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Fly Me to the Moon
January 23, 2004
By Trevor Seigler

What 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 as President.

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 liberal media.

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...

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