George Bush Doesn't Know When To Fold 'Em:
Do you think anyone's told President Bush that his Daddy's friends can't bail him out this time if his "business" (that'd be, you know, America) goes belly up? 'Cause, see, and really, that's the pattern of Bush's business life: run a company into the ground and then wait around until someone who wants some of that Bush-name glory comes over with a wad of cash for a buy-out or infusion. Like all wannabe wildcatters, Bush knows that he's gotta be a gamblin' man. The problem is, of course, that real gamblers know, well, when to walk away. Bush is a gambling addict, and he's got the biggest wad of cash in history on loan from the nation. Problem is that the vig on that wad's a motherfucker, and it's gonna come due. And you can bet that it ain't Bush's legs that're gonna be broken.

Here's Bush, man, and he's placed his fuckin' bets - he bet against the spread on Medicare prescription drugs, usin' his beards in Congress to put down the lowball cash. And he might've gotten the campaign issue, but the juice is makin' Bush into a chump. He put the billions on the outlaw line in tax cuts, and that son of a bitch has given nothin' back to the nation that's fronted the money to Bush. And now he's doin' the same with Social Security, wantin' to lay out the billions and trillions on a sucker's bet that the stock market's gonna do some magic mambo and pay off like a double pop on a longshot nag that gets a bottle of Frank's shoved up its ass.

Like every pathetic gambling addict before him, Bush is hittin' the pawnshop as he gets ready to pony up. He's standin' before that gated cashier, pullin' shit out of his bag, sayin', "C'mon, man, how much can you give me? I got a job trainin' program here - motherfuckin' veterans don't need no trainin' if we keep stop-gappin' their asses. Gimme $500 mill for that. I got grants to states for police and firefighters - man, just let everyone carry guns, and who the fuck needs fancy fuckin' cops. How much, man, how much? How about $540 mill for the cops and $215 mill for the firemen? Shee-it, that'd shove a firehose up their asses, huh? Huh? C'mon, man, laugh with me, it's all I got, shee-it. C'mon, I gots to keep my tax cuts permanent, man. Work with me here, bitch. I got . . . I got other cuts here, man, shit, like trainin' for medical personnel, that's gotta get me like a couple hundred mill. And heatin' for old people, what'll you give me for that? Can I get a couple mill for programs to help people with brain injuries? C'mon, c'mon, I'm doin' what I can here, but I need the cash, man, cash motherfuckin' money for that added game, the Iran bet that's comin' up on the board. Lessee, I got a clean water fund. Man, everyone just drinks Poland fuckin' Springs. Gimme $360 mill for that bitch. What's that get me? C'mon, don't ask me where I got this shit. Just gimme the cash money. I'll just borrow the rest from Johnny China across the big ol' Pacific."

An addict'll pawn it all. The future, the present. He'll raid the kids' piggy banks and empty their college funds. 'Cause always, around the next corner, is the big win, the one that'll make 'em into a wise guy. Problem is, 'cause he's an addict, he'll keep goin' double or nothin', double or nothin'. Problem is that we're the suckers Bush keeps stealin' shit some to try to parlay the spot into big money. Problem is: once a gamblin' loser, always a gamblin' loser.