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Bush's
Speeches Give Me Motion Sickness
January
30, 2002
by Tyler Durden
I meant to listen to the State of the Union Address; I really
did. Mea Culpa: I blew it off. It was either not listen to
Bush's voice, or projectile vomit. The funny thing is that
it wouldn't have been the content that did me in.
I just can't listen to the pResident's speeches anymore.
It's not that they are vacuous and chock-a-block with empty
platitudes and glittering corporate generalities, that's a
given. Most of us can shut down our intellectual inputs during
the ravings of the conservatives. I could listen to Newt Gingrich;
sure he made me steam, but I could at least listen to catch
where he was planning to screw us next. However, Bush is an
entirely different kettle of fish.
When you're a Liberal, sitting through the claptrap speeches
of the "Conservative Hero of the Day" is an occupational hazard.
You learn to live with it, and hope it is at least perversely
entertaining, sort of like watching car chases and wrecks
on reality TV. (Come on, admit it; we all watch them occasionally).
However, you do assume that any physical illness you experience
will be at most metaphorical. But not with me, not any more.
Yes, Bush bores me; and it continues to astound me how anyone
with half an education could not be bored with the content
of his speeches. They are crafted very well to capture the
attention of a 10 year old, and whoever is writing them must
be one hell of a technical writer. That's my job, to write
to a target audience so that I'm not sailing over their heads,
or putting them to sleep. So when I read a transcript of his
drivel at my 14 to 16th grade reading level, it shouldn't
shock me that Bush's 5-6th grade level text puts me to sleep.
That's not what makes me physically nauseous about an actual
George Bush speech.
BLAH BLAH BLAH (dramatic pause),
BLAH BLAH BLAH (dramatic pause),
BLAH BLAH BLAH (dramatic pause) AD INFINITUM!!!
Father God and Sonny Jesus, I'm in a car with someone who
rides the brake in heavy traffic, constantly slamming me against
my literary shoulder harness. It's exactly like riding shotgun
with my 80-year-old uncle, who drives like shit. He goes 10
miles an hour over the speed limit all the time, and brakes
with his left foot to more effectively ride the ass of the
guy ahead of him.
Accelerator, brake.
Accelerator, brake.
Accelerator, brake.
I don't have to exert any effort listening to Bush's speeches
for onset of nausea; less than two minutes hearing that ghastly
pattern has already given me terminal motion sickness. Who
told this guy that a dramatic pause every 4 point 5 seconds
is authoritative and presidential? He sounds like a broken
record or a smudged CD. I once broke a copy of "Blind Faith"
over my knee after the 4th skip on "Sea of Joy": I just couldn't
take it.
Call me a Commie. I don't care; listening to Bush's pattern
for 4 minutes would have made me lose my lunch, let alone
48 minutes. I'll never listen to a Bush speech again. Just
send me the transcript; bulimia is not my thing. How Dick
Gephardt made it to his commentary without an air sickness
bag is beyond me.
I'll try Dramamine next time, but I'm not holding out a lot
of hope.
Tyler Durden is a failed polical candidate in Michigan, who
abuses his job as a technical writer to compose political
articles as therapy.
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