Donald Rumsfeld: Mad Dog and Sacrificial Lamb

Finally, U.S. Secretary of “War” Donald Rumsfeld has been sent home to be the first sacrificial lamb slaughtered on the altar of the American phantom. Now it has claimed the empty-faced and wolf-eyed secretary. The symphony of painful dirges can now be heard in the scattered prison cells of Abu Ghraib and Fallujah and Ishaqi and Haditha, and every beloved patch of the Land of the Two Rivers [Iraq], from which flow the sins of the vampire who sucks the blood of innocents.

From this moment on, [hitherto secret] files will be opened and will explode on the public, the screams will echo and the appeals will reach throughout the halls of justice. He [Rumsfeld] wasn’t a human being at all. Rather, he was a portable crime-committer, propagating and sprouting misdeeds wherever he went – the moment you turned your back.

He masterminded one of the filthiest gangs of evil of all time, which has engineered, permitted, protected and nourished the fighting that is shattering Iraq, setting it aflame, murdering it, and banishing it from the map for good. His crop is noxious and his fruit is rotten. He is a mafia-like Satan whose wine is crimson blood and whose food is crushed and broiled human corpses. Indeed, his crimes are a terrible shame that scream for justice.

Before the crushing Democratic [election] blow, it was Bush’s intent to keep him next to the seat of power amongst the elite men who devour and destroy. Perhaps this was because Rumsfeld was more exceptional, productive and illustrious when preparing savory evening meals garnished with murder and visions of cruel torture – with him dancing atop the body of his victims. Only a week earlier, he was one of these select few. But today he finds himself measured, weighed and sacked, the sacrificial lamb stung by the blade of a knife looking to separate the wool from the skin of the throat. Today he is truly a sacrificial lamb, offered up to protect the rest of the savage gang that kidnapped the land [of Iraq] and held it for ransom like a cheap hostage.

Rumsfeld would salute, smile and raise his cowboy hat to every deviant soldier deflowering Iraq and thereby setting it ablaze, and to every deviant female soldier who sprawls herself across her victim and takes pictures as mementos RealVideo. The murdered are killed and go off to their funeral processions, but Rumsfeld’s yellowing face remains hanging over everything, so that even during the mourning period, a sharp blade cannot cut it down. One who looks at his scowling countenance wouldn’t doubt that he is smacking his lips like a predator contemplating his next meal.

Today when he touches his collar he soils his sleeve with the blood of the citizens of Sumer and Babel and Ashour. They didn’t wrong him or insult his sixteenth ancestor [in other words, Rumsfeld had no old score to settle against them] and they didn’t spit in his face, but his appetite had been whetted by licking the elixir of innocent blood. Donald, the son of Rumsfeld the American, is the finest example of one who has created a long history of depravity which is the most enduring charge against the global power.

Another assessment like the one floated above relates to a certain Dick Cheney, who now takes up residence on the throne of the American Vice President. His ledger of offenses too will be revealed. Then will be discovered ill-gotten purses of dollars which his companies plundered and snatched from the hungry mouths of the sick and the hard-working across the land that lay between the two sacred rivers [Iraq]. If it induces the first inkling of compassion in all of those who wish to hold on to whatever drop of conscience remains, the crushing blow delivered by Democrats will be a favor and a blessing.

The door to a solution for the United States and its leader – who has taught it to commit murder – would be to kiss the head of the victim and repent for the crimes it has committed, and to endeavor night and day to heal Iraq and to treat its gaping wounds, mend its stricken heart and erase the crimes from its books.

Are you being treated unjustly, oh Secretary, or was it that your plans were too radical? Did you scribble illegibly on your forms or get drunk from your power, oh totalitarian dictator?

It is the right to my fair country to rest in mourning. And I believe that it is within your powers to look after your own freedoms and your democracy, which you have turned into fearsome ghoulish false idols.