Know When to Hold 'Em, Know When to Fold 'Em

It's no secret our Lush-in-Chief has an addictive personality. His battles with bottles - both liquor and pill - are well known. He usually credits God for putting him back on the path of pious sobriety, but some would argue that his extreme faith in Jesus is just one more addiction.

Unfortunately, our little Babushka has also developed a gambling addiction. He gambled that New Orleans wouldn't suffer a hurricane. When he lost that bet, he doubled-down with a bet the levies would hold. He crapped out. There've been many side bets too - social security, immigration, taxes, etc. - and he's played them all like he's had all the money in the world to pony up at the tables.

He somehow managed to scrape together a few bucks to stay in the game, but then he made the biggest bet of all in Iraq.

His first bet was that Saddam was flush with WMD. We all know how that turned out. Next, he bet he'd find Al Qaeda on every corner and could leverage the national fear of crushed buildings for his conservative agenda. Busted again. Undeterred, he yelled, "Dickie needs a new pair of shoes," and rolled the dice again - this time on "bringing democracy to the Middle East" - a concept that was fuzzy, even by his lax standards. When it turned out that Middle Eastern democracy looked a lot like a civil war, he went back to the terrist line, forgetting hed'd already bet on that horse and it pulled up lame.

Forgetfulness and a loose grip on reality are always warning signs of addiction.

Now, he's suffering from what many other gambling-addled sots suffer - he's in debt and the mob is losing patience with his ability to repay his political capital.

His leftie gambling opponents never did like him and were smart enough to cash out of the game early to stem their losses. After a few more hands, his moderate partners finally saw the handwriting on the wall and cashed out late in the game. Now he's down to die-hard, right wing playas backed up by large men in dark suits and armed with baseball bats. They're demanding George make good on his political debts while he's busy picking through the lint in his Presidential pockets hoping an extra Grand will suddenly appear to keep him in the game.

"So George, what's youse gonna do?" one of the suits asks as he slaps a bat loudly and menacingly on his large, hairy hands.

George is thinking rapidly, but that isn't something he normally does well and it makes his head hurt.

"Boys, have I got a great idea for you," the Addict-in-Chief says. He thinks he'll seize on the last refuge of all piss-poor riverboat gamblers. He'll create a diversion - and while the bully batboys are distracted - sweep all the chips off the table, run for the side, and jump ship for greener pastures.

His diversion of choice? The anti-gay marriage and flag burning amendments.

But he's tried this diversion before, and in its previous incarnations he not only stole the chips on the table, but pick-pocketed the right wing playas too. While they may be slow learners, you can't fool them every time. It looks like the right wing playas' lights have finally come on and they're in no mood to be mugged again.

George is frantically thinking things over and the wheels are turning in his head. A man with a C-average is doing complex political calculus in his head and it just isn't working.

The goons with bats already know where he's going. They're ready to smack him down. He just hasn't figured it out for himself yet. So he stands there waving the marriage amendment and toasted flag law, looking a bit lost, but confident he'll wiggle out of this tight spot like he always has before.

Folks, this ain't going to be pretty.

Truth Told by Omnipotent Poobah, Monday, June 05, 2006