Hey, it Could Happen

Is it just me, or is Dubya drying up like a shallow puddle in the hot Texas sun?

It seems that since announcing the Tsunami bin Baghdad, we've seen less and less of him. Even when he does appear, he seems a mere shadow of his former swaggering self. His patented sneer has melted into a tight-lipped Mona Lisa enigma, but it's his eyes that betray him. They're listless and show the fatigue of six years living in the Comfy BubbleTM while the rabble outside grows. Even an idiot can see the scrawl on the wall when half the world reminds him that he is, indeed, an idiot. He's taken on that dull, Nixonian, stare born of late nights wandering the White House and speaking to the paintings of Truman and Reagan out in the hallway.

The press doesn't pay him the homage they gave away for free not so long ago either. Hell, even ever-faithful Fox News, occasionally nips his hand. Incompetent Presidents don't die, they just fade away and as he fades, someone is turning up the volume on the Big Dick.

Enter the Big Dick

Dick has emerged from his undisclosed location to flit around the world stomping out the last flickers of our international prestige while protecting the troops by drawing fire from the Taliban. Not bad work for a Chickenhawk whose previous combat experience was limited to plugging quail and the octogenarian party faithful.

Dick is playing his big moment on stage the way Dick always does - telling people to go f*ck themselves and droning the original lame justifications for his war. To him, Iraq is still a place where people throw flowers at our feet and pull down Saddam statues with their bare hands - and an Army bulldozer inconspicuously located out of frame.

However, this slow-motion transfer of power is confusing. Why now - after all this time - is Dub disappearing? It's not like calling for his head on a platter is exactly breaking news. He's weathered bigger storms than Patreus telling the world that George's elusive victory is a long shot no self-respecting gambling addict would bet on. No, the old George would have simply smirked and blamed the media for his troubles.

A Well-Bred Intolerance of the Obvious

With the ascendancy of the Big Dick, we're back to larger-than-life optimism and a well-bred intolerance of the obvious. Dick delusionally prattles on about how wonderful we're doing - suicide bombers after his scalp not withstanding. It's unclear whether Dick is actually the bigger Oval Office moron.

On the one hand, he might see the adults returning to run the show while yelling the Alexander Haig puff, "Don't worry, we're in charge here!"

On the other, maybe the crafty old fox has been outsmarted. Perhaps Team Bush really isn't as dumb as dirt. Maybe they've engineered a brilliant reverse coup by playing to Dick's hubris and allowing him to think he's in charge.

The End Game?

Imagine pandering to the Big Dick's engorgement of hubris to maneuver him into the spotlight. Imagine that they've always known Dick was the perfect scapegoat and Scootergate was just all part of their master plan. Imagine they finally figured out that if there was one person in the entire universe more out of touch than Dub, it's Dick. Perhaps their end-game is to let Dick spout more outrageous twaddle than Dub in an attempt to make the Idiot King look placid and rational by comparison. Will history books 50-years out throw Dick under the bus and elevate George to at least the competency of Warren G. Harding? After all, George knows first-hand the value of a 2.0 GPA. Maybe he's just decided that ratting out Dick for cheating on finals will allow his 2.0 GPA to keep him in the game.

Far fetched, sure. But hey, it could happen.

The Poobah is a featured contributor at Bring It On!

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Truth Told by Omnipotent Poobah, Sunday, March 04, 2007

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