Art Pottery, Politics and Food
Friday, February 24, 2006
Random PhotoShopping

Modified Images:, Reuters,
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Thou, child of the high God Zeus,
Apollo, hast robbed us…
The bane of a parent, by craft
From out of our grasp thou hast taken.
A god, thou hast stolen from us the avengers…
--The Eumenides

Bush Persued by the Furies with apologies to Bourguereau

While those intrepid inheritors of Allan Pinkerton’s legacy might not, yet, have noticed, tiny winged immortals have penetrated our most secure national perimeter, the Bush Bubble.
With some cynical chroniclers of fact-based reality acknowledging a few repetitive mannerisms haunting the presidential numen, certain spiritually receptive and time-relative cognoscenti have, for some time now, recognized these “mannerisms” as the hideous microscopic furies more commonly known as The Erinyes or the angry ones.
Aeschylus, the Greek playwright who fantastically expired when an eagle dropped a “tortoise” on his head, thought these Furies personified the curses that all murdered direct toward their murderers.
While these snake-haired demigods normally paint with fairly broad strokes, they can and do reserve their sharpest nubs to needle the most exacting and stringent justice upon “crimes against kindred blood”.
Even more worrying, to the televised “kindred blood” of cubicle-inhabiting POTUS-ian clones, should be the increasing frequency of protean torments buffeting their historically doomed prince and signaling his mythic conclusion.
Payback, like fate, isn’t just one mood-swinging bitch it’s three.

Modified Image:, Reuters
Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Today's White House Briefing oopsie from Mullah Scotty:

Q So he [Bush] found out through the news coverage, is that what you're saying? How did he find out about it?

MR. McCLELLAN: Yes, I think, initially, Steve, when this [UAE port deal] was becoming more -- it was getting more press coverage, that's how he found out about it.

Modified Image: AP
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Duck 'n Bunker

Some very interesting and original Cheney posts sprouting on the web like fungi on a cool and damp morning.
Here’s the impassioned Naman Crowe of the, Chuck Baldwin of the American Daily, a self-described “news and commentary from the conservative side of things” webpage and a Phantom-esque Britt Hume congratulating himself for his Soviet-style, Minitrue interviewer skills.
In all, I was reminded of a Sunday December 8, 2002 front page Washington Post article on unexplained early morning and late night explosions heard and felt by neighbors of the Vice Presidential residence along northwest Washington’s stately Massachusetts Avenue promenade:

One man thought the noise was a sonic boom…a woman feared it was a bomb or an earthquake, she called the police. But they had no answers…one thing is certain: They're tired of the daily blasting at the Naval Observatory that has shaken houses, rattled windows and knocked mirrors off the walls…The blasts, which last three to five seconds apiece, have been going off two or three times a day -- as early as 7 a.m. and as late as 11 p.m. -- for nearly two months, residents say…Thus far, the federal government's only response to the residents has been a three-page letter…blasting could last eight more months…If residents' [bunker] speculation is accurate and construction workers are digging deep into the ground, the project would be going through about 35 feet of common sand and gravel, according to federal officials at the U.S. Geological Survey. Anything beyond that depth would hit tonalite, an intrusive igneous rock similar to granite and common to this area.

On October 12, 2003 the conservative site NewsMax credited the Post’s information to Vanity Fair and suggested the Vice President was having a "fully equipped hospital emergency room in his home".
However, to this weary camper, a straight, old-fashioned bunker sounds more likely but I think serious people need to seriously consider that Dick Cheney could be also keeping his own version of Dr. Evil’s Alan Parson Project time machine and/or a Disney-esque cryogenic freezer deep within Earth’s igneous mantle.
Then, long forgotten after hundreds of years, Dick Cheney will resurrect himself from his computerized sarcophagus to wreak terror on dystopian future populations of Eloi.

Modified Image: Google,
Sunday, February 19, 2006

From this morning’s London Telegraph, and under the risible headline Calamity Dick, is the best tick-tock of Cheneygate I’ve read in the big media.
The article has some interesting precursor nuggets of infotainment including the mysterious (mostly unmentioned in American media) "quail hunt" attendees:

A guest list that read like a Who's Who of Texan Republican aristocracy. The gathering was hosted by Katharine Armstrong…whose mother, Anne, was an old friend of Mr. Cheney. Other guests staying in the Spanish hacienda-style cottages on the $12 million estate…Pamela Pitzer Willeford, the current US ambassador to Switzerland and a Bush family insider, with her husband GeorgeNancy Negley, an art philanthropist whose family once owned Brown & Root…Ben Love, a rancher and Ms Armstrong's "beau"…and, of course, Mr Whittington, a millionaire Republican stalwart, and his wife, Mercedes.

Menu of the infamous one beer lunch:

At about 1pm, they broke for a picnic lunch of antelope, salad and camp bread. Ms Armstrong initially said the meal was washed down only with soft drinks, but Mr Cheney acknowledged drinking a beer.

Whittington’s immediate post shooting appearance:

The medical team that always accompanies Mr Cheney…immediately began treating the shot man, who was bleeding heavily.

Who told:

A member of the Cheney entourage called…Andrew Card…Karl Rove…called back, spoke with Ms Armstrong, then informed Mr. Bush that Mr. Cheney had shot someone.

The post shooting cocktail hour and roast beef dinner:

“Sombre". *

Here’s a regular fellow disproving Cheney's gunshot explaination on video from YouTube.Com.
A little slow and, from the low-res camera, hard to see but interesting…
Here's a nice YouTube 911 video and, for a touch of silliness, a naughty Spanish commercial for hand lotion.

*British spelling of somber seems more sombre.

Images: The Sweet Smell of Success,

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