A Clockwork Strawberry

[ed. - Found under a pile of discarded MSNBC Nielsen Ratings: first draft of fringe cable TV superstar Keith Olberman's Howard Beale moment]

By Keith Olbermann
Editor and Chief, MSNBC "Meltdown with Keith Olbermann"

And now, turning to the headlines.

The headlines are, of course, entirely wrong.

Nevermind the fonts, which are totally misleading.

Thus it is surely not essential that a revered and beloved past president, pistol-whipped and sandbagged by a subhuman terrorist monkey with a microphone, finally lashed back with a raw, sinewy panther-like ferocity that sent his primate interlocutor scurrying back for the safety of Roger Ailes’ banyan tree.

Nor is it not important, in the infinitesimal cosmic clockwork of simian Beltway irony or lack thereof, that the current President’s prefab peanut gallery of poo-flinging psychedelic missing links has described his predecessor’s tone as “crazed.”

Insofar as it is as it is, in the words of founding father John Quincy Fillmore, "shan't not our very tone be encrazed?" Good, old fashioned batshit gravel-munching crazy, for, in such times as such are these, that the nation’s freedoms are under assault by an administration whose policies can do us as much damage as al-Qaeda; when, and in which the nation’s groundwater of ideas has been flouridated by the poisonous propaganda of heinous Fox play-by-play "homers," in bias so blatant that it would prompt Harry Caray puke a rainbow arc of Budweiser vomit from his pressbox cloud during 7th inning stretch at the friendly confines of heaven’s celestial Wrigley Field. No, citizen, these are insane times when the only sane response is to hop aboard Ozzie Osborne’s Crazy Train, go to the dining car for the all-U-can-eat bat head & psilocybin buffet, and, in the words of founding father George Jefferson, move on up to that dee-luxe apartment in the skybox of CrazyCom stadium.

Nonetheless. The headline is this:

Bill Clinton did what almost none of us have done in five years.

He wisely watched Keith Olbermann on MSNBC.

Afterwards he dare bespoke the truth about 9/11, and the current presidential administration.

"At least I tried," he said of his own efforts to capture or kill Osama bin Laden. "That’s the difference in me and some, including all of the right-wingers who are attacking me now. They had eight months to try; they did not try. I tried. I really really extremely really tried. They didn't try and I did, and this is the real difference, the trying. And also, I tried."

Thus and forthwith in his supposed emeritus years hath Mr. Clinton dispatched a forceful and triumphant action for honesty, and for us; in one virile act at once vital and as courageous as it was a brilliant tour de force of Churchillesquian statesmanship, Mr. Clinton assured his immortality as the sage of this dark time, the sexually electric love child begotten of a tryst between Voltaire, Thomas Moore, Gandhi and Ron Jeremy. Had He witnessed the selfless magnificence of the former president’s honesty, Christ Himself would have been inspired to rip His very hands free of their crucifixial spikes, switch the channel to ESPN-Palestine, and punch Himself in His nards out of unworthiness.

So thus let us therefore follow in the path of our blessed Saviour and Redeemer who suffered for us on the Fox. Let us reflect on His trying, how he tried, and His many trying trials. We must ask, “what would Clinton try?”

The Bush Administration did not try to get Osama bin Laden before 9/11.

The Bush Administration failed to read the Clinton scouting report on Bin Laden, which showed you could brush him back off the plate with a cruise missile low and outside.

The Bush Administration did not try.

Bill Clinton? Tried.

George Bush? Not.

Clinton: try try try.

Bush: lie lie lie.

Moreover, for the last five years, one month, two weeks, six hours, and thirty-two minutes, the current administration, and in particular the President, has been given the greatest “pass” since the miracle Doug Flutie-to-Gerard Phelan "Hail Mary" of 1986!

President Roosevelt was rightly blamed for ignoring the warning signs before Pearl Harbor.

Roosevelt was also rightly blamed for ignoring the other warning signs about marrying his own lesbian cousin.

American League President Lee McPhail was correctly blamed for the '92 MLPA walkout and the disasterous Designated Hitter rule.

Even President Lincoln assumed some measure of responsibility for the Civil War, thanks to a hot lead beanball from Confederate relief ace John Wilkes “Dizzy” Booth.

Others have faced the Derringer of responsibility. But not this president. Ohhh, no, not our unelected quarterback Chimpy, forever scrambling around in his Oval Office pocket like a girly Fran Tarkington, behind a front five of steroid-juiced Secret Service agents, always eluding scrutiny and sacks and clean head shots from this reporter, and others in the non-Fox media who are willing to give 110% to defend the American goal line against his 4th down bootleg play for empire, thereby sending our rights and the very planet into sudden death.

Dee-fence! Dee-fence!
[hold up novelty D-fence sign]

That hardly reflects the honesty nor manliness we expect of the executive.

Manliness? In the words of Henry David Chaucer, "maketh not me laugh with thine mincery, thoust prancing bugger-wife."

But if his own fitness to serve is of no true concern to him, perhaps we should simply sigh and keep our collective fingers crossed, and collectively arch one eyebrow in a collective show of our collective disdain. Better yet, perhaps we can let out a collective blood-curdling scream to let the world know we want a grown-up president, now, or we will keep screaming until you give us our grown-up president, and this grown-up president damn well better come with the official Kennedy School of Government accessory set, or we will continue our screaming.

After five years of skirting even the most inarguable of facts—that he was president on 9/11 and he must bear some responsibility for his, and our, unreadiness, Mr. Bush has now moved, unmistakably, and without conscience, or shame, and unmistakably, towards the copy editing of history, wholesale, removing, shamelessly, its key participles, and their truths, harsh as they are, therein which are dangling, and in so thus attempting, to make, the, responsibility, entirely, Mr., Clinton’s.

Of course he is not honest enough to do that directly.

As with all the other nefariousness and slime of this, our worst presidency since Buck Buchanan, nay Gronk, idiot boy-chief of the forest Cro-Magnon, he is having it done for him, by a phalanx of subhuman proxies.

Thus, the sandbagging monkey effort by Fox News Friday afternoon.

Consider the timing: the very weekend the National Intelligence Estimate would be quoted and show the Iraq war to be the fraudulent failure it is. Consider then also how the White House nefariously and slimily released the entire NIE, thereby strangling in its crib the beautiful newborn narrative of the grieving New York Times and its Anonymous Sources.

The kind of proof of incompetence, for which the administration and its frothing parasitic hyenas and headlice at Fox need to find a diversion, in a scapegoat.

For, as founding father Benjamin Moore once penned, "if there is anything monkeys and hyenas love more that bags of sand, it is the scaping of goats."

It was the kind of cheap trick worthy of a double-live album at Buddokan, but which would get a real journalist, like this reporter, fired—but a propagandist, promoted:

Promise to talk of charity and generosity; but instead, wham! Launch into a blindside crackback block of lies, a cheapshot designed to maim the ACL of the knee of your opponent’s legacy.

And in the confusion of the match, while the referee is distracted, turn to your ringside audience of drooling downscale demographic Fox viewers to slip you a razor-edge question device though the steel cage wire.

Mr. Clinton responded as you have seen.

He told the great truth untold about this administration’s negligence, perhaps criminal negligence, about bin Laden.

He was brave.

He was truthful.

His jugular swelled and pulsed with righteousness, causing his entire virile being became visually enveloped in a golden aura, as a choir of angels sweetly sang of his wrathful trying, beckoning the rapt listener forward into the warm, healing light of his all-cleansing presidentiality.

Then again, Chris Wallace might be braver still. Had I in one moment surrendered all my credibility as a journalist and writer, and been irredeemably smiteth by the Lord, as was he, home therefore would I have gone, and seeds by mail a new career in which would I have begun the selling of.

Yes, had I, I would have. But if one cares still, as does this reporter, about journalistic credibility and ethics, and quality writing. But no, not Chris Wallace. Noooo, not ol’ Chrissy the 3.2 Nielsen wonderboy, who, instead of a career in seeds-by-mail, or barrel coopery, or electric rock tumbler repair, or somesuch similar profession in which he would be engaged were there a shred of justice in this universe, finds himself Torquemada to the greatest aura-being of this, or any other era.

The smearing by proxy, of course, did not begin Friday afternoon.

Disney was first to sell-out its corporate reputation, with "The Path to 9/11." Of that company’s crimes against truth one needs say little. But, with the lack of necessity concerning the saying of much about them duly noted, let, about the aforesaid Disney crimes, us note simply that: the same illuminati-run organization that once fired this reporter during the glory days of ESPN Sports Center, somehow “accidentally” greenlighted a smear-job that was obviously crapped by out by Authoritarian colon monkeys with keyboards in the fetid bowels of ScaiffCo Incorporated.

The basic plot-line was this: because he was distracted by the Monica Lewinsky scandal, Bill Clinton failed to prevent 9/11.

The most curious and in some ways the most infuriating aspect of this slapdash theory, cobbled as it is from the hallucinations of Bush’s inner council of born-again Mormon Zionist Freemasons who control the media through the pulsating brain of zombie Walt Disney, himself a known racist and suspected dwarfophile, is its laughable claims of “balance.” As a professional journalist, I eat, breath and live balance; a topic you, sir, Mister scheming Mormon monkey hyena sandbagging scriptwriter, would know little. In the words of immortal journalist Edward R. Clooney, don’t hate tha playa, chump; hate tha game. 

The other curious aspect of this steaming 4-hour video pile of dubious fiction, ignored by the backwoods Xtian stadium church snakehandlers who illegally TiVoed it, is its obvious most glaring flaw: Had it been true that Clinton had been distracted from the hunt for bin Laden in 1998 because of the Monica Lewinsky nonsense, why did these same people not applaud him for having bombed bin Laden’s camps in Afghanistan and Sudan on Aug. 20, of that year? For mentioning bin Laden by name as he did so?

Hmmm? How about it? I put it to the White House primates and O’Reilly lawyers who monitor this reporter, through invisible devices it has implanted in this reporter’s bathroom fixtures and housepets: where now is your answer to my devastating logical gambit?

Thus I will momentarily pause to raise the left brow of justice, and allow you to reflect on the bloody shambles that remain of the so-called “case” against Mr. Clinton.

No, on that day, which we now know to be the single most decisive military operation of the 20th Century, Republican Senator Grams of Minnesota instead invoked the movie "Wag The Dog."

Republican Senator Coats of Indiana questioned Mr. Clinton’s judgment.

Even Republican Senator Arlen Specter questioned the timing.

And thus, instead of receiving its deserved golden memorial on the Capitol mall, towering majestically over the Lincoln Monument, Mr. Clinton’s brilliant and decisive Tent Offensive was greeted by derision and mockery and a crown of thorns from cruel GOP centurions.

Forgive them Mr. previous President, they know not what they do.

Perhaps we should have questioned the timing of these timing-questioners, for if there is anything up with which we should not put, it is the questioning of timing.

And of course, were it true Clinton had been “distracted” by the Lewinsky witch-hunt, who on earth conducted the Lewinsky witch-hunt?

Who turned the political discourse of this nation on its head for two years?

Who corrupted the political media?

Who distracted whom?

Who let the wag-the-dogs out?

I wonder wonder who ba do ba, WHO! Who wrote the book of , “All Monica All The Time”?

Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say dey gonna beat dat Jihad?

Who was the only NBA player to average a triple double for a season? Oscar Robertson of the Cincinnati Royals, in 1962, that’s who, Mister Distractor-in-Chief.

NBA trivia is, of course, where—as is inevitable for racists—Mr. Bush and his henchmen prove not quite as smart as they think they are.

The full responsibility for 9/11 is obviously shared by three administrations, possibly four. Score this one as Nixon to Reagan to Bush 1, with game losing error on Ken Bushy Junior.

But, Mr. Bush, if you are now trying to convince us by proxy that it’s all about the distractions of 1998 and 1999, then you will have to face a startling fact that your minions may have hidden from you.

The startling fact is this: in 1998 and 1999, Mr. Bush, your malicious minions of slimy girly-apes were planning a carefully manufactured, and lovingly executed, plan to steal my priceless collection of rare Darryl Strawberry baseball cards.

As for Chris Matthews, I know exactly what he’ll tell you. Lies! He was no different than any monkey in the White House. I tried to cover Mr. Clinton’s valiant missile attack, but he fought me at every turn. If the studio crew wanted to walk around with their shirttails hanging out that's all right let them. Defective TelePrompters, no more no less, but they encouraged the crew to go around scoffing at me and spreading wild rumors about steaming and circles and weak Nielsen numbers. Oh, O’Reilly and his stupid Factor could do no wrong, but not old Queeg Olbermann.

Ah, but the Strawberrys! That's where I had them. They laughed at me and made jokes about my card collection, that I was a stupid jocksniffer, over my head, but I proved beyond the shadow of a doubt, and with geometric logic, that a duplicate key to the greenroom icebox did exist! That’s where I kept my mint-in-box Topps ’83 Strawberry rookie card, and the trap was sprung. Soon I would have all of the mutineers – Lt. Limbaugh, and Rove, and Wallace, and O’Reilly… and… naturally, I can only cover these things from memory if I've left anything out, why, just ask me specific questions and I'll be glad to answer them...one-by-one.

But back to you, Mr. Bush. Look here in my eyes [point back and forth with double finger gesture]. I know you and your prehensile-tailed lackeys are out there, cowardly monitoring this broadcast, executing you plan to suppress my real Nielsen numbers. I can hear your illegal NSA cameras clicking away. But you cannot stop the truth, you can only hope to contain it. Boo yeah!

Thus, instead of some commendable acknowledgment that you were even in office on 9/11 and thus the alpha and omega of this tragedy, if not the actual planner of it, we have your sleazy and sloppy rewriting of history, erasing all of the subordinate clauses of truth, and stealing the ol’ Statue of Liberty Hack-a-Shaq fumblerooskie distraction from the stolen playbook of Orwell State, hoping to run out the clock.

Thus, instead of some explanation for the inertia of your first eight months in office, we are told that you have kept us "safe" ever since—a batting average that might range anywhere from .000 to 1.000, against a pathetically weak al-Qaeda pitching staff.

We have nothing but your word, and your word has long since ceased to mean anything.

“George Bush?” What does that mean?? Beats me, maybe it’s a type of hyena monkey, or a variety of seed which is available through mail order!

Thus was it left for the previous president giving release to the words so many of us have felt building in our loins:

You did not try.

You ignored Sandy Burger’s ominous Post-It note that clearly warned you to “look out for terrorists.”

You ignored the evidence gathered by your own people-monkeys.    

Then, you blamed your predecessor.

That would be a textbook definition, Mr. Bush, of cowardice.

To enforce the lies of the present, it is necessary to erase the truths of the past.

But ha ha for you, Mr. Bush, for the facts are written permanent marker, and your Fox News monkey janitors will never remove its stain from the white board of History.

And also, did I mention that you didn’t even try?

Well, you didn't.

That was one of the great mechanical realities Tim Blair—writing as Orwell—gave us in the book “Biff Orwell’s Baseball Abstract 1984.”

The great philosophical mechanical electronic reality he gave to us, Mr. Bush, may sound as familiar to you, as it has lately begun to sound familiar to me.

Thus these are the sounds that have joined the cacophony of other sounds and voices that inhabit my office, which my stupid interns pretend not to hear:

"The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are not interested in the good of others; we are interested solely in power...   

"Ain't No Party Like a Newspeak Party, Cuz a Newspeak Part Don't Stop!

“Property Hasting High School Library

"Power is not a means; it is an end.

“Gatorade Power – Is it In You?

"One does not establish a dictatorship to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship.

“The Nike Revolution – available now at Big Brother Foot Locker.

"Peace is Stupid - Truth is War - Soylent Green is People. Don’t Mess With Oceania.

“Duh Duh DUH! Duh Duh DUH! Live from the Studios at the Ministry of Truth, it’s Doubleplusgood Sporrrrts Center!”

Earlier last Friday afternoon, before the Fox monkey ambush, speaking in the far different context of the closing session of his remarkable Global Salvation Initiative, in which he fed the multitudes with a single baguette and salmon platter, Mr. Clinton quoted Abraham Lincoln’s State of the Union address from 1862.

"We must disenthrall ourselves."

He might well have quoted the rest of Mr. Lincoln’s sentence but did not; which only shows that Mr. Clinton works in mysterious ways. The rest of the quote:

"We must disenthrall ourselves, lest we spill our seed into which it not belong.”

And so hath Mr. Clinton helped us to disenthrall ourselves, because Mr. Clinton loves the little children, all of the children of the world. Brown and yellow, black and white, all are precious in his sight.

Thus the "free pass" has been withdrawn, Mr. Bush.

No more “mulligans.”

No more standing 8-counts, or instant replay booth reviews.

You can run but you can’t hide, because the K-O kid is coming down the backstretch at Talledega with a slapshot of truth that is going to bite your lying ears off, Tyson style, until you and your corner monkeys throw in the terrible towel and say “No mas.”

No sir, the gloves have come off, and whoa nelly, we got us an ol’ fashioned barnburnin’ donnybrook here between the hedges of War Crimes Memorial Stadium.

Fact: you did not act to prevent 9/11.

Fact: we do not know whether you actually flew the planes on 9/11.

Not only did you fail to try, you failed to try.

The only non-failure on your record is your non-failure to fail.

Thus now you exploit your failure, to rationalize brazen torture which doesn’t work anyway; which means that hundreds of our soldiers in al-Qaeda prison camps now face possible retaliatory water-boarding and reduced chocolate rations; and which you would probably screw up anyway, and end up water-boarding yourself, you big fat uncoordinated failing failure.

In the final scheme of things, you have failed us—all the while prancing and mincing and strutting around the world arena like your evil effeminate namesake Gorgeous George, blissfully unaware that you are about to receive a humiliating reverse-suplex piledriver from the tag team of Hulk Haditha and Rowdy Rowdy Ramadan.

And while you lay prone on the canvas of global affairs, in your Fox New sequined tights, under the harsh glare of history’s judgment, while Michael Buffer bellows out the results of your final career-ending failure, I want you to consider another quote from Olbermann’s Book of Familiar Quotations:

"For those who give 110%, and take it one war at a time, there is no 'I' in Team.”

And here is another important poignant quote:

In the dark days of the Charlie McCarthy era, when American was crushed under the wooden jackboots of another plutocratic ventriloquist dummy, a lonely courageous voice spoke up in dissent. “At long last sir,” asked that voice, “have you no decency?”

The voice belonged to the brave actress, Raquel Welch, who had, of course, just finished filming blacklisted Matt Damon Runyon’s Farenheit One Million B.C.

So now it is time for us to once again put on Welch’s fur bikini of dissent and ask the question:

Mr. Bush, are you decent?