Democrats Call For Ousting of Gonzales

“The president has always had high respect for Attorney General Gonzales, and has always believed him the best man for the job,” said Snow, ignoring sarcastic reporter cries of “Arriba! Arriba! Ándale!” “Still, we recognize the possibility of impropriety in the office of the Attorney General and expect Attorney General Gonzales to account for the actions of his staff. In short, Gonzales’ got some ‘splainin’ to do!”

Snow’s alleged joke was met with some boos and not a single trace of laughter.

Also not laughing are representatives of the Democratic leadership in Congress, many of whom are calling for Gonzales’ firing as the controversy builds. The negative press for the AG follows last week’s admission by the FBI that the bureau underreported the amount of domestic spying it was performing under the Patriot Act. The fire under the AG’s ass was stoked even hotter when it was revealed Gonzales and the Attorney General’s office fired 8 U.S. Attorneys in 2006 for alleged refusals to prosecute cases of voter fraud. The cases of voter fraud cited were incidents in which ex-convicts and other pro-Democratic throngs were allowed to cast votes and not purged from voter rolls, which is something Republicans really like to do to all non-white voters.

Gonzales may end up taking the fall for the firings as heat continues to build around his office and, more importantly, evidence emerges tying the White House to the alleged politically motivated shit-cannings. Communications between former White House attorney Harriet Miers and Gonzales’ chief of staff Kyle Sampson came to light this week showing that Miers (and presumably the administration) were contemplating firing all 93 U.S. Attorneys and replacing them, while Gonzales opposed the measure and conceivably thought targeting specific pains-in-the-ass to the White House would be sufficient. To no one’s surprise, Sampson resigned Tuesday to go live in a private scapegoat community somewhere.

In the wake of all these recent controversies, Democrats have called for the firing of Gonzales, but the real surprise is the Democrats think there’s maybe one conservative kid in the mailroom of the White House they think shouldn’t be fired; they found unlikely support Wednesday from New Hampshire Republican Sen. John Sununu, son of former White House Chief of Staff under George Bush Sr. John “Leaving on a Federally-Funded Jet Plane” Sununu. Claiming Gonzales should be replaced by a more aggressive leader, possibly someone part werewolf.

Though we didn’t bother asking him, we assume if Alberto Gonzales did resign to save the administration some embarrassment, President Bush would not be adverse to nominating his cousin Slowpoke Rodriguez as a replacement.

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The American people all know me as a lifelong Democrat, those who don’t know me for Uncle Red’s microwave popcorn do, at least. It should hardly be a surprise I’m more interested in the Democratic side of this free-for-all. You might initially think I enjoy watching Republicans shred each other like Spartacus-era gladiators, and I certainly do, but my real thrill is observing the process by which we decide who will be the most bulletproof candidate we can run against the other party, and his little buddy, who is officially referred to in party circles on both sides as “the Gilligan.”

Some of you may have a tough time stomaching the blood and gore when it’s happening to candidates you like, but I say it’s America’s natural vetting process for potential presidents. Think of it like beating the shit out of a kid you like in order to make him a better boxer 20 years from now. If that’s ever really happened to you, let me tell you now from my own experience that those kids never understand it if they don’t get into boxing after high school. But for our candidates, heading into the cruelest arena we have in modern times, it’s the best medicine. If only we had attacked John Kerry’s Vietnam record during the primaries we could have really prepared him for the horseshit that awaited him in 2004.

I’m personally thankful that Hilary Clinton has strapped on the cat claws this early in the game, and she’s going to make mince meat of any who really opposes her on her way to the White House. You can hardly blame her, she had to keep her complaints mostly to herself since back in 1993 when her husband took office. Any woman out there who’s ever made the mistake of letting their husband drive somewhere when he didn’t know the way should be able to identify—sitting back, watching him fuck up and knowing anything you say is just going to cause more trouble. She certainly wants it bad enough… but can she get it? None of the other Democrats have the balls right now to bring that A-game attack back to her, leaving her soft and vulnerable for the Republican contenders, who aren’t about to play kitten games with her like her own party.

The other big contender right now is Barack Obama. He’s black, he’s from Chicago, and he’s only been in the Senate since 1996, which makes him one of the less experienced candidates in the mix. As if he didn’t have enough going against him, his middle name’s “Hussein.” Name a popular Hussein that people like—go ahead. Even if you can, I bet you couldn’t name five. He represents a new America to many, an America of diverse cultural backgrounds and the open arms of the Democratic party embracing everyone, across racial, religious, and even party lines. He has no shot in hell. They’re playing lightly with him so far, because you can’t really say anything negative about a guy who hasn’t done much in Congress at all. His real drawback is going to be overcoming a name you simply can’t imagine as president. President Obama? Really? Are we ready for that? Maybe if he had received my letter in time he could have changed his name to Chad Scott, always a winner.

That’s actually all of the candidates. Sure, there’s John Edwards and a few other people we could mention, and maybe I’ll waste a column on them next time. In the meantime, let the feast on the candidate flesh continue.

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But what was Ned to find moonward but Ugly McUgly, big fella lived up to his name all too well, tossin’ and turnin’ up there in his lumpy moon bed and feelin’ sicker than a jellyfish in a peanut butter factory. Ned marched right up and said “Hullo, Ugly!” without knowin’ that be his right Christian name. Lucky for Neddums it was to be. McUgly took a powerful liking to Nedmiller right from the start, on account of Ned knowin’ his name and greetin’ him so polite and so.

Ugly McUgly told Ned about buildin’ them moon outta space dandruff as his own personals apartment, and a-flyin’ it over the earth to keep an eye on Africa, which bores a sure-fire resemblance to his ol’ first wife, who done left him for Asia minor. Back then, ‘course, them moons was lush with pink forests and rivers of diet cola ‘nuff to make a tooth ache all by itself on a dinner plate. Right nice place to live. But McUgly done got so obsessed with tryin’ to piss on Poland from up on that there moon, whole place done gone straight to gray-tone hell. Dust bunnies takin’ over and a-nibblin’ on the furniture, cobweb clouds gummin’ up them skies, and whole place gone dusty like the crack of a Texas baby’s behind. McUgly himself catches them dust fever, and spend his days an’ nights tossin’ and a-turnin’ in his big-ole lumpy moon bed.

Ned try all sorta remedy to make McUgly well agains, includin’ wrappin’ up a whole herd of them moon gazelles in a pita sandwich topped with sauce from the moon’s only tartar. No dice, Jerry Rice. Nedful also done try straining them whole moons through a funnel and make a smoothie from moon juice, but that shake been too thick to draw even through special .50 caliber straws, no lie. Even Moon Asprin, dug from them Asprin Valley up there on the moon’s dark side fulla fields of pills, even that genius cracker of an idea done no good for McUgly and his powerful ill funk.

Nedly gotta go for plan B, and so him done yank out the cord reachin’ from the back of them moons all them ways acrosst over to the only power socket in them sky, and right quick them whole shebang goes darker than a politician’s soul like lickety splat. Ugly McUgly not too keen on plan B and Ned hasta make haste down the moon ladder like he was late to get his teeth frosted. Hand over foot over head under ankle, Ned raced down that ladder like falling but with more grabbin’ and scramblin’. Ugly McUgly been right on the heels of Ned, on account of him trippin’ over the moon in the dark and fallin’ off like a cripple in a wheelchair spillin’ off a horse.

Ned beat McUgly to the ground by just a nibble of a second, but Ugly beat Ned to the underground by a lot. Not many a mans done dug his own grave, let alone with his own misfortunate face, but Ugly McUgly done broke offa hunk of that honor all for hisself.

And wouldn’t you know what? Them government boohobs done got right back up and plugged that moons back in them very next night. So much for shuteye, says Ned. And them’s the story of how come Ned sleeps in them diving suit at nighttimes, childrens.

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