George and Harriet - The Bestest of Friendsies:
So, apparently, George W. Bush's nominee to the Supreme Court, Harriet Miers, had a problem with taking shits on the sidewalks of Austin. Or else she couldn't stop herself from studying stray piles of turds on the streets of Laredo. It had to be one or the other because otherwise why would Bush, when Governor of Texas, write a P.S. to one of his "thank you" notes to Miers that reads "No more public scatology"? Now, one could say that maybe Bush was cautioning Miers that the two of them should avoid going to the parks of Dallas to engage in a little scat play, where Bush jacked off after shitting on Miers' face. Whatever the case may be, it's not a huge leap of logic to see that private scatology is fine with Bush, just not, you know, the public variety. Or Bush just doesn't know what the word "scatology" means.
Yes, the letters between Bush and Miers reveal quite the friendly relationship between them, with Miers' affections for Bush resting somewhere between cock worship and train porter behavior. One might say it's all just chummy. The rest of us would say it's creepy. Example: For the sake of argument, say that you're a grown woman, a professional, in your fifties, and you are friends with the governor of the state, as well as his occasional lawyer and a political appointee. Let's say that you're late getting a birthday card to the governor.
Chances are you would not send a Hallmark card with a sad puppy and "I'm Sorry I Missed Your Birthday" on the cover, with the pre-printed verse message, "This is the wish/That should have been sent/Before your Birthday/Came and went." Chances are you would not add a note that said, "You are the best Governor ever - deserving of great respect!" Chances are you wouldn't handwrite in "Sorry" next to the pre-printed message. Chances are you wouldn't write at the bottom, "At least for thirty days - you are not younger than me." You might do these things if you were writing to a child, a well-loved niece or nephew whose birthday slipped your mind while you were too busy with, say, your fuckin' job. But if you were that fiftysomething professional with your fiftysomething professional governor-friend, wouldn't you wanna act like an adult? 'Cause, really, and, c'mon, a fuckin' puppy dog card?
When you read the little notes Harriet and George sent to each other, especially the ones from Harriet, since George's writing style looks like that of a psychotic illiterate, you get the image of two people: a man desperate to be admired, to be seen as great, and a woman on her knees, assuring the man she's fellating that his dick is so huge, just sooo goddamn huge. In one letter thanking Bush for sending birthday wishes to her partner's mother, Miers adds, "You and Laura are the greatest!" (Miers is inordinately fond of the exclamation point, like a hyperactive cheerleader. It's suprising her i-dots aren't smiley faces and hearts.) In a thank-you card, Miers opens, "Hopefully, Jenna and Barbara recognize that their parents are 'cool'- as do the rest of us." Which sounds like code for smoking dope and swapping partners at parties in the governor's mansion, with Nathan Hecht and George watching as Harriet and Laura go at it like rutting weasels on the carpet emblazoned with the seal of Texas.
And then there's all the times that Miers assures Bush that he's just, gee-whiz, the bestest, most awesomest thing that everest happened to Texas: "Texas is blessed!" and "You are the best!" and "Thank you for all you and Laura do for the people of our State!" and "The state is in great hands" and "Texas has a very popular Governor and First Lady!" This kind of fluffing goes far, far beyond the usual compliments and gets into the type of flattery we associate with the official human footstools of the court of Louis XIV, a constant reassurance that the king is always right and noble.
What we witness in these personal notes is the infantilization that surrounds George W. Bush, which, to get back to the scatology, makes sense. Because those who are into scat play are often into diaper fantasies, where a strong woman who acts like a mother type, cooing and praising, changes the shit-filled diapers of a grown man who is behaving like a baby. What a hard-on the diaper fetishist gets when "Mommy" praises him for taking such a huge poop, powdering his grown bottom and balls, saying, "You're such a big boy, aren't you? Aren't you?" God, how the fetishist'll cum buckets when Mommy blows belly farts.