Burn The Carcass At Half-Mast

As I. Scooter Libby's plane dips its wing in triumpant as it leaves american waters and heads into the darkness towards Havana, the nation can rest well and awake to celebrate its nation's holiday this fourth of July and know that the stable environment once enjoyed in the nations capitol has been wretched onto the floor of a DC-10 as storm clouds gather at 5,000 feet.

Personal power unchecked in the Nixon administration and fueled by the confusion and wrath of a bitter jungle battle in Vietnam sent plumbers to jail and testimony to the floor of the house. Once determined and clear headed journalists to the parking garages of the collected unconscious of american public that now shriek at staffers for more oily residue over thier person as they await not a better tee time but a better table at the hanging.

Libby now downing a few drinks and stroking the side of his laptop and composing emails to the editor of the Washington Times shrugs off a call from Fred Dalton Thompson who wants him to consult on his campaign of dirty tricks before it has officially kicked in. Thompson said, "Surely, Scooter, surely you gotta know a few Puerto Ricans who slobbered over Bill in a steak house john somewhere in Virginia." Scruples run deep for Scooter who enjoys connections straight up the biker chain to Dick Cheney and down to Rupert Murdoch.


- Chris Mansel