CUNT.

Laura Bush Opens Up About Crash

By ANAHAD O'CONNOR (MSG's comments in red, obviously)

Laura Bush has finally opened up publicly about the mysterious car accident she had when she was 17, a crash that claimed the life of a high school friend on a dark country road in Midland, Tex.

In her new book, “Spoken From the Heart,” Mrs. Bush describes in vivid detail the circumstances surrounding the crash, which has haunted her for most of her adult life ( oh yes, she must surely be tortured. Though, not nearly as tortured as the prisoners who had their teeth electrocuted with her husband's blessing) and which became the subject of questions and speculation when it was revealed during her husband’s first presidential run. A copy of the book, scheduled for release in early May, was obtained by The New York Times at a bookstore.

On several occasions in the book, Mrs. Bush admonishes her husband’s political adversaries for “calling him names,” and she pointedly rebuts criticism of some of his key decisions. She suggested that his highly criticized fly-over of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina was in the best interests of the victims and aid workers on the ground.(You mean the aid workers who were already being blocked from entering the city by good ol' Brownie?)

“He did not want one single life to be lost because someone was catering to the logistical requirements of a president,” she says about the Katrina fly-over. “He did not want his convoy of vehicles to block trucks delivering water or food or medical supplies, or to impede National Guardsmen from around the nation who were arriving to help.”(You stupid, blind bitch.)

Mrs. Bush also suggests, apparently for the first time, that she, Mr. Bush, and several members of their staff may have been poisoned during a visit to Germany for a G8 Summit. They all became mysteriously sick, and the president was bedridden for part of the trip. (It's called the Flu you dolt. Rich assholes get it too, you know. It's not just for poor people.) The Secret Service investigated the possibility they were poisoned, she writes, but doctors could only conclude that they all contracted a virus. After noting several high-profile poisonings, she wrote, “we never learned if any other delegations became ill, or if ours, mysteriously, was the only one.”(Ha-ha. "Mysteriously". Yes, I'm sure there was no circumstance whatsoever where only you and the people on your plane could get sick. I wonder how that could happen? It must have been terrorism. It's the answer for everything!")

Later, Mrs. Bush takes on Nancy Pelosi, the Democrat who is speaker of the House of Representatives, for calling Mr. Bush “an incompetent leader” and for saying he lacked judgment, knowledge and experience. She also bristles at the insults thrown at Mr. Bush by the Democratic leader in the Senate, Harry Reid, quoting him as calling her husband a “loser” and a “liar.”(He forgot "murderer", "retard", "war criminal" and "born-again faggot")

“The comments were uncalled for and graceless,” she writes. “While a president’s political opponents, as well as his supporters, are entitled to make what they see as legitimate criticisms, and while our national debates should be spirited, these particular worlds revealed the petty and parochial nature of some who serve in Congress.” ( Hmmm. Interesting, because in an interview with TIME magazine in August of 2004: When asked about whether the swift-boat ads are unfair to John Kerry, Mrs. Bush replies, “Do I think they’re unfair? Not really.” )

But it is her description of the deadly accident, and its subsequent impact on her life and her faith, that is the subject Mrs. Bush had most shied away from speaking about in her public life. On a November night in 1963, Mrs. Bush and a girlfriend were hurrying to a drive-in theater when Mrs. Bush, at the wheel of her father’s Chevy Impala (more like an Impale-a) , ran a stop sign on a small road and smashed into a car being driven by Mike Douglas, a star athlete and popular student at her school.

“In those awful seconds, the car door must have been flung open by the impact and my body rose in the air until gravity took over and I was pulled, hard and fast, back to earth,” she says. “The whole time,” she adds later, “I was praying that the person in the other car was alive. In my mind, I was calling ‘Please, God. Please, God. Please, God,’ over and over and over again.”(Really, the whole time you were in the air you were praying for the person in the other car? Well, hard as that is to believe I do sincerely believe that 0.5 seconds was the amount of time you spent thinking about that person. As evidenced by your selfish actions after the accident.")

Mrs. Bush reveals that she was wracked by guilt for years after the crash, especially after not attending the funeral and for not reaching out to the parents of the dead teenager. Her parents did not want her to show up at the funeral, she states, and she ended up sleeping through it. (Wow. She has the balls to admit that? That's the most selfish thing I have ever fucking heard. EVER. She is unbelievable.)

Mrs. Bush concedes that she and her friend were chatting when she ran the stop sign. But she also suggests a host of factors beyond her control played a role — the pitch-black road, an unusually dangerous intersection, the small size of the stop sign, and the car the victim was driving. (Ha-ha. So it's his fault he died because of the car he was driving. That sounds like about right for a Bush.)

“It was sporty and sleek, and it was also the car that Ralph Nader made famous in his book Unsafe at Any Speed,” she states. “He claimed the car was unstable and prone to rollover accidents. A few years later, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration went so far as to investigate the Corvair’s handling, but it didn’t reach the same grim conclusions. I was driving my dad’s much larger and heavier Chevy Impala. But none of that would ever ease the night of November 6. Not for me, and never for the Douglases.” (A little late for the humility and humanity, don't cha think, Laur?")

“I lost my faith that November, lost it for many, many years,” she says. “It was the first time that I had prayed to God for something, begged him for something, not the simple childhood wishing on a star but humbly begging for another human life. And it was as if no one heard. My begging, to my seventeen-year-old mind, had made no difference. The only answer was the sound of Mrs. Douglas’s sobs on the other side of that thin emergency room curtain.” (Okay, that's harsh. She has to live with that awful memory. Yet, I wonder if she hears the sobs of the thousands of mother's who lost their sons and daughters in a bullshit war her husband created to make his friends some money?)

Mrs. Bush goes on to say that in her public life, she has encouraged young drivers who have been in serious accidents to speak to loved ones, counselors or spiritual or pastoral advisers.

“But while I give this advice in my letters, I didn’t do any of that,” she reveals. “Most of how I ultimately coped with the crash was by trying not to talk about it, not to think about it, to put it aside. Because there wasn’t anything I could do. Even if I tried.” (That's gotta be the most selfish, rich-white-cunt thinking of all-time.)