GEORGE BUSH HAS CERTAINLY BEEN WORKED on his vacation. In the hundred degree heat of Crawford Texas, his image succumbed to the heat stroke of genius. Cindy Sheehan need ask not question of the President of the United States. Her presence and his silence are indictment enough. His crime is not caring.
THE THEME OF THE BOY WHO HAS It ALL, but who doesn’t care has been around for centuries. In the past is the story of the Prodigal Son. Now we have the formerly Wasted Son laying waste to our present and to our future. Resourceful writers formerly bullied may look at the beast that is Bush in a new light. Some areas worth examination: Fly boy who blew away from Air Force National Guard duty; Son with little energy who makes it big with no money down in energy business; Non player with no money makes mint on baseball team; and that is just a start.
IT MAY NOT BE A CRIME that George Bush is a more fortunate son than others, but it might be a sin when he just doesn’t care.

TODAY’S WRITERS IN THE FORTUNATE SON SALON AUGUST 29, 2005
[AMANDA MARCOTTE] [SHAKESPEARE’S SISTER] [SISTER AT EZRA KLEIN] [THE HERETIK]
Some folks are born made to wave the flag,
Ooh, they’re red, white and blue.
And when the band plays hail to the chief,
Ooh, they point the cannon at you, lord,
It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no senator’s son, son.
It ain’t me, it ain’t me; I ain’t no fortunate one, no,
Yeah!
Some folks are born silver spoon in hand,
Lord, don’t they help themselves, oh.
But when the taxman comes to the door,
Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale, yes,
It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no millionaire’s son, no.
It ain’t me, it ain’t me; I ain’t no fortunate one, no.
Some folks inherit star spangled eyes,
Ooh, they send you down to war, lord,
And when you ask them, how much should we give?
Ooh, they only answer more! more! more! yoh,
It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no military son, son.
It ain’t me, it ain’t me; I ain’t no fortunate one, one.
It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate one, no no no,
It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate son, no no no,
“Fortunate Son”
John Fogerty
Hard to leave a comment. That song says it all. I will say upon reading this post, I put the song on and rocked out around the house to it.
A commenter on my blog pointed out that Bush was actually a family connection from being President to being a name on the Vietnam Memorial. Astute observation.
Posted by: Amanda | August 28, 2005 at 08:53 PM
I posted this early in the week. It make a lie out of my blogs name. These pictures have more power than the words of George Bush and Donald Rumsfeld.
http://whpsocal.blogspot.com/2005/08/all-for-lie.html
Posted by: Words Have Power | August 28, 2005 at 10:49 PM
This is a great song.
And beautifully appropriate and descriptive of America today
Posted by: Aaron | August 28, 2005 at 11:17 PM
Ezra's written something, too, which you might want to add to the round-up, and I think Amanda has a follow-up.
Posted by: Shakespeare's Sister | August 29, 2005 at 08:13 AM
I actually posted my Military Service "Isn't For Our Kind of People" post last Tuesday. And yes, the title comes from something a affluent, flag-waving patriotic mom said to a recruiter.
Posted by: ol cranky | August 29, 2005 at 08:52 AM
Long as I remember, the rain been coming down.
Clouds of myst'ry pouring Confusion on the ground.
Good men through the ages, trying to find the sun;
And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain.
I went down Virginia, seeking shelter from the storm.
Caught up in the fable, I watched the tower grow.
Five year plans and new deals, wrapped in golden chains.
And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain.
Heard the singers playing, How we cheered for more.
The crowd had rushed together, trying to keep warm.
Still the rain kept pouring, falling on my ears.
And I wonder, still I wonder who'll stop the rain.
-CCR
Posted by: The Un-Apologetic Atheist | August 29, 2005 at 01:23 PM
You're a braver woman than I it was weeks before I could even begin to think about looking at the incisions from my lap. Even now I don't like to touch them.
They're...squishy.
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It is a pity that we have to suffer and fight for the rich battle and we have to loose family and friend when they are in their huge chair looking and reading about the war.
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