Sunday, December 12, 2004

The Chickenhawk's playing dress-up again

Sometimes Maureen Dowd is too snarky for words -- but occasionally she hits one out of the park.

The president loves dressing up to play soldier. To rally Camp Pendleton marines facing extended deployments in Iraq, he got gussied up in an Ike D-Day-style jacket, with epaulets and a big presidential seal on one lapel and his name and "Commander in Chief" on the other.

When he really had a chance to put on a uniform and go someplace where the enemy was invisible and there was no exit strategy and our government was not leveling with us about how bad it was, W. wasn't so high on the idea. But now that it's just a masquerade - giving a morale boost to troops heading off someplace where the enemy's invisible and there's no exit strategy and the government's not leveling with us about how bad it is - hey, man, it's cool.

Digby puts this disgusting display in the proper context here.

I got so pissed off at that little photo op, I could have kicked Bush's worthless ass until his nose bled. The nerve of that little chickenhawk -- strutting around in his damn custom-tailored playsuit in front of real soldiers who are about to put their lives on the line (and for what? I might add).

What makes this display of chickenhawk machismo even more sickening is the news that a pilot from my hometown was killed near Mosul earlier this week. I didn't know him, but according to the newspaper, he is survived by a wife and three small children.

DAMN George Bush. I hope he rots in hell.


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