The cost of war

Nothing conceptual here. Just another disastrous economic fact to report. Dear Leader's war on terror is now costing $9.8 billion per month. That's right. Nearly $10 billion a month.

Best current predictions for the total cost? One fucking trillion dollars.

Scott Wallsten, a resident scholar at the conservative American Enterprise Institute, put the direct cost to the United States at $212 billion as of last September and estimates a "global cost" of $500 billion to date with another $500 billion possible, with most of the total borne by the United States.

This is from Bonddad over at Daily Kos.

So my question to wingers everywhere: What the hell were you thinking when you supported this criminal aggression? Oh, I forgot. You weren't thinking.

Comments

and we're borrowing several billion a day....

several billion a day to help finance the shrub's tax cuts for his wealthy friends while children starve.

I believe I read that Dubya has killed more innocent Americans now than Osama did. I need to find where I read that. I site hop and don't remember where I find things.



***************************
Vote Democratic! The ass you save may be your own.

What options do we have to fix this?

I've watched these numbers grow over and over again and each time they grow I get more and more worried about my son's future. Do we have some real choices on how to fight this first of all, and then how to fix this? Do we really have to wait until the 2006 elections and/or the 2008 elections to even begin? I don't want to even think about how high the debt will be if we have to wait until 2008. What worries me too is that even if we get a Dem elected in 2008, what are they going to have to do to reverse this trend and how much will that end up costing us?

A friend today

said he's worried about Dems winning in November because they'll be saddled with such a miserable economic picture, disastrous international relations and a pissed off military. I see his point . . . but we simply must win one of the houses if there is to be any hope.

As a practical matter, it seems we have little choice but to speak out loudly and often against the gross incompetence and corruption of the Bush regime. People are slowly awakening to the insanity.

We were saddled with a picture

almost as bad from Bush 41, but it was no problem. However, there will be no honeymoon and people will expect results immediately, but I don't think after 2006 - I think after 2008.

I'm going to bed early so I can finish...um...cleaning before John comes home tomorrow. I...uh...let a few things go. It's this blogging thing I like to do. (Hangs head in shame and slumps off to do some laundry before bed...siiigggghhhh)



***************************
Vote Democratic! The ass you save may be your own.

Clean sweep

Your comment about house cleaning reminded my of this chapter in the novel I'm writing

Chapter 41

When Hook shows up Thursday morning at Irene’s Island Services, she finds the cinderblock storefront hopping. Irene has cornered the market for house cleaning on Topsail, and late October brings a last gasp of commerce before the beach goes into hibernation. She has five maids on part-time payroll, counting Hook.

Hook did summer cleaning a few years ago, so she knows the drill, like lots of young women on the Carolina coast. She’s a decent worker and Irene’s glad to have her back.

‘Got you at the Blue Heron Villas today.’ Irene’s sitting at a desk covered with Beanie Babies and coffee cups, smacking her Big Red chewing gum in a steady rhythm. She has the same pug nose as her son, Eddie Junior.

The blackboard behind her chair keeps track of customers. Hook’s name is already up there in Irene’s choppy cursive along with Maria, Isabel, Ava, and Inez. The other girls are chit-chatting, which isn’t Hook’s favorite thing, especially in Spanish.

‘There’s a two bedroom needs the Works,’ says Irene. ‘You ‘member the Works?’

The Works is Irene’s deluxe service option, a top-to-bottom tidying frenzy that turns overused beach houses into showrooms for cleaning products. Bon Ami. EZ-Off. Handiwipes. Lysol. OrangeMax. Pledge. Soft Scrub. Tilex. Windex. Irene swears by them all.

Hook sticks her hands in her jeans pockets and fingers the half-smoked joint she grabbed on her way out the door this morning. Sinker was still passed out in their recliner with the tv on. They’d stayed up till three watching The Dirty Dozen. He hogged the computer though, so she missed catching up with her friends online.

‘Course I do. You still got a checklist?’

Irene pulls the fourteen-point list from her desk drawer and hands it to Hook.

‘Do we still got to clean disgusting globs of hair out of drains?’ asks Hook.

‘Number seven,’ says Irene. ‘Disgusting globs of hair. That there’s our trademark.’ She smirks at her Mexican crew. Irene’s never quite sure if they understand what she’s saying. Neither are they.
Hook risks an easy laugh.

‘The list’s got shorter,’ says Irene. ‘But it’s still a full day. And make sure you do a extra good job. It’s a new customer.’

Hook spindles the paper into a tight little tube. ‘Working by myself?’
‘You okay with that?’

‘Suits me fine.’

‘Here’s the keys then. Give me a buzz before lunch and let me know how you’re doing.’

Hook heads to the storage closet and picks up her supply basket. ‘Oh where oh where did my pumice stone go?’ She sings the words and gives Irene her wide-eyed look. She knows Irene thinks pumice stone is the ninth wonder of the world, right up there with a good canister vacuum.

The queen of clean laughs and throws Pete the Pelican across the room at her newest employee. ‘Get outta here you smart aleck.’