Morford in the Shrubs

Read Mark Morford's column in the SF Gate, about Bush's apparently accelerating downfall. Snippets:

Shrub's ratings have dropped below 50 percent for the first (and probably not the last) time since they surged hugely right after 9/11 and he was hoisted in front of a wary America and puffed out his chest and pretended like he could find Afghanistan on a map and promised he would bomb every damn country on the planet that didn't have a McDonald's or an Exxon or a secret U.S. chemical-weapons deal. Shrub's numbers are down. The nation is catching on. The armor of money and power is cracking. The smirk is waning. Dick's defibrillator is running on fumes.

Funny how the BS can wear you down. Funny how it can make you feel like someone's been piling huge rocks on our collective chest for the past three years and stomping on them with ugly polished right-wing loafers until we can hardly breathe. And all you have to do is ask any schoolteacher or grandparent or health-care worker or conscious sensual attuned soulful organism anywhere, and the answer is unavoidable: The nation is gasping for air. Cities are desperate, basic services are being slashed, schools are broke, the environment's molested, the GOP has promised a ridiculous array of cuts and dedicated billions they can't possibly deliver in light of inane tax cuts and the biggest deficit in U.S. history. Hey, how's your portfolio doing?

It is not yet time to relish Junior's slide into abject failure and scathing ratings and one-term histrionics -- you know, just like those suffered by his dear old dad. We are still too fragile, the feelings too raw, the wounds too recent from the current administration's mugging of the country. But we are healing fast. We are coming back to life. We are opening our blackened eyes, realizing we have been massively and systematically and enthusiastically and intentionally duped by some very rich, very impotent white males three years running and it's damn near time for a domestic regime change and let's just float a Dean/Kerry (Kerry/Dean?) presidential ticket out there to the cosmic Void, see how it plays, shall we?