Interior, the President’s private bathroom in the White House on the morning of George W. Bush’s final press conference. Bush lathers his face and begins to shave. The camera pans in close. As he pulls the razor across his face Bush stares at his image and murmurs, quietly but resolutely: “Heckuva job, W, heckuva job. You kept the homeland safe from those evil terrorists for seven years. That’s a legacy, and something to be proud of. Your record is solid, with plenty of accomplishments. Don’t give a second thought to those elitist writers and bloggers who criticize you. OK, the economy hit a little-bitty bump, but America is strong and respected around the world. Heckuva job. Hold your head up.” Fade out.
Bush convenes his final press conference and political junkies across the country can’t decide whether to shriek with joy or wail with despair. For pure jaw-dropping, head-scratching spectacle, Bush set the bar very high and in that regard, and only in that regard, we will miss him.
Whenever Bush opened his mouth it was an adventure, not to mention a felony against Mother English. For decades to come, scholars will ponder how a man born with a silver spoon between his lips and a platinum spoon between his ass cheeks, educated at Yale and Harvard, could come across as stupid, obstinate and petulant.
Even after eight of the longest years in American history, we don’t really know W. He acts like a jackass, talks like a moron, evades responsibility like a 7-year-old, but is it an elaborate act or is he a simpleton?
There’s W at the podium, familiar smirk on his face, refusing to admit that he made any mistakes during his reign. There will be no frozen Frost/Nixon moment, no breakdown or cathartic tears, no plea for forgiveness. Disappointments, maybe, but mistakes, never. While America wallowed in foreign wars and turned its economy into a giant casino, W went on vacation, spending some 900 days at Camp David or his Crawford dude ranch. No worries, no stress, just Laura and the Lord, the twins and Karl Rove for comfort and companionship. Not a drop of bourbon in the pantry, no vial of cocaine hidden under the bed – W totally fucked things up without illicit narcotics.
But don’t assume drugs didn’t play a central role in W’s White House. How else can we explain the criminal shit and blatant venality that passed for standard operating procedure on W’s watch? The truth will eventually emerge that W was crocked ninety percent of the time on a wicked combination of Paxil, Effexor and Ambien. No semi-intelligent person can watch Bush in action without concluding that he’s a drug fiend.
W insists that America’s moral standing around the world is untarnished. This is laughable but W appears to believe it. Unfortunately, for those of us who dwell on Reality Avenue and read foreign newspapers, we know what the world thinks of us, and it’s not comforting; when a great many people view the United States as dangerous and bellicose, a force of instability and a beacon of hypocrisy, you know the wheels have fallen off the bus.
The list of W’s crimes, abuses of power and fuck-ups is too extensive to run through here, though every one should be examined, dissected and probed with the same fervor the Government brought to investigating Bill Clinton’s indiscretions. If the Government can spend several years and millions of tax dollars investigating land deals in the Ozarks and tawdry Oval Office sexcapades, then certainly the Government can devote some time and coin to investigate eight years of real crimes against the country.
It’s unlikely to happen, for the political class is intent on “looking forward” rather than back, and the Democrats are too spineless to force the issue, even though Americans deserve a full-scale investigation. Simple justice, the one ideal the United States rarely delivers any more, demands an accounting so that no one is fooled when the next wannabe dictator comes around. But don’t hold your breath. Even if the Democrats find some courage and force an investigation, the lawyers will make sure it’s limited in scope – to avoid, naturally, “putting the nation through needless trauma.” Bush, Cheney, Rove, Miers, Paulson, Rumsfeld, Gonzalez and every other shit-head who served Bush and participated in the rat-fucking of our country will walk away scot-free; some will score big dollar book contracts or become respected commentators on Fox News; others will land gigs as lobbyists or consultants or think tank analysts; but nobody will pay.
W was defiant to the end, still insisting that white is black and black white, and any evidence to the contrary is not simply wrong, but a product of the “elite,” whoever they may be. Everything else about his Administration lays in ruins, but the bubble surrounding W remains intact, shielding him from truth, fact and consequences; in what’s left of his mind, W sees himself standing on the deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln, beneath the Mission Accomplished banner.
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