Swan song for the ugly duckling

What is there to be said on the last night that Dubya spends in the White House that hasn’t already been said, thought, blogged, opined, repined or joked about? The little dude is gonna sneak off into the sunset with not even a whimper. No speech is planned. No party. No send off. And certainly no press. If we are keen to see his ass hurrying though the door of Marine One, it is nothing compared to what he must be feeling.

We’re not talking just a sigh of relief as he plunks down in his gleaming ride heading for Andrews. O no. He will have an uneraseable shit-eatin’ grin that will stop only long enough to take his first swig of a big ol’ bourbon and branch as he nestles into that cream colored leather chair they have on Air Force One for Ex-POTUSes to take the suckers walk, as it were. Two more like the first one and he’ll be calling Cheney to tell him what he/Dick told Pat Leahy on the floor of the senate.

Then, before he passes out, he’ll get ”The Architect” on the line: “Yo, Boy Genius!” he’ll slur at the top of his lungs. And then, “Thanks a lot futher mucker, you son-of-a-bitchin’ bald-headed, beer-bellied bullying bastard. Thanks for fuckin’ nothin’. Why the hell did I let you ride my old man’s coat tails? You said it was gonna be so easy. Alls I hadda do was play the part. Like I did when I wuzza frickin’ governor. ‘It’ll be easy’ you said, ‘just like ownin’ a baseball team only the owner’s box has 135 rooms. ‘We’ll do all the heavy liftin’ you said, told me to just go and rest my sorry-ass brain, an’ you would take care of every thing. HOW’D THAT WORK OUT YOU FAT SUMBITCH?

“Lemme tell you sumfin teletubby. You and your big-shot plans weren’t shit. No, no, no. I mean thas azackly what they were, a big pile a shit. You wannid me to start that dumb-ass war so I could get re-elected as a war time prez. Well frig you man. Thas the stupidest thing I ever did. Now all those people dead. All those kids in the hospital I went to see, that once. I know, I know. I kep sayin’ that I was visitin’ the sojers and stuff over at Reed. But I cootin take it man. I hated that shit. I didn’t wanna start that asshole war anyway. Now all them dead. Four thousand? Can you believe we killed 4,000 of our own people because somebody else killed 3,000 of arn? What the hell sense does that make, and you wannid it. Well, how d’ya feel about 100 K Iraqi civilians blowed away and the millions of homeless? Karl, I think we fucked up big time. I never dreamed it would be like this. And Katrina…Jeezus man, what were you thinkin’?

“Hey man, didja hear me the other night talkin’ to Charlie Gibson or one a them assholes, sayin’ I thought my biggest mistake about New Orleans was not landin’ the plane there. Aw shit, Karl. Man, I would love to take that one back but I just ditn’ know what to say. I mean all those people wallerin’ around in that stinkin’ water with no food, no water, no nothin’ man. That was the worst. I shoulda said somethin’ better ‘an that. But I just cooten. How could I tell the ‘Merican people that I trusted all that shit to some friggin’ “political operative” and his “neo-cons” – ever what the shit that is. In fact I trusted all you bastards and you all sucked. You sucked at war, you sucked at disaster, you sucked at the economy, you sucked at torture an’ shit. Everything! You sucked at got damn everything!

Karl, I gotta go man. I think I’m gonna be sick, man. O god…. where’s the toilet? O, there it is. Thank you god. RAAAAALLLLLLPH!