A Day at the Ranchlette

The chickenshit rooster at the top of the Repugnican dung heap, normally crowing about his "hard work 'complishments", is in hiding, afraid of a 90-pound middle-aged mother who is camped out in a drainage ditch on Prairie Chapel Road near Crawford, Texas.

Mr All-Hat-and-No-Cattle did manage to trot himself out for some more of those now-tedious brush-clearing photo ops -- we know that's "hard work", Baby Doc, we don't need to keep seeing it -- but he ignored Cindy Sheehan and the rest of the protesters.

Easy enough to do if they're being kept five miles away from you. I could safely ignore the hordes of Ghengis Khan, the Hashshashin of the Crusades, even the nightstalking vampire-ghouls from The Omega Man, if they were being restrained at gunpoint five miles away from me.

And how much fucking brush is there at the ranchlette, if even a barely-functioning moron has to take that many vacations to clear it? I've been to Texas, and I know that brush just doesn't grow that fast.

I think they are trucking it in. Under cover of darkness, a long convoy of Texas Agricultural Commission Humvees -- the kind with all the armor, the kind we are not sending to Iraq -- rumbles in from Crawford and McGregor and east, west, south and north of there with loads of brush. Texas Air National Guard troops -- god forbid they should have to go to Iraq -- quickly and efficiently unload the brush and jam it into pre-drilled holes in the sunbaked dirt of the Bush Ranchlette.

Come sunup the convoys are gone and Baby Doc can swagger out with that patented hard-work-smirk and pretend to clear the brush. Hard work. Hard work.

And he even has the goddam balls to call it a ranch! Last I heard, a ranch was, according to the dictionary, "An extensive farm, especially in the western United States, on which large herds of cattle, sheep, or horses are raised."

All hat, no cattle: Pretty much sums it up.

BTW, that used to be a pejorative term down in Texas, but Baby Doc is probably proud of it.