More Metphors

Belacqua Jones has a new letter to W earily reminiscent of my previous "Reality Bites" post:

Keep the faith, George. Those of us who are the stoned and the broken and the dreamers stand behind you, our determination growing with each car bomb. Every dead child is a charcoal briquette firing our BBQ of resolve. Let no brown-skinned bastard underestimate our obsessive stubbornness. We will never abandon the sinking ship, even as the waters lap around our ankles.

Or even when they fill our nostrils with our own filth. God bless you, George. Landlubbers everywhere salute you.