George Bush Is Not Light on His Feet:
No, no, you fucker, you do not get to dance. After his speech marking Malaria Awareness Day, George Bush went up on stage with the entertainment, the Kankouran West African Dance Company from DC, and was invited to move a little with them. And the Leader of the Free World, who had declined to make jokes last week at the White House Correspondents' Dinner because of the Virginia Tech massacre, didn't just clap his hands in appreciative pseudo-rhythm. No, he did some vaguely Rovish white frat-boy moves to the music, even pounding the bongos to show how down he was with the troupe. There he was, our goddamned President, shakin' his ass in the Rose Garden, and he may as well have taken a shit at the eternal flame at Arlington.

No, he doesn't get to dance. Not his stupid mock-native dance. Did Clinton dance during the Bosnian war? He may have clapped along at a few gospel events, but not full-tilt boogie. Did Nixon dance during Vietnam? Did Johnson? Did Truman dance during Korea? Did FDR...oh, yeah, right. But you get the idea.

Bush's bitch had just appeared on the Today show to talk about malaria. Then Ann Curry asked Laura Bush about suffering Americans in this time of war, and the First Lady decided it's all about her and her man: "[N]o one suffers more than their president and I do when we watch this." She followed this up by saying that people need to know about her husband, "I hope they do know the burden, the worry that's on his shoulders every single day for our troops. And I think they do. I mean, I think if they don't, they're not seeing what the real responsibilities of our president are." And later, the same goddamn day, the President danced like a lemur with cerebral palsy to show how burdened he is. Can you imagine how many scrips the First Lady must be on in order to function? Christ, every day, Sally McDonough must have to prevent Laura from waking and baking, shooting her up with amitriptyline so she doesn't run through the halls of the White House, naked and screaming, furiously masturbating with Abraham Lincoln's walking stick.

It's the unending goddamned arrogance that infects every gesture, every move, made by the President and his administration. When Karl Rove recoiled after being touched by Sheryl Crow at that Correspondents' Dinner, saying, "I work for the American people" (to which Crow should have responded, "No wonder you don't recognize us"), he was cowering under the mock power he has always been granted, cowering from a genuine confrontation, and he reacted with bluster and bullshit.

What is worse arrogance than Paul Wolfowitz, who helped create the subhuman judicial treatment of prisoners at Guantanamo (as well as the "interrogation techniques" used there and elsewhere) whining because the directors of the World Bank won't allow Wolfowitz's attorney to make a presentation about why his client should keep his job after making sure his piece of ass gets paid? Here's Bob Bennett: "It's grossly unfair to Mr. Wolfowitz. To the world, it gives the appearance that he is being railroaded." Huh. Wonder if the driven-mad Gitmo detainees would have sympathy for Wolfman Paul?

Bush is dancing, man, dancing while Iraq burns, while soldiers are blown up in Diyala,
while young men and women lose their dancing legs and arms, people who could probably dance a little better than some skinny old fuck who acted like he always does, like he's master coming down to play with the servants. It's a gesture that shows nothing penetrates that overly thick inbred patrician skull.

Then again, some dances from places like Senegal, there are drumming dances that are meant to heal the sick soul of a member of the community. Maybe Bush should never stop dancing.