Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ and

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Pavlov's Hog

I refer, of course, to the unelected President of the United States and his penchant for, when things aren't going his way, trying to scare us all into doing what he wants by bringing up the threat of terrorism. He's bungled the war that he shouldn't have started, so now he's desperate.

And true to form, he's ringing that bell again. Oh, don't mistake me, terrorism is hugely real and we should all be concerned. But Shrub only ever seems to remember that there's, you know, A WAR ON TERRORISM when he's slipping in the polls (moot these days, as he could hardly go lower), he's in trouble on Capitol Hill (even his own Repuglicans, the more responsible ones anyway, are turning on him like pit bulls whipped once too often) or he feels the need to shore up his teeny weeny by sounding tough.

It is to laugh. That is, it would be if it weren't so serious and terrible. Like clockwork, whenever he's in trouble out pops the Terrorism trip, like a mad little cuckoo on the Doomsday Clock. He's the cuckoo one, though. All he does is attest to the paucity of his leadership (none) and make himself look like an idiot (well, more of an idiot). Not to mention his hired whores and bought dogs who go out there and preach this crap with a straight face, because they're as deranged and as evil as he is.

Does he really think, if one may call it thinking, that we can't see through this? Ooooh, terrorism, you won't be safe unless you rally round! ExCUUUUUSE me, who was the one who got us unsafe to start with? Yes, YOU, Shrub, you pig-ignorant, pusillanimous little festering boil on the bottom of the Republic. He's cried wolf a thousand times too often, his preferred strategy, and now nobody even pays attention.

And we all know perfectly well how it will end. He will leave this mess for someone else to deal with, the way he's done his whole little pampered chicken-hearted life. No accountability, no responsibility. He'll just stroll away from the horror he's created and the Democratic president who follows him will have to cope.

When he got drunk at Yale and threw up all over the place, I bet he left the vomit for other people to clean up. Nothing's changed. Let's just all pray the mess this time won't be radioactive.


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