A madman's latest

President Bush has always defied caricature by being so over-the-top stupid and evil that an honest assessment of him sounds like hyperbole. Shrill, even.

I'll spare everyone a heated reprisal of his most awful moments to date. (OK, a few: "Please, don't kill me;" "You've covered your ass, now;" "I know they're here somewhere;" "Bring it on;" etc.).

But what do you say when he wants to make sure kids who didn't take personal responsibility to have rich parents don't have health insurance? I'm really not exaggerating when I say that. His view, doubtless shared by many serious conservatives who don't have to worry about this shit, is that it would be inappropriate for the government to expand a successful, popular program that provides health insurance to kids whose parents are unable to do so.

(I mean, this is a perfect, gift-wrapped data point to back up my Unified Theory of Republican-Conservative Philosophy; Namely: "If something bad is happening to someone else, it's just not my problem, and caring about it would be an inappropriate reaction.)

Although the combination of a deeply unpopular, radical, lame-duck president with an opposition Congress is certainly a potential problem, this isn't some petulant, scorched-earth tactic. Bush isn't kicking over the sand castle to spite everyone else. This is an honest attempt to enshrine a conservative* policy. And if some kids have to get sick or die, well, you can't make a wonderful omlette of conservative utopian policies without breaking a few eggs. By which we mean kids, apparently. Lovely.

August has always been the month in which he got the most people killed.

* I was going to have a cute little moment here when an old conservative comes back from the dead to wag his (undoubtedly, right) finger at me for calling the modern Republican party conservative, when it's clearly a just a coalition of business interests, religious extremists, xenophobic bigots and citizens crazed with fear and clinging to whatever authoritarian branch they can find. But my mind has been so warped by a lifetime of equating "conservativism" with the tofurky pot pie served up by Reagan, Thatcher, et al that the exercise was threatening to sink the whole post. If you must, pretend the ghost of Edmund Burke came back or something.

Independence Day

It's like you rent the top floor of your house, and you live in a goddamn awesome house.

Your great-great grandparents built it, it's got a ton of room and there's this great view overlooking the ocean, all worth a lot of money, which is nice, but you don't much give a shit about that. It's a kick-ass place, been in the family forever. You have a lot of good parties and on nice days it seems like everybody you know is hanging out on the front lawn.

It's like you rent the top floor of your house, and the 43rd tenant seems nice enough, not that smart but pretty harmless. The kind of guy you'd like to have a beer with.

Right away you notice sketch people coming home with him -- hookers mostly, with the occasional crackhead thrown in. His upstairs toilet starts overflowing and brown water drips through the ceiling into your bedroom below.

"Weird," you think, "this has never happened before," but it's probably no big deal, so you call in a plumber and figure it was a one-time thing. Weird people have lived upstairs before.

And then one day you come home and find out that the 43rd tenant raped your wife and ran over your kid with a dune buggie and that one of his whore daughters shot the family dog because she was bored. Bullet holes pierce the front window and there's this nasty smell coming from the upstairs apartment, which, upon coming home that day, you realize is a meth lab.

You go out to the front yard and call the police and fire department on your cell phone. The cops show up and all of a sudden a pack of hookers and whores and methed-up trannies are dragged kicking over the front lawn, infected snatches bulbing out of their crotchless pants, screaming and cursing and biting themselves. The scene would be embarrassing, but fuck, you've got a dead kid in the driveway and the corpse of your German Shepherd and a wife raped by a meth-cooking tenant. Just end the shitshow and get them out of your sight.

You don't spot your 43rd tenant, which makes sense. I mean, after raping your wife and running over your kid with a dune buggy and packing the upstairs apartment with whores and crackheads and meth equipment, you assume that naturally he's going to run from the cops, because even psychotics have instincts for self-preservation.

Only when you smell the smoke and look back to the house do you realize that the moron's meth lab just blew up and your house is now on fire. And in true David Koresh fashion, there's your fucking 43rd tenant, leaning out the window of the top-floor apartment, giving you the middle finger and staring you down, willing to burn alive and not really caring so long as it's all reduced to ashes and he doesn't get hauled in.

Tony Snow's bad acting

Yesterday, the White House's paid liar took umbrage with a simple question asked of him by a reporter. The question: Does our country's policy of throwing people in prison without cause undermine our credibility as spreaders of democracy. Seeing as things like habeas corpus and due process are pretty much essential to a free society, and we're trashing them, I thought it was a fair question.

I originally planned to post the video of Tony Snow's response (which I came across at TPM) side by side with Jim Mora's similarly incredulous "playoffs" rant, under some sort of "Habeas? Are you kidding me? Habeas?" rubric. But repeated viewings of the Snow video have made me ill.

He's just oozing with smarm, pretending to be amazed by the question. Mora came by his reaction honestly. I can't stomach another viewing of the Snow video. From his reaction, he's either a dishonest shitweasel whom you shouldn't give 75 cents to get you a Caramello from the vending machine or he's just a doltish, blow-dried rube who somehow made his way up the ladder. Given that he's worked for both Fox News and the Bush administration, I'd bet the former to the table max. There's something a bit too calculated in his outrage, he's a little too quick to play dumb. He seems just like the type to seize any chance to play the aggrieved party to the hilt for his own benefit. I bet he roots for Italy in soccer tournaments.

And if you ever shot him in the junk with a foam projectile he'd totally flip shit and tell you that he could sue you for that. Because he just doesn't think you appreciate the seriousness of the War on Terror.

Hootness malaria dancey-dance!

"On this special day, we renew our commitment to lead the world toward an urgent goal, and that is to turn the tide against malaria in Africa, and around the globe," the president said. Associated Press.

How true. Malaria kills more than a million people a year. It's the leading cause of death among children in Africa--

Oh, fuck it.

Malaria Awareness Day is my best day for dancing!

"In no time, it was Bush who was enthusiastically choreographing the moves. Flashing a big grin, Bush pounded on the drums to set the rhythm and led the women and men of the group in a little dance." Associated Press.

Dancey dance!


Oh my danceness!



Hoot! Hoot! Dancing hootness George W. Bush dancey dance! Hoot!



ROTFLMAO OMG hootness you guys! OMG HOOT!!!!!!!??!!

hahahahahahahaaaa! Clappy clappy hoot!

Yes, someone really does love you, Boris Yeltsin. You know what they say: Peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat.

Hootness Yeltsin dancey-dance!

*All photos found on Shakesville.
** If I didn't already hate the guy so much, these photos would make me wish he was my best friend.

Maybe some other time

The President was just on CNN, attempting to explain himself in re: The U.S. Attorney matter. He sounded like one of those people who gets all upset over something mundane when you're out at the bar, and works himself into a tizzy repeating arguments he heard elsewhere. Political points! Partisanship! Klieg lights! Bad precedent!

If I were at a bar with him, I would not have any interest in getting a beer with him. I would be very interested in paying my tab and leaving to join some people who could think for themselves and not act like everything is a direct affront to them individually.

CrimeNotes adds an addendum:

His performance today was awesomely insane, Bush-league Nixon, a freak-out of twitches, snarls, scoffing and stammering. He was a teenager incensed at being grounded for smashing up the car, a crackwhore without the crack. He acted the way I would act if someone made me wear a tux, made me stay up all night, brought me to a flower show, then took away my cigarettes: all restrained rage and blinding discomfort.

He's never been a public speaker. This was altogether different. He seemed unhinged, and he's about to provoke a Constitutional crisis.

Bring it on, you cheap dime-store hood.

Secrets of Bush speechwriters revealed!

I came across The Rock on HBO recently. In the space of less than 10 minutes I heard the phrases "we are at war with terror" and "you're either with us or against us."

Did all of our foreign policy over the last six years come from this movie? If something like Axis of Evil can get said because it sounded good and made Bush feel like Churchill, what's the limit on absurdity? 'll have to watch the rest of the film in its entirety sometime and report back.

Although somehow I feel that Dr. Strangelove might be more instructive.

George W. Bush, farmer

I recently imagined George W. Bush as a crop-hating farmer. I lacked the imagination to picture him as a psychotic, renegade tractor-driving farmer:

"I would suggest moving back," Bush said as he climbed into the cab of a massive D-10 tractor. "I'm about to crank this sucker up." As the engine roared to life, White House staffers tried to steer the press corps to safety, but when the tractor lurched forward, they too were forced to scramble for safety."Get out of the way!" a news photographer yelled. "I think he might run us over!" said another. White House aides tried to herd the reporters the right way without getting run over themselves. Even the Secret Service got involved, as one agent began yelling at reporters to get clear of the tractor. Watching the chaos below, Bush looked out the tractor's window and laughed, steering the massive machine into the spot where most of the press corps had been positioned. The episode lasted about a minute, and Bush was still laughing when he pulled to a stop.

Hypothetical dilemmas and excuses for George W. Bush, average citizen

President Bush today rebuffed congressional opponents who want to stop his plan to increase U.S. troop strength in Iraq, declaring that "I'm the decision-maker" on the war effort and challenging skeptics to produce their own plan for success.

--The Washington Post, January 26, 2007

George W. Bush, weather forecaster. In the 11 p.m. broadcast on April 19, George confidently predicts that "tomorrow we'll see a batch of those famous April showers, so don't forget to pack an umbrella!" In fact, April 20 is sunny with a high of 58. Confident in his earlier prediction, George mounts his roof with a garden hose and sprays cold water on passing cars and pedestrians. On that night's broadcast, he takes credit for predicting rain.

George W. Bush, bodega employee. An unexpected demand for Tropicana Orange Juice (Some Pulp) leaves the bodega shorthanded, and the next delivery isn't due until Wednesday. George places several fresh oranges in a cleaning bucket and beats them with his sneaker, which he has washed and removed. When prospective orange juice buyers decline to buy the bucket and its contents, he angrily rebuffs them, and suggests that they make the juice themselves.

George W. Bush, professional dog walker. After 20 minutes of walking Buster, Naomi Steinhardt's black lab, the dog has failed to relieve itself. George takes matters into his own hands by urinating on a parked car. He praises the dog lavishly. Naomi is dismayed when she returns to her apartment and steps into a puddle of Buster's urine.

George W. Bush, high school principal. You are a history teacher struggling with a difficult student. He shows promise, but is disruptive in class and dismayed by his parents' divorce. When he calls you an "asshole" in sixth hour, you send him to the principal's office, where George shoots and kills him. You communicate your horror, and George says, "Shut up, didn't he? That's more than you were able to do."

George W. Bush, temp. It's mid-August on the 25th floor when a blackout hits the city. After 20 minutes of waiting for power to return, your boss suggests that everyone take the stairs and walk home. George declares that stairs are "too long." He throws a computer monitor through a window (accidentally damaging a newsstand below) then suggests that the employees jump out, since that will bring them down faster. No one follows his suggestion. George grows incensed, and says that someone else needs to come up with an alternative exit strategy that's less difficult than stairs.

George W. Bush, interior decorator. The owner of a loft requests that George find artwork to complement a new red couch. Using a set of Crayola Magic Markers, George scrawls the following on the loft's walls: "George," "fart," "shit," "kat," and "MOM." He attempts to draw a red penguin, except that it looks more like a pigeon, but George hates pigeons, so he tries to turn it into a dragon. The outraged owner sees George's handiwork and refuses to pay the $15,000 consulting fee. "You wanted artwork, didn't you?" George said. "I propose that if you want a better dragon, you draw her yourself."

George W. Bush, plastic surgeon. For her fiftieth birthday, Brenda Lawson goes under the knife for a nose job. Thinking about Garbage Pail Kids makes George W. Bush, M.D., distracted. He mistakenly severs her nose. In an effort to remedy this, George decides to remove one of Brenda's boobs and annex it where her nose should be. Dissatisfied with the asymmetry, he concludes that it would be better yet to remove the other boob and annex it to the proper location of a male penis, had Brenda been born a male. He congratulates himself for his creativity. At his medical malpractice trial four years later, George testifies, "As to those who doubt, I welcome their suggestions for what to do with a lost nose and a one-boob."

George W. Bush, farmer. Concluding that crops are "lazy" and "spoiled," George resolves to stop watering and fertilizing his thousand-acre sorghum farm, to predictable results. Panicking over the dormant fields, George commissions a blue-ribbon panel of agriculture professors to advise him on how to resuscitate the farm. The commission suggests that George water and fertilize the crops; George again denounces the crops as "lazy" and "spoiled." The farm fails and George enters bankruptcy. Defending a lawsuit from his lenders, George states, "And to my critics, I would have welcomed input from anyone who had suggestions about how to motivate lazy, spoiled crops."