George W. Bush

Run, Chickenhawk, run!

The real Presiding boss in D.C.'s number one capo gets charged with five federal crimes and resigns. This same capo is also a National Security Advisor to Little George.

And what does the Boy Emperor do for the day?

After weeks of anxiety about possible indictments in the CIA leak investigation, President Bush showed no signs of strain Friday, smiling and joking with aides as he left to make a speech on terrorism in Norfolk, Va.

"No signs of strain," except for that coke-addled jaw that's been working overtime since well before announcing Harriet Miers.

Try to imagine what Little George would be doing if he weren't his father's biological son. I envision him as a stocker in the Housewares Department at Wal-Mart, bitter and righteous, irked that a "wetback" has been promoted over him to the position of assistant manager he knows rightfully should've been his if it weren't for affirmative action. He's not a coke head, because he just doesn't have the income, but he sure likes his canned beer and cheap whiskey, which he drinks every night as a warm up to yelling at the TV and his wife and his kids in no particular order. He saves his fighting energy for them, because he'd never dare cause a real ruckuss at the local watering hole after getting his butt kicked one too many times as a young loudmouth, adding to his bitterness and feeling that everyone is against him.

We all know this guy. Many of us probably have one somewhere in the family tree. And when we squint our eyes and blur out the presidential seal on the podium, we can see Little George standing in front of that Wal-Mart loader, piled high with towels to be shelved, a meager paycheck at the end of the week, his benefits being curtailed by his corporate bosses (but he still votes Republican because the Democrats are for minorities and queers and women).

We know this little guy.