Joe Lieberman in happier times

A Bloggy Note to a Fish Mammal Out of Water

Joe Lieberman is slippery when wet, but who isn't, really? Slippery, that is. When wet. And if all that salt water in your boxers has left you feeling violated, don't worry Joe: it's just a short slog on a slow trawler to medical care. Once the hook is removed you can bleed quietly on the Poop Deck. Perhaps you could sell t-shirts: a pressed on sturgeon comes to mind. Ah, comedy.

After you've been gutted, cleaned and fileted maybe you'll end up on a wall mounting, singing some rousing sea shanty and whipping your tail about. Or maybe you'll slip the manxome foe and put it to the water dragons--after all, 9/11 changed everything--it turned you into a Mammish (a mammal crossed with a fish--you can try this at home with grouper and a landlord). A Mammish plays the slippery political games with great skill--so great he doesn't even have to listen to anyone he represents, because having a dual-life he already knows more than anyone else. He knows what a fish thinks like, and he knows what a mammal thinks like, and he knows what he likes. End of story.

If you hook Mr. Limpet (aka Joe Lieberman, the Mammish Mauler) be careful, because he could use his powers of soothing monotones to lull you into a pile of anchovy paste. He has been marked for an early retirement, a fate no Mammish can bear. Better to be blabbering support for a criminal war than to stand back and smell the sulfer. But enough of Mr. Limpet: old fish mammals never die, they just float away. Far, far away. Really, really, really far, far away. Off the map.

Perhaps once he is finally gone, others will get the message, and no more of our brave soldiers will have to die/be brutalized/be traumatized in a war based on lies for the profit of the few, the loud, the neocons. Yeah, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.

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Image of Joe Lieberman in Happier Times from here.

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