It's time to party.
As the families of bomb-flattened Fallujah huddle in make-shift refugee
camps, drinking from sewage-filled streams, Iraqi policy mastermind Paul
Wolfowitz fastens the last stud into his starched collar.
As the Iraq Survey Group ends its search for WMD, concluding that there
was
no imminent mushroom cloud or even a smoking gun, Condi Rice draws
herself a
hot bath.
As Sgt. Kevin Benderman, an Army mechanic with nine years of service,
refuses a second deployment to Iraq, saying, "You just don't know how
bad it
is," Colin Powell pours himself a drink.
As Specialist Charles A. Graner, miscreant and major-domo of Abu Ghraib,
shuffles off to prison, Donald Rumsfeld straightens the black tie of his
tux.
As the 9/11 widow tucks her children into bed, wondering why the
recommendations made in "The 9/11 Commission Report" weren't
implemented,
Tom Ridge tightens his cummerbund.
As prisoners charged with no crimes, and given no recourse, languish in
the
hellhole of Guantanamo Bay, torture apologist Alberto Gonzales clicks
his
cufflinks into place.
As Dan Rather retires in disgrace over forged documents, former CIA
Director
George Tenet, proponent of forged documents about Iraq's nonexistent
nuclear
program, adjusts the Medal of Freedom around his neck.
As the working mother in Chicago wonders how to keep her child from
being
left behind now that her special-ed program has been cut, Armstrong
Williams
polishes his shoes.
As Valerie Plame walks away from a distinguished career as a CIA
"operative," destroyed when her identity was revealed by columnist
Robert
Novak, Mr. Novak walks to his limo.
As Osama bin Laden chuckles in his cave to see America's fortunes sink
in
the morass of Iraq and as fresh recruits to his cause multiply like
flies,
Dick Cheney pops the cork on a bottle of Dom Perignon.
As America's trade gap surges and the red ink in the national debt
bleeds to
a record level, Treasury Secretary Paul Snow finishes shaving and dabs
at a
spot of blood on his chin.
As the Republican Congress gets ready to underfund everything from Head
Start to veterans' benefits, Speaker Dennis Hastert checks his profile
in
the mirror.
As Pfc. Francis Obaji, oldest son of an immigrant Nigerian family, is
zipped
into a body bag for the sad journey home, Laura Bush zips up her Oscar
de la
Renta gown.
And as his corporate pals slide their millions across the table to dance
at
his ball, forgetting for a moment the bottom line that forces them to
ship
jobs overseas, George W. Bush pulls on his snakeskin boots.
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