What John said. Nail these sick bastards.

They’ve handed it to you now, Howard. They’ve handed this issue to you on a silver platter with a garland of herbs making it nice and fragrant.

They’ve given you the issue, Democrats. You all voted, every last one of you, to review the monumental cockup that has made us the laughingstock of the civilized world and raised doubts at home and abroad about our vaunted national security. You all voted, and good job Harry for keeping everybody in line, to find out what the hell happened, and the Republicans voted to be chickenass little girls too scared to let their president stand up to a little questioning. Ah, the paradox of the modern Republican party: So strong that a question from a member of the badly outnumbered and inept opposition threatens it into girlish tears.

They’ve handed it to you, with their Evil Eleven, Republicans all. Republican Jesus, indeed: Screw the meek. Screw the poor. Screw the helpless. Screw the elderly. Screw the starving. Screw their homes. Screw their jobs. Screw their children. Screw their pets. Let them rot. Let them perish of thirst, surrounded by water. Let them die alone in a dark and flooded nursing home, clinging to their wheelchairs, trapped in hospital beds, stranded on rooftops in the thick New Orleans heat. And don’t dare ask why it was done. Don’t dare ask the question. Don’t dare look this horror in the face. Don’t dare let the faces of the dead haunt your feeble dreams late into the night. Don’t dare allow a second’s daylight into the dark week when you let a city die. Screw the meek.

A.