Sunday, November 05, 2006

The Sword Of Justice Has No Scabbard

White House spokesman Tony Snow said that today is a “good day.” That’s the understatement of the year, Mr. Snow. Today is a magnificent day. You know why? I’ll give you a hint: It involves Saddam Hussein.

Earlier, Saddam was sentenced to death by hanging for his role in the execution of 148 innocent Shiite Muslims in 1982. After a mandatory process in which nine judges examine the trial proceedings, and (hopefully) uphold the verdict, The Butcher of Baghdad will be swinging from the gallows in just one month’s time. He demanded a firing squad carry out the sentence, but I suppose he’s no longer in a position to make such requests.

But that’s not why it’s such a great day.

Iraqis took to the streets, cheering and celebrating that after a quarter of a century, justice has finally been handed down to their oppressive, tyrannical tormentor. One Iraqi citizen was quoted as saying that this is an “unprecedented feeling of happiness…nothing matches it, no festival nor marriage nor birth.”

But that’s still not why it’s such a great day.

You want to know why I, and so many Americans like me should also be taking to the streets shouting in absolute jubilation? Why I will be going to work tomorrow humming the Battle Hymn of the Republic under my breath? Why I have AC-DC’s Thunderstruck playing on repeat at an ungodly earsplitting volume at 10:45 in the AM?

Because this verdict, and the subsequent neck-stretching of one of history’s most contemptible monsters is 100% proof positive justification for every action taken by the current administration.

In other words, it means that George Bush was right.

And if he’s right about Saddam, and right about Iraq, he must be right about the War on Terror.

So take that, all you flag-burning, unwashed neo-communist peaceniks, you ignorant, loud-mouthed, trust-funded NYU protestors, you unqualified, self-righteous vapid tinsel-town celebrities -- and that means you Barbra Streisand, Tim Robbins (and your decrepit ancient lover Susan Sarandon), the Dixie Chicks andMichael Moore and every other script-reading, two-bit minstrel and publicity hound who dared speak out on a topic beyond your comprehension. Especially you Cindy Sheehan.

You take the knowledge that you were flat-out wrong, jam it down your throat, and swallow it like the bitter pill that it is. Swallow it and wash it down with a cold, frosty pint of Shut The Fuck Up and then sit there and watch the majesty of Justice unfold.

You’ve been Thunderstruck, motherfucker.