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I Hate It Here
It might be too much to expect that the various rumblings of discontent that have begun to stir down below the City's towers are the harbingers of real and actual change. In fact, it probably is too much to expect; of such grand and cheery forecasts are that bitch hope made, and of her presence and then passing is the full squalor of life made plain. Still. Still. There are times when you can stand on the balcony high above the fust and fuckery and pull it all into your nose - at least, you can if, like me, you have a genetically-engineered politics titration shitfilter inside your left nostril with the upgraded CrapReader option(tm) - and blink in pleased surprise.
Today might have been one of those days.
We have an organ of our government somewhere just abaft the beam of the anus known as the Supreme Court. It squats like a boil on the butt of the Executive Branch, to hear King George tell it despite his best efforts to pack it with his own favorite brand of pus. It sneers at the best efforts of the Congress to scratch the itch that it represents. Sometimes it disrupts a good long day of absolutely nothing with a furious itching; sometimes it spends whole months quiescent.
Today it snorted, belched, scratched itself, and vomited forth An Opinion In Twenty-SevenTeen Parts. An opinion on the matter of Hamdan v. Rumsfeld - to wit, on the legality of the current administration's plans for and handling of those people held in Guantanamo Bay's 'Camp X-Ray', somewhat uncomfortably known as 'detainees.'
The SCOTUS has decided that King George does not have the dizzying powers of making up a legal system out of whole cloth because We Is At War after all, and that in fact Congress (and the legal code they wrote) and the treaties the U.S. has signed do in fact apply to the treatment of those interned there. Huzzah! What, Spider, does this fucking mean and why should I raise my nose above my powdered Swedish baby doused in Elk milk to listen to your brazen rantings?
Hush then and allow Spider to explain.
Yes, you like it when told what to do.
See, this is a chance, no more, but a chance nonetheless for the beginning of rollback of all manner of anti-American fuckery that the current administration has been foisting on the populace in a stream of Executive Washroom Sewage for the past five years. Public opinion of Congress (both sides) and the President are stalled somewhere south of a worm's gelid asshole, and while that would in fact be an aesthetic improvement for many of them up there in D.C., the very innocence of such an orifice would provide them with an unacceptable 'do-over' mien.
Couple this with the it-is-a-surprise-to-no-one fact that not only does Mr. Limbaugh dabble in illegal pharmaceuticals but that said pills are for his misbehaving weewee, and perhaps the night air does not smell quite as foul as usual.
Still, Mister President, still. We have bowel disruptors. And you are just completely full of shit.
I'm Spider Jerusalem, and I Hate It Here.