Fantasy of the weekend...

With apologies to Quentin Tarantino...

Karl Rove, I'd like to introduce my friend, the Patrick Fitzgerald. Patrick Fitzgerald? This is Karl Rove. You know after the wheels of justice picked that little fella up, I looked him up on the internet. Fascinating creature, Patrick Fitzgerald. Listen to this: "In politics being caught with a dead intern or a live boy can kill your career, and a Patrick Fitzgerald can kill your career.' But only with Patrick Fitzgerald --and this has been true in Washington since after the right went crazy over Clinton--is career death sure. Hence its handle--'death incarnate.'" Pretty cool, huh? "Its determination is one of nature's most effective career killer, acting on the nervous system of perjurors and felons causing paralysis. The prosecutorial power of a Patrick Fitzgerald can kill a politicians career in four hours if, say, subpoenaed for simple fraud. However, a violating the espionage act can bring career death from paralysis within 20 minutes." Now you should listen to this, 'cause this concerns you. "The weight of a federal prosecutor like Fitzpatrick that can be brought to bear against a slimeball like you, Rove can be gargantuan." You know I've always liked that word gargantuan? I so rarely have an opportunity to use it in a sentence. "If not treated quickly with a guilty plea, Fitzgerald's indictments can be fatal to a politician's career. However, Patrick Fitzgerald might refusea plea deal."

Now... in these last agonizing minutes of your career you have left, let me answer that question you asked earlier more thoroughly. Right at this moment, the biggest "R" I feel is regret. Regret that maybe the greatest politicians I have ever known, met their end at the hands of a bush-whackin', scrub, elky piece-of-shit like you. They deserved better.

Maybe it won't happen, but remember, there's another act, where the progressive politicians come back... and you know the rest.