Presidential Dumps:
When the President finally got to take his shit at the U.N., he did it alone in the men's room. The Secret Service blocked anyone else from entering - not the Sultan of Brunei, not the Prime Minister of Sweden - no one could walk into the men's room right off the Security Council chamber. He brought John Bolton with him, and the Secret Service checked out the space, saying, "No windows, two stalls, one way in, one way out." Then, with Bolton leaning uncomfortably on the edge of a sink, President Bush took one of those titanic, moaning shits that only great leaders falling from great heights can take. Bolton thought Bush was going to die as the President pinched a mighty loaf, huffing and wheezing as if he was giving birth to another incredible idea for the world body.

The intensity of the Commander-in-Chief porcelain-cracking defecation was odd, since Bush had just that day taken two public shits at the United Nations building. First, before the General Assembly, the gathered world leaders were aghast at the amount of shit coming out of the U.S. President, as Bush admonished them to pass the International Convention for the Suppression of Acts of Nuclear Terrorism even as his Pentagon makes plans to use nuclear weapons on other "evil" nations, with his commitment "to the Millennium Development goals" of stopping the spread of AIDS even as the his own administration imposes moralistic strictures on spending that are guaranteed to spread disease and poverty, with his support of the U.N. Democracy Fund even as his administration and its media lackeys support the overthrow or assassination of the legally elected Hugo Chavez. The President of Mozambique was overheard telling the Prime Minister of New Zealand, "Goddamn, that's a huge fuckin' load of shit" at the conclusion of Bush's speech.

Then, the President took a shorter, but no less torturous, shit at the Security Council meeting, when he spoke about terrorism to the leaders there. How odd it must have been, to sit there and listen to this man speak about the need to prevent terrorism in its early stages when his government reacted like a bunch of terrified toddlers when a predictable moment of violence happened with Katrina, running in circles, crying, bumping into each other, stumbling onto their diapered asses. No wonder Bush needed a bathroom break. No wonder Condi granted him permission to go. (This is not to mention that she was seated behind him and thus bore the full power of his serial farting.)

In the washroom, when Bolton coughed, as if overwhelmed by the stink of the executive turds, Bush laughed and told Bolton, "If you think my shit smells bad, you should smell New Orleans. Place smells like Jenna's ass after a frat party's run a train on it." Bolton, eyes watering, managed a brief snort, but he was caught up in the image of Bush's daughter bent over, commanding frat boy after frat boy to fuck her harder, reminding the U.N. Ambassador of his swinging days. His reverie was broken when Bush said, "Now come in here, Bolthead, so I can use that fluffy moustache to wipe my ass."

Tour of New Orleans III: Narcissus Speaks:
As the New York Times and the Washington Post and CNN and every other fuckin' place you can go for your news analysis agreed, the President's prime time address from Jackson Square was a speech about George W. Bush, which makes it like everything else he's ever done. It was a speech about re-building an image, not re-building a city. Many words have been spilled about Bush saying that "When the federal government fails to meet such an obligation, I, as President, am responsible for the problem, and the solution." Which, considering Iraq, is a chilling proposition.

There's a fuck of a lot of difference between claiming responsibility and acting responsibly. Bush's solution seems to be tax cuts for businesses, paying workers shit wages to rebuild places they probably won't be able to afford, getting churches involved, and more failed ideas that won't do anything more than provide the magical illusion that Bush is doing something. Because, as we've noted, the speech was about him, not about Louisiana or Mississippi.

Essentially, the speech last night was an exercise in self-fellation. Bush may as well have placed his lectern on top of a pile of bloated black corpses and said, "Ya'll watch me while I suck my own dick," and then, balancing himself delicately on the graying skin of a drowned body, bent over to start blowing himself, looking up every now and then to say things like, "See how I don't neglect my balls? Ball-suckin' is good stuff." Yeah, it would have been disturbing to watch a nearly sixty-year old man bob on his own knob and seem to get immense enjoyment out of it. And when he started fingering his own prostate to make sure he had maximum ejaculatory intensity, some might have tuned out, but when he stood up, his teeth and lips glistening with a semen shine, spitting his own spooge on the heap of dead people, saying, "Goddamn, no one can suck my dick like me," we'd've had the same reaction as much of America had to the speech itself: "Well, isn't that nice for you."

(And, no, the actual content of the speech doesn't bear any real discussion because, as we've learned time and again, what Bush says and what Bush does are two entirely different animals. As far as what he said about poverty, the failure of the government to prepare for disasters, and racism, as if these are miraculous discoveries, all the Rude Pundit can say is, "Dude, haven't we all been partying at your place for the last four and a half years?")