Mr. Tall and Mr. Small
by Greg Palast
Our President told the debate audience, “You cannot lead if you send mexxed missiges.” I certainly hope not.
But that’s exactly what we got. You watch our President, the nervous hand-hiding, the compulsive water-glass-fondling, the panicked I-wish-I-had-a-whiskey look, and you think, “My god, this is the guy who’s supposed to save us from al Qaeda.”
And how are we going to win the War on Terror, Mr. President? “First of all, of course I know Osama bin Laden attacked us. I know that,” he said. Well, that’s a start, I suppose.
But it doesn’t have to stay this way. This is America, home of the brave and where, I remember from school, we could vote for president and the votes would count. So we looked to the tall man next to him to show us the way out.
In Iraq, “We don’t have enough troops there,” said the tall one. Really, Senator? We should send MORE? Not exactly: Mr. Tall’s got a plan to get our troops out. He’ll have a big meeting of “allies,” and after he talks with them, they will all jump up and volunteer to send THEIR kids to Fallujah. France and Indonesia and Kuwait can’t wait to ship in soldiers and extra body bags. Right. We love you, John, but there’s no band of Hobbits coming to the rescue — that’s just a movie.