“Money trumps . . . uhhhh . . . peace . . . sometimes . . . heh-heh . . . . ”

[President George W. Bush, speaking off the cuff at a news conference]

Six years after his annointment by the Supreme Court, the Leader of the Free World, the Commander in Chief, the War President, the Great Decider, the Spreader of Democracy As Though It’s So Much Manure, etcetera, etcetera, still can’t construct a simple declarative sentence without a script.

Even then, it seems, these days, that something has gone terribly wrong with his remaining gray cells.

Sometimes he reads a script as if he can’t wait to get through it and back to whatever he was doing before his handlers gave him yet another tedious task to perform.

Maybe he was busy drinking when they so rudely interrupted him.

Maybe he was burning up the Transatlantic Cable with Victor Ashe, his gay roommate from Yale days whom he banished to Poland for the duration, knowing no one from the corporate media would travel all the way to Warsaw to ask embarrassing questions, since they hadn’t bothered to when he was knee deep in scandal in Nashville.

Maybe the Dumb Bunny was thumbing through one of those weighty tomes stacked on his night table to give the appearance that he had at last progressed beyond third grade reading skills. Who knows?

What seems obvious is that it will take several generations before anyone outside the United States is able to take this country seriously, and not break out laughing at the mere mention of . . . Dubya!