In Brief: No Matter What, It's All About George:
At times the stunning narcissism of George W. Bush just makes you wanna find the guy who bullied you back in elementary school and beat the shit out of him. Even if it's twenty years later and he's dying of cancer, you just wanna drag that motherfucker out of his hospital bed, yell, "What goes around, comes around, bitch," and give him a little fistotherapy.

Here's Bush talking to troops at Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii this week: "You know, one of the jobs of the President is to surround himself with smart, capable, strong people -- and I have done so in Condoleezza Rice." Notice that? It's like he bought a slave. Condi's got no agency, no will of her own to decide whether or not she wanted the job. Bush just went to the auction, checked out the teeth of the slaves on the block, and chose the one with the best birthin' hips. After the applause, Bush followed up by saying, really, "I also did so at the altar."

As we learned this week, Bush's choice of exercise is mountain biking. He's the fuckin' President. Jog or use the goddamn gym we, the taxpayers, have graciously provided. Just like we wish Bill Clinton had kept his dick in his pants for the length of his presidency, shouldn't the remaining ten or so people in the country who still support Bush who aren't on his payroll demand that maybe he do something with less likelihood of broken bones or ripped face or, not that we'd notice, brain injury. (By the way, dear mountain cycling readers: this is not a criticism of the sport. But a large part of the world is not dependent on your health. And, really, c'mon, the man choked on a pretzel.)

Of course he's mountain biking, like he flew that plane onto the aircraft carrier. So much pathetic "look, I'm so good" begging for attention. 'Cause Bush is the type of man who likes to look at his own shit. Who brags about how big a turd he left in the toilets of the UN or the White House.