Pectoral George

It is no secret that George Bush enjoys being President. Sure, that Pelosi woman and her blue-blooded ‘intellectuals’, who were always talking down to him – not to mention those bleeding-heart Coast Liberals, who were always on his case about Iraq (how was he to know it would turn out the way it did? Was he a frigging soothsayer?) – could be bothersome but, dang, the good sure outweighed the bad. All those neat helicopter rides, navy salutes and ‘Hail to the Chief’ wherever he went. And now it was all coming to an end. It was a damned shame.

Was there no way he could stay on? Whoever came up with that asinine term-limit idea anyway? He was a defender of the Constitution and all that, but it would be nice to continue. OK! If those crazy polls were to be believed, three fourths of his people were tired of him, but they were being misled by those Godless Democrats – they knew not what they did. He had it in his big heart to forgive them.

So was there a way? One of his men Friday had suggested invading Iran and giving himself emergency powers (read that as ‘no term limit’). It was appealing but, after Iraq, may be a tad risky. Well, he still had over a year. Maybe his good friend, God, would show him the way.

And now, by golly, He may have. And, ironically, his deliverer could turn out to be that bossy and supercilious Vladmir Putin. The guy may be a pain in the butt, but he didn’t want to give up being President either. There was a photo today, in one of those unpronounceable Russian papers, of a bare-chested Vlad the Bad sunning himself while on holiday with Prince Albert II of Monaco in the Siberian mountains last week. And, George was forced to admit, the Rusky displayed formidable abs. Komsomolskaya Pravda reported that women who visited its web site posted comments on Putin's "vigorous torso" and said they "were screaming with delight and showering (him) with compliments". His ratings had shot way up.

So maybe it was time for Georgie boy to do a shirtless photo op. Well, perhaps, he needed to work out a tad to get those pects in impeccable shape, but he could do it. Once the American people saw him as the clean-cut, perfectly proportioned, regular guy he was, surely they would prefer him to that know-it-all Prissy Missy, or that fop with the 400 dollar haircuts, or the new kid on the block, who was always shooting his mouth off. He had nothing to lose anyway. It was worth a shot. It was time for Pectoral George to show the American public what they would be giving up.