dislike, mind you, but DISGUST! And you went on for eight years to prove my gut instincts entirely correct. Thank God for blessing America with the good grace that you are not in charge when we need a true leader instead of a slick, professional politician. Take my advice: GO FUCK YOURSELF FOR A CHANGE. You've done it to everyone else. And who could possibly love you more than you do?
Whew, I feel better after that....
All content © Rob Smith