Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery






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Thursday, June 16, 2005


Fristing the Night Away

Ah, Bill Frist. What a great guy. You have to love a guy who sticks to his guns, even when incontrovertible facts prove that he had his head buried deep, deep within his own ass. Senator Frist is saying today that he would have the exact same response in the Terri Schiavo case now-- with the results of the autopsy proving that her brain had seriously atrophied--as when he expressed his doubt about the diagnosis upon viewing a video that Schiavo's family had made. Sort of presidential, isn't he? The type of guy who might start a war for bullshit reasons and then never admit in any microscopic way that he might have been wrong. In fact, I think that ought to be the G.O.P.'s new motto: "Republicans! We don't make mistakes, bitch."

Take, for instance the mistake the G.O.P.-led house didn't just make deciding that the federal government has the right to prosecute citizens who make use of medical marijuana in states that have legalized it. Representative after representative came to the floor and said essentially the same thing: "There's no proof that marijuana is an effective pain reliever. This is all just an attempt to legalize pot." I've got a suggestion. Why don't they call upon Bill Frist and his miraculous medical powers. Any terminal patients in debilitating, agonizing pain can videotape themselves suffering and then send the tape to Frist. If he judges them to be actually hurting, they can use marijuana.

In fact, why don't we just do away with our current judiciary system. It's rife with activist judges anyway. I mean, for Christ's sake, as things stand, they wouldn't be able to convict Michael Jackson of molestation if they caught him with his dick in Dakota Fanning's mouth. Or her brother's. Instead of the courts we have now, we could just set Bill Frist up on a mound of pillows in the Capitol Rotunda and we could play videotape after videotape of alleged wrongdoers. Bill is so tuned in to the human condition that he'd be able to tell guilty from innocent in about five seconds flat. Just hook him up to a feeding tube and set him on a bedpan (which, I'm sure, he feels is real quality of life) so he wouldn't have to leave the room and he'll have our judicial backlog cleared up in no time.

Pilgrims will flock to Washington from all over to hear the wisdom of the Frist. His sweat will be sold by the drop to give the drinker clarity. His hair will be woven into anklets to cure cancer. In the far, far future, when he dies, the body of Frist will be preserved in a shrine and whatever side in a battle has the body of Frist on their side shall not know defeat. All hail the Frist! Frist the All-Knowing! Frist the Merciful! Frist the Wise! Frist! Frist! Frist!

Ah, Bill Frist.