a toast to george will at freddy's bar

I'm still waiting for your epistle on what Acorn has to do with this, neocon stooge.

Raze Freddie's POS bar to the f-in ground. Pour dioxin into the dirt so nothing can ever grow there again.

As a matter of fact, I feel great.

You should have conceded defeat a long time ago. Glad that you were man enough to do so at long last.

Piss off to nethermead Timmy.

You're obviously troubled by this new information that Republicans are not heroes and that Reagan was an uber-wuss.

I know it turns your whole slavish world-view upside down, but Reagan was a wimp who never smelled smoke. Later, he sold weapons to terrorists.

Crawl to that reality and you'll feel better little boy.

Timmy:

Contemplate this:

The unpurged images of day recede;
The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed;
Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song
After great cathedral gong;
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains
All that man is,
All mere complexities,
The fury and the mire of human veins.


Before me floats an image, man or shade,
Shade more than man, more image than a shade;
For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth
May unwind the winding path;
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath
Breathless mouths may summon;
I hail the superhuman;
I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.


Miracle, bird or golden handiwork,
More miracle than bird or handiwork,
Planted on the starlit golden bough,
Can like the cocks of Hades crow,
Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud
In glory of changeless metal
Common bird or petal
And all complexities of mire or blood.


At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.


Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood,
Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood,
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity,
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget,
That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.

And tell the embarassing proprietor of the bar in question that he needs to learn Irish Poetry instead of watching Fox news.

More like the John Birch Society toasts an extremist right-winger, as far as I can tell. If the "far left" is on board with people who make a joke of Iraq and vilify Acorn as worse than Al Qaeda, I would be surprised.

We agree on that at least, Timmy.