Please bear with me until the large-animal tranquilizer I just took kicks in. It had better hurry up and take effect because if I look at one more newspaper, see one more television news broadcast, or visit one more Web page that chronicles the condition of George W. Bush’s colon, I think I am going to have a nervous breakdown. Yep, it seems like every time I look up I am looking down his, well, uh, I guess there’s no other way to put it, butt. This is even worse than when Dick Cheney had some sort of foot surgery a couple of years ago and the news kept reporting on it and showing his big white flabby feet. Must all of this be a matter of public record? Can the man not have a colonoscopy in private without the world having to know about it? I know that White House “probes” are often controversial, but really, can’t we be spared this one? Surely, there is more to report on than this, like the newly enhanced interrogation program on which Bush just signed off, which probably includes making suspected terrorists read about his colon. (I know if I had to put up with it much longer I would tell all.) I guess it had to make the news because he gave up his presidential power during the roughly (ha ha, I said “roughly”) half-hour surgery. And I’m not sure which is scarier: being barraged with stories about W’s colon or the fact that Dick Cheney had complete control of the country for that length of time. At least, much like the president usually is, Cheney was relaxing at his vacation home during the operation. And, apparently, Bush had a pretty good time during all this as well. Every account reports that he was “in good humor” right after having the tube inserted into his colon, and that shortly afterward he put on a pair of jeans, had breakfast with another man, and then went for a walk with his dog and the man. Sounds like an average day on Fire Island to me. And funny, isn’t it, that his wife Laura wasn’t around for this? She was conveniently away visiting her mother for her birthday. Wife gone, anus probed, breakfast and walk with another man? Wearing jeans and probably his cowboy boots? Dick in charge and relaxing at the beach? Is this the early 1980s all over again? Does this give “Camp” David a whole new meaning? And that genius of geniuses Ann Coulter has the nerve to make remarks about John Edwards? At least he got his wife pregnant more than once. But enough of this. I am just displaying tunnel vision (ha ha, I said “tunnel”). But it does give me hope. If someone was able to get George W. Bush loosened up enough for this, maybe someone can convince him that he needs to resign from his job, take his shingle down from the Oval Office, and head back to his ranch for good and just play cowboy — or play with the cowboys. And for heaven’s sake, start drinking again.
Maybe if someone would give him a DVD of Blazing Saddles and make him watch the scene where all the characters are sitting around the campfire drinking and eating beans and passing gas he would take the idea and run with it. He would be so good at that, and I think people would actually like him. And he needs to be good at something, because he has proven that he’s not so great at what he is doing now. Maybe there would be a different kind of light at the end of the tunnel. But keep the colon healthy, George. Even if it is just for 31 minutes, we do not want the Dick in charge. No ifs, ands, or butts.
