As the BushCo. regime falls, how to hold the Press accountable?

[FlemingsGhost]

"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!"

The shindig is winding down, folks. The cops have arrived and the mad dash to the door has begun. Sure, the hardcore "party animals" still believe it to be the shank of the evening, but their ranks will soon be reduced to the lonely, and of course, the unconscious. The stench of delusion and desperation soaks the walls and carpet, and is beginning to stink up the joint.

If I'm not mistaken, isn't that a clique of news reporters stumbling out of the bathroom window, wearing lampshade chapeaus? Are they actually circling around to the front door, pens in hand, innocently inquiring about the night's debauchery and illegalities?

Ha! Not on my watch. I am these fools worst nightmare. I'm the nosy neighbor who was peaking from behind my bedroom curtains, all night long. Hell, I was one of the many who called the cops. I saw it all, and I wasn't alone. In fact, the entire block was suspicious to these unsavory characters the moment a large moving van backed over our flower beds, and they began assisting middle-aged, stocky, balding white men in Armani suits, with the task of unloading boxes marked: "State of Florida Election Commission." (The statue of Hermann Goering was just plain creepy.)

I expect the morning paper to have a detailed account of just what kind of sordid affairs have been going on at the big white house at the end of the lane. Too bad it won't be written as a first person account. Then again, considering just how much "Electric Kool-Aide" our local beat reporters polluted themselves with during this bender, I don't expect them to remember much. But I can insure that their hangovers will be of epic proportions.


I think first thing, at 7:30 AM, I'll fire up the chain saw and prune the dead wood from our property. The leaf blower should clean up the smaller debris nicely. Around 11:00, I'm having a little "get-together" of my own. A barbeque, dontcha' know. I plan to "party like it's 1999." Wanna come?