Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Mikey Nails It (again)

Some night, in a few years, you’re going to be pacing the house, angry, scared, sweating, gripping saddam’s pistol in your hand, knowing the lies were lies and the lives were wasted.


You know these pains, Mr. President. You recognize the haunting guilt, the things you did, the things you could have done, the things you didn’t do. And every crime is so much greater in your case. You never held the line. You never fought to hold a perimeter, you never killed at eyeball range to keep from dying, to keep from losing your friends, to get one more goddam hour when you are nineteen years old and you just know you don’t fucking want to die.

Oh no. You owe the devil so much more. The lives you through (sic) into the grinder, american lives, iraqi lives, american families, iraqi families, widows, orphans, amputees, those that died quick and those that died hard and slow.


There are those who say only you know why. But you and I know the real truth, don’t we. That there is no why. You did it because you could, and you wanted to. You can never offer up a justification because you know that ultimately, there is none. All this blood. All this horror.

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