From huffingtonpost
It seems that our dear President needs smoke blown up his ass regularly in order to maintain his fine swagger and shit-eating grin. So much so -- and apparently with WHIG being effectively (and thankfully) disbanded -- the ego dousing sessions now fall to our combat weary troops (and one planted PR expert).As though the horror of war were not enough, soldiers are gathered in little groups and told to turn their frowns upside down in some hallucination of reality and play nice for the cameras. Even dressed, rehearsed, and provided with a hitchhikers guide to staged events, our President could not remember the names of the soldiers tasked with giving him the warm fuzzies, the questions he was to ask or the satellite delay he needed to account for.
Say What?
Bush remembers the name of a gay male prostitute posing as journalist to shill for the White House without a cheat sheet, but cannot even remember the name of the PR plant among the soldiers he was rehearsed to feign concern for? What goes on here anyway?
Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy to You
But our foggy-eyed prince seems lacking in his usual excited, nonsensical, stuttering, jerky conversational style, missing that fix-needing twitch of appreciation for bald men and small animals, and no longer flexing his middle-finger in salute to good-old boy retro chic. Perhaps a nice reminder of his recent successes might do the trick in cheering him up - especially that astonishingly shock-and-awe viral form of liberty he launched, which is now marching around the globe like a plague covered in stars and stripes and infecting innocent civilians at gun point or, worse.
