Dawn Hudson | Dreamstime.com
Just for the record, if none of this makes any
sense, it’s because I have the swine flu. I haven’t been to the
doctor or
anything like that and I haven’t been diagnosed, but I’m 99 percent
sure I have it.
It’s either that or a reaction to bleaching my bathroom. Whatever it
is, I am really dizzy and can’t think straight.
Please, no comments on that last statement.
The reason I know I’m deliriously ill is that I had a moment
yesterday when I thought I kind of liked George W. Bush. It just
occurred to me for some reason that he is being a really decent
ex-president by staying quiet and just hanging out down in Texas and
not mugging all over the place for the media like his partner-in-crime
Dick Cheney, who, even out of office, remains the scariest human being
on the planet. He’s just evil and I hope his book … Oh, never mind. I
promised I wouldn’t acknowledge his existence anymore because life is
too short to be thinking about him, especially when I have swine flu.
But George seems to be taking the high road and not butting into
anyone’s business since leaving office and that is very commendable. If
he really bought all that land down in Paraguay so he could retire
without being extradited back to the United States to be charged with
war crimes, at least he’s being quiet about it and not writing a book
about all the good aspects of torture.
And speaking of books, I’m not much for tell-alls, but I wouldn’t
mind skimming through Matt Latimer’s new saga about the years he spent
as one of Bush’s speech writers. I don’t think I would ever in a
million years let anyone know that I wrote the speeches Bush gave, but
Latimer probably does have some good stories. I hope that what emerges
is that W. wasn’t the monster he seemed to be and that he was just a
puppet who had the misfortune of being lied to by that man whose name I
won’t write again. As soon as this swine flu subsides, I might try to
get a copy of the book to find out if it’s true George really wasn’t
against gay marriage.
Okay, now I feel like little lightning bolts are racing back and
forth across my head. I hope it’s just the swine flu and not something
more serious, because I really am digging this vibe (did I just write
“digging this vibe”?) of not hating on Bush. It feels good. It’s kind
of liberating. I was so mad at him for eight years that I feel like a
weight has been lifted by not being mad at him now. Unlike so many of
the other rednecks out there who are afraid to let their children
listen to Barack Obama speak (I still haven’t gotten over that one), I
haven’t heard about George W. saying anything derogatory about him. He
could have and I just missed it, but at least he isn’t making the
talk-show rounds, like you know who. Oh, and speaking of not hating and
the talk-show rounds, I also had a warm and fuzzy feeling the other day
for Rush Limbaugh. I’ve never once watched him on television or
listened to him on the radio, but when I heard his remark about how the
only planet Barney Frank was ever around was Uranus, I couldn’t help
but fall out laughing.
Okay, now I’m not even sure if I can smoke a cigarette, so this
swine flu is definitely getting worse. I want to go down to the ranch
and hang out with George W. Bush. I really do. Especially if he’s back
on the sauce, because I bet with a few stiff ones under his belt, he is
hilarious. I want to shoot pool with him in a dive bar with country
music playing and unattractive people dancing way too late into the
night. All of a sudden, his beady eyes look to me like they have some
playfulness behind them. I hope he cheats at pool and buys everybody a
lot of drinks. I want to hear him tell fart jokes. I want to see him
balance a beer mug on his head. I want him to give me a noogy on my
bald head and then drive me around in a pick-up truck and moon people.
I want to write any future speeches he may be asked to give and get him
to end every sentence with ” … and Dick Cheney didn’t tell me to say
that!” Oops, there’s that name again. Sorry.
Okay, the hallucinations are starting. I now like George W. Bush.
I’m not even sure if I want to be vaccinated. George, if you read this,
call me. Don’t text me, Facebook me, or tweet me. Just give me a good,
old-fashioned telephone call and let’s hang out. But you have to
buy.