Lesbians and Zombies at Sunrise:

Mary Cheney, Vice President Dick Cheney's daughter, is a lesbian. She munches carpet, she dives into muffs, she's a dyke, whose preferred method of sexual pleasure is, more than likely, having her partner manipulate the Vice President's daughter's clitoris with her tongue. Mary Cheney may like to have her partner wear a stap-on and fuck her from behind. She may enjoy rim jobs, sixty-nines, and finger fucking. But one thing is sure: Mary Cheney does not like cock. In her sexual palate, cock doesn't even register. She does, however, love pussy. She loves to stick her fingers and tongue into pussies. Because she is, as mentioned before, a lesbian. And she is a lesbian, an open one, because that's what she is. So when John Kerry, at last night's "debate," invoked Mary Cheney when answering a question about whether or not homosexuality is a choice, he was stating a fact. Dick Cheney mentioned her in a "town hall" meeting a few weeks ago. No doubt Kerry was trying to score political points by using Mary Cheney to throw doubt into some of the homophobic faithful in the Republican party. Just as it's no doubt that Dick Cheney was trying to humanize his satanic self when he brought up his daughter.



But here comes Lynne Cheney, wife of the devil, using Kerry's line as proof that Kerry "is not a good man." Perhaps Kerry would have gone too far if he had said, "Now I want all of you to picture Mary Cheney, legs tied to bed posts as her butch lover eats her out like a mongrel with a steak. That is not a choice. That is who she is." Oh, how the vindictive cunts on Fox "News" morning show were ballistic over Kerry. But why is it okay for the President to invoke the sad story of an Iraq war widow who spoke to him (as he did in the first debate) and that's not seen as exploitation or beyond the pale, as many on the right believe about Kerry's mention of Mary Cheney? Why can Bush constantly invoke the dead from 9/11? What does Bush have to do? Does he have to do a puppet show with the skulls of American soldiers before he's called to account for his regular shitting upon the memory of the dead and the mourning?



Last night's debate was diffuse and fairly uninteresting for much of the time. The zombie corpse of Bob Schieffer may as well have gotten up and given each man a grandpa Bobby hug for all the real challenges he posed. And, c'mon, what the fuck is the deal with asking no questions about the environment or education but asking them a question about how much they love their wives and daughters? What's more important - Bush rambling on about his love of Jesus or a real discussion about clean air and water? Bob Schieffer was more concerned about getting home in time for his nightly feeding on the brains of the living than he was in eliciting real answers to real questions.



Bush came across last night as deeply, horribly disturbed. A madman who can't control his emotions - he's smiling when Kerry is talking about job loss - and who loses his cool when confronted with facts that oppose him. Christ, the Rude Pundit was waiting for Bush to take off his shoe and start beating the lectern with it. He wouldn't have been surprised if Bush had tossed his own shit at the camera and leapt around like a baboon, screaming, "Look at my proud, red ass." When he was asked about job outsourcing and what he would tell an unemployed worker, Bush said he was going to fix public education, which, you know, really helps the white collar tech guy whose job is now done in India and who is working for Wendy's, hoping that he'll be able to bring home the leftover fries to his kids. When he was asked if he wanted to overturn Roe v. Wade, he said he wouldn't have a litmus test for judges. And then he talked about the backyard barbecue where he met his wife, when he "bopped on over there" to her. Now, do you think Bush was sober at that barbecue when he was boppin'?



Holy fuck, what else does America need to see? Where's the line? For four and a half hours, we've finally, at long last, gotten a look at this man we didn't elect President last time (wasn't it wonderfully uncomfortable when Bush said the nation was divided in 2000 and then quickly blamed the 1990s for it? Hmmm, wonder which party made the 1990s so divided?). We saw the petty tyrant railing and screeching, unable to make a rational point without beating his chest and grabbing his balls. It's over, innit? At some point, isn't the illusion over? Christ alfuckingmighty, the gut fear here is that so many Americans are so blinded by the asbestos dust of the twin towers that they can't see beyond the changed skyline of Manhattan.



For three nights, America had a chance to witness the empty space occupying the Presidency, the black hole that has sucked us dry, the vortex that wants to drag us all down into the darkness. At the end of the debate, Bush invoked an Oval Office painting that directs the viewer to the coming light, but it's just oil and pigment on a canvas. Just then Bush offered America a vision of fake light, a false sunrise, an isolated picture of dawn. He would rather an image than the reality of daylight.