It Could Be Worse. Or Maybe Not.


My colleague Rob Davis, with whom I produce The Dubya Chronicles every week, pointed out to me the other day that the Preznint hasn’t appeared in one of our cartoons since mid-December and even then he was merely a walk-on prop for a Dick Cheney smackdown. You have to go back to December 2 to find a cartoon in the series in which its namesake is the target.

Talk about your irrelevancy.

Usually in this sort of situation, where you have an unloved, failed resident of the White House in his last months and being totally ignored, there are some inherent dangers. A man with nothing to lose or with some mad dream that he can turn around his eight-year flop might do something crazy, you know? Worse yet, suppose he was under the delusion that he is god’s warrior, doing god’s work?

Whew. Scary.

Fortunately, our preznint is the kind of guy you’d want to have a beer with (if he weren’t a drunk), a regular folks sorta fella who’ll give you your very own nickname and a pacifist to boot (I base the latter on his impressive efforts to miss out on the Vietnam war without inconveniencing himself one little bit).

Better yet, even if he were to think of, oh, I dunno, bombing Iran or something, he has that nice Dick Cheney to hold him back. Big Dick, you will remember, was the leading light of the “grownups” that Poppy Bush selected to lead young George through the thickets of a world he’d done little to understand.

Yep, thank heavens that we have men such as these in the White House.

Oh. Wait.

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