PHELPS V BUSH

PHELPS V BUSH


This Michael Phelps thing pisses me off. He’s worked like an android most of his life, swimming 4, 5, 6 hours a day to become the best in the world. If he complained about those muscle-pounding practices that have been the centerpiece of his life, no one heard it. He’s focused, dedicated, hardworking, polite (even in the face of stupid press questions), kind to admiring children, grateful to his coach who works him like a mule on crack, won a peach basket full of gold metals, and got some big-money sponsors the old fashion way—by working his ass off.
But someone snaps a picture of him hitting a weed pipe, which cost him his sponsors, his opportunity to swim competitively for several months, and will dog him like a festering, runny sore for the remainder of his life.

This is yet another example of how the gears in the machinery of modern life are out of synch, don’t mesh properly, causing anyone who looks closely to shutter in disbelief: what the fuck!

We elected to the presidency a guy who was a drunkard most of his life, bilked his father’s friends out of untold thousands of dollars in failed oil ventures, and finally got Texas-rich through buying and selling a professional baseball team in a still-shrouded sweetheart business deal. And let us not forget his patriotic service during the Vietnam War, when family power slipped him into the back door of the Texas National Guard, where he avoided full service. Yes, let’s not forget that. As president, this compassionate conservative ran the national ranch like a Richard Nixon clone who had been socialized like some mutant of modern psychotherapy—he could smile and talk with people, unlike Nixon. But at least with Nixon, history has a good idea of the ways he screwed us and the constitution, while I doubt we will ever have a full accounting of Bush’s crimes against America, international laws, and human decency.

Healthcare for more kids—veto it. No cause for a messianic war--invent it. Geneva Convention--forget it. Investment bankers out of control—ignore it. Spending national treasure like a corrupt dictator—deciders do it. Read a book—no time for it. Katrina killing poor people—missed it. Torturing prisoners—got to do it.

And on it goes, as #43 heads for his Texas mansion and his 8,000 sq. ft. Dallas office.

Now let’s put a picture of Phelps hitting the pipe next a picture of people stranded on New Orleans roof tops waving in distress as over-worked rescue helicopters pass by. Get the picture? Hear the gears of modern society grinding against each other?

Dr. Huesos is an unrepentant New Leftist who rebuilds old Harleys.