Cross posted at
Someone Took In These Pants...
Our greatest national treasure. Ever.
There, I said it. But deep down, you know it's true. What else can you describe it as but sheer physical and emotional perseverance. Running 26.2 miles... on smack. Sure, the first few miles are easy with the heroin flowing through your veins like nitrous oxide in a primer-colored 1996 Toyota Celica. Towards the end, though, that rusted out Celica you call a body is in full self-preservation mode, convulsing all the way to the finish line and wheezing like an asthmatic child cutting the grass. I salute you, heroin junkie marathon runner, for you're dedication to living life to its fullest transcends all explanation and makes us all ask the question, "so, when do you find time to train what with the heroin addiction and all?"
As beautiful an American resource as these ultra athletic junkies are, the sad fact is they're slowly going extinct. No, it's not because of Bush. In fact, of any president Bush has done the most to encourage our drug addicted to start running. Usually, it's away from full homeless shelters, but still, it's clear he wants them to get the training they desperately need if they're going to be the best. That's the kind of stand-up guy George is. Always thinking about others.
Sadly, the heroin junkie is only an allegory. "To what?", you might be asking yourself, impatiently, now that you're dreams of doing China white and running yourself stupid have been decimated. Well, the drug addled runner capable of pushing his body for 26.2 excruciating miles is much like Dick Cheney actually telling the truth about just about anything. Too harsh? Nah, I doubt it. When the Committee on Government Reform can publish a report outlining 51 lies (pdf file) told by you about Iraq, I'd say your credibility has been shot. Some may dare say you are deceptive. Others will skip right past liar and simply call you a bullshit artist, for that's what you would be.
Much as it's hard for the junkie to find his next score while still keeping his legs in running shape, Dick somehow finds a way to pretend he's being honest while spooning up lie after lie about anything and everything.
So keep up the "honesty," Dick, for somewhere right now there's a young boy taking his first "ride on the horse" after cross country practice. Someday, he'll be riding in a stolen Ram Van on the way to a marathon, his special "lady friend" at the wheel as he sticks himself in between his toes. He'll step out of the van, do some stretches and realize he's as fictional as your
integrity.