2.16.2006
I don't know why she swallowed a fly. Perhaps she'll die.
So Cheney poured the fragments of his heart out to Brit Hume on Fox News last night...
And what an experience! Cheney utters the classic distancing statements. "I fired and there's Harry falling," he says. The shooting and the falling are simultaneous, disconnected events. You can supply your own assumptions about cause and effect - or not, if you're Brit Hume. But Cheney won't make that leap and bring himself to say, "I shot Harry."
And what about that "shooting"? Well, first off, Cheney's not the shooter. "The guy who" substitutes in for our vice president before any of the action occurs. And get this straight: the-guy-who is our Vice President doesn't actually "shoot" his friend. The-guy-who just "pulled the trigger that fired the round." Then the round hit Harry.
So I guess Cheney - I mean the-guy-who - doesn't actually shoot people. Cheney pulls the $8,000 28 guage shotgun trigger. The trigger fires rounds, and the rounds hit people.
And when the rounds hit people the people fall and make a lovely recurring image in Cheney's mind. One might call it a "flashback"? You might want to see a therapist for that PTSD, Dick. Or Oprah. I hear she did wonders for James Frey.
Ahhh, the terrible emotional toll of hunting accidents. Let us all shed a tear for the traumatizing experience the-guy-who is Dick Cheney must have had. And don't forget the shotgun round! The shotgun round actually performed the hitting of Harry. Poor, poor shotgun round hitting Harry.
You know what I'm thinking? The-guy-who is a big fucking pussy. Cheney's a real man. A-real-man-who uttered an order. The order made an Army move lots of troops to Iraq. Then thousands of people had their own worst days, day after day. Some of them have pictures in their heads too, that won't go away.
But the-guy-who gets involved in a stupid hunting accident with an $8,000 shotgun on a millionnaires ranch, and suddenly finds himself with an image of a man falling down coming up again and again like the waking nightmare of his last remnant of human concern.
In other news, its a gorgeous day. O-lo showed up last night, she's taking her USMLE part XXVILC-b3 right now. Hope she knocks em dead... errr, I mean correctly diagnoses all her patients in perfect English with a compassionate but professional bedside manner. We had a funny discussion of professional patients last night -they're sort of the nude models of the medical world. They get so good at knowing what it feels like when you probe their ovaries/prostate gland/whatever correctly that they will guide your hands and give you encouragement when you finally perform a rectal exam correctly. Ewww. Reminds me of Millie the talking cow in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe.
The lefties are calling MARTA racist - and I guess they've got it wrong - its the suburban counties that refuse to participate in MARTA that are racist. I have to say, I love MARTA. Why? Let me count the ways...
1. They're reliable and one of the few community public spaces in this historically torn apart, conservative, compartmentalized city.
2. Every passenger thanks the bus driver as they get off the bus - and occasionally the driver will respond with something like, 'have a blessed day."
3. When Rosa Parks died, every MARTA bus put 'Thank you Mrs. Rosa Parks' on the lighted marquee above the windshield'
4. They have polar bear and penguin shorts on the MARTA TV. Someday I dream of being a MARTA TV celebrity.
5. I can put my bike on the bus.
So the boy is sick and slightly feverish. He was very cute last night, all cold and needed a human blanket. The weather is absolutely gorgeous and I'm feeling spring feverish myself - warm weather demands some emotional release, and I feel like crying with relief.
Ciao,
Ms. Bling
Yes, this is how guns work. You fire, the other guy falls, you get really upset and feel bad. I guess Cheney never went to war, so this is his only experience in first-hand violence."I fired, and there's Harry falling. It was, I'd have to say, one of the worst days of my life at that moment."
"I'm the guy who pulled the trigger that fired the round that hit Harry."
"The image of him falling is something I'll never ever be able to get out of my mind,"
And what an experience! Cheney utters the classic distancing statements. "I fired and there's Harry falling," he says. The shooting and the falling are simultaneous, disconnected events. You can supply your own assumptions about cause and effect - or not, if you're Brit Hume. But Cheney won't make that leap and bring himself to say, "I shot Harry."
And what about that "shooting"? Well, first off, Cheney's not the shooter. "The guy who" substitutes in for our vice president before any of the action occurs. And get this straight: the-guy-who is our Vice President doesn't actually "shoot" his friend. The-guy-who just "pulled the trigger that fired the round." Then the round hit Harry.
So I guess Cheney - I mean the-guy-who - doesn't actually shoot people. Cheney pulls the $8,000 28 guage shotgun trigger. The trigger fires rounds, and the rounds hit people.
And when the rounds hit people the people fall and make a lovely recurring image in Cheney's mind. One might call it a "flashback"? You might want to see a therapist for that PTSD, Dick. Or Oprah. I hear she did wonders for James Frey.
Ahhh, the terrible emotional toll of hunting accidents. Let us all shed a tear for the traumatizing experience the-guy-who is Dick Cheney must have had. And don't forget the shotgun round! The shotgun round actually performed the hitting of Harry. Poor, poor shotgun round hitting Harry.
You know what I'm thinking? The-guy-who is a big fucking pussy. Cheney's a real man. A-real-man-who uttered an order. The order made an Army move lots of troops to Iraq. Then thousands of people had their own worst days, day after day. Some of them have pictures in their heads too, that won't go away.
But the-guy-who gets involved in a stupid hunting accident with an $8,000 shotgun on a millionnaires ranch, and suddenly finds himself with an image of a man falling down coming up again and again like the waking nightmare of his last remnant of human concern.
In other news, its a gorgeous day. O-lo showed up last night, she's taking her USMLE part XXVILC-b3 right now. Hope she knocks em dead... errr, I mean correctly diagnoses all her patients in perfect English with a compassionate but professional bedside manner. We had a funny discussion of professional patients last night -they're sort of the nude models of the medical world. They get so good at knowing what it feels like when you probe their ovaries/prostate gland/whatever correctly that they will guide your hands and give you encouragement when you finally perform a rectal exam correctly. Ewww. Reminds me of Millie the talking cow in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe.
The lefties are calling MARTA racist - and I guess they've got it wrong - its the suburban counties that refuse to participate in MARTA that are racist. I have to say, I love MARTA. Why? Let me count the ways...
1. They're reliable and one of the few community public spaces in this historically torn apart, conservative, compartmentalized city.
2. Every passenger thanks the bus driver as they get off the bus - and occasionally the driver will respond with something like, 'have a blessed day."
3. When Rosa Parks died, every MARTA bus put 'Thank you Mrs. Rosa Parks' on the lighted marquee above the windshield'
4. They have polar bear and penguin shorts on the MARTA TV. Someday I dream of being a MARTA TV celebrity.
5. I can put my bike on the bus.
So the boy is sick and slightly feverish. He was very cute last night, all cold and needed a human blanket. The weather is absolutely gorgeous and I'm feeling spring feverish myself - warm weather demands some emotional release, and I feel like crying with relief.
Ciao,
Ms. Bling
