Me to the Moon
By Trevor Seigler
with the war in Iraq becoming a bloody stalemate, the search
for weapons of mass destruction turning up a bearded Saddam
Hussein and not much else, and the economy set for yet another
rollercoaster ride this year, it's no wonder that President
Bush has decided to emphasize a new plan to travel to the
moon and Mars. Let me say that again: with all the other stuff
going on right now, Bush wants to put a man on the moon and
Mars. I'm afraid the only conclusion possible is thus: George
is back on the smack.
True, he has been a recovering alcoholic and drug addict
since he "saw the light" (that is, the light of the Texas
Highway Patrol which pulled him over back in 1976, and doubtless
other times before his mid-Eighties attempts to get "clean
and sober"), but such talk about "reaching beyond the boundries
of our own earth" seems an awful lot like hippie-speak to
me. I don't have much experience with drugs, but I do have
some experience with hippies, and the recent pronouncements
of a renewed commitment to the space program seemed an awful
lot like the lyrics to "San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Some
Flowers in Your Hair)."
As with any former junkies, the temptation to relapse must
be pretty strong right now: The "Assgrab in Baghdad" didn't
quite turn out to be the big PR-enhancing move that Dubya
thought it must be, and even Fox News can't obscure the fact
that many Americans are dissatisfied with his job performance
concerning that little debacle (or the pronouncement of "victory"
so many months ago, while our soldiers continue to die needlessly
in daily attacks).
And all the spin-meisters in Washington couldn't concoct
a spell potent enough to extinguish the doubts many now have
about his weapons of mass destruction claim. So Bush has started
using the Jackie Kennedy silverware to set up lines of blow
so he can dull the pain of almost assuredly being a failure
During his recent State of the Union address, George threw
in a reference to how sports stars needed to "stop using steroids
and other illegal substances." I say to him "Physician, stop
healing thyself." I'm sure there are many fine facilities
in the D.C. area where "Our Nation's Finest Super-President
Ever!" (Fox News, National Review, Osama Bin Laden) can get
treatment for what ails him away from the prying eyes of the
Pill-popping and hell-raising isn't limited to Dubya, however:
just look at Rush "Talent on Loan from God" Limbaugh's recent
bust. Bill Bennett, "Mr. Morality," laid five-to-one odds
that his books would be best-sellers. And God only knows what
Donald Rumsfeld did to get his face so leathery and uncomfortably
similar to a deflated football.
But the warning signs were all there, we just chose to ignore
them. What about the "choking on a pretzel" incident? Something
tells me a cocktail of mescalin and speed had a role to play
in that. And the decision to focus on Iraq instead of Al Qaeda?
A bad acid trip, no doubt. The weapons of mass destruction
issue? Can you say "alcohol poisoning?"
Yes, Dubya is back on the crack cocaine, scoring weed off
Dick Cheney and raiding the White House liquor cabinet. The
signs are all there, friends. But perhaps we shouldn't be
so harsh in judging him a druggie or alcoholic. After all,
considering the fact that he won't be in office much longer,
maybe we should just let him ride Puff the Magic Dragon all
the way out of Pennsylvania Avenue. It's the least we can
do until he loses in November...