Bush Vows To Stay The Course, Stay On Vacation

Bush Defends Decision To Sort Of "Put War on Back Burner"

(AP) Donnelly, Idaho -- Yesterday, amid sagging public approval of this administration's stance on the Iraq war, President Bush held an impromptu media session from the bow of Gov. Dirk Kempthorne's fishing boat. Advisors apparently did not allow the President to re-enact Leonardo's "king of the world" scene from Titanic.

Some critics have suggested that Bush is trying to end the war in Iraq by pretending it doesn't exist, while others assert he's forgotten about the war altogether. The focus was on Bush's decision to continue his vacation in Donnelly, the small resort town where he spent a large percentage of his time thinking up new ways to execute anti-war demonstrators for treason.

"I think pulling out of the Idaho Rockies, where I'm currently catching fish the size of Rhode Island, would be a colossal mistake. These babies are biting like there's no tomorrow, and if I were to quit now, I think I might always regret it."

One reporter asked Bush for his thoughts on the rapidly decreasing support for the war, or if he knew that the war was still on.

"Yes, I realize some combat operations are happening here and there. You guys constantly remind me of that, so it's not like I all of a sudden forgot. It's this simple: Even if I wanted to skip this afternoon's mountain-biking adventure, which I don't, it would be an act of gross negligence to do so. Not only would it be bad for the safety of our citizens in the long-term, it would also be bad, and subtract from, the amount of fun I'm able to have in the short term. And I bet you didn't think I knew the word 'negligence', either. Well I do, and that's not going to change no matter how much you seem to hate America."

Bush then addressed the general fish populace as "squirrelly little devils" who hate the Iraqi people, freedom, and babies.

In the afternoon, Bush again spoke with reporters, this time from Tamarack lodge, where a biking tour was being organized. Without prompting, Bush extolled the virtues of the recreational equipment on hand.

"These mountain bikes are top-notch, I mean really unbelievable. Especially the Peugots, I wouldn't be surprised if they were built by American soldiers. May they rest in peace."

A short time later, the President could be heard arguing with a resort employee concerning the country in which the Peugots were manufactured.

"...no, my young friend--these bikes have American craftsmanship written all over them. Even the name sounds American if you pronounce it with a hard G. A navy seal probably built this one with a hunting knife, may he rest in peace."

Not everyone has been so quick to condemn Bush's choice to explore every single mountain biking trail in the state of Idaho. Francis Williams, political science professor at the University of California at Berkeley, notes that most of Bush's staff probably didn't even notice he was gone in the first place.

"Sure, if they realized he hadn't been in any morning briefings for the last 4 weeks straight, there might be a controversy here. But as it stands, I'm betting it hasn't even dawned on them yet. Let's not make this into something it isn't."

At one point, the President was asked about his seemingly laissez faire attitude toward both the Iraq occupation, and everyone in the entire universe who wasn't him.

"Look, I'm trying to lend a certain prioritization schedule to things. Right now, the war isn't something I'm particularly interested in. Who knows, in a couple hours, I might care again. But let's deal with that when, and if, it happens. In all likelihood, I'll still be biking a couple hours from now, and won't want to fuss with it.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to honor some deceased troops by popping a wheelie. Watch out, son."

My roommate advised me not to blog if I didn't have anything funny to say, but I've found that his brain is really very tiny. Thus, I present this week's findings.

For starters, it probably comes as no surprise to any of you that I have about 10 job offers on the table right now. And if you subtract 9 from 10, then what you have is 1, which happens to be the exact number of job offers I actually have. That's called simple math, people.

Yet before I reveal unto the salivating public the details of my imminent career, I must first make a public record of one of the more unsettling interviews I've had in my time. The interview was for a management position at a retail clothing store known as Hollister. For anyone who knows what that is, and finds me pathetic, fine. I've found myself pathetic for far longer than you can imagine, so it's not like you're breaking new ground. For anyone who doesn't know what Hollister is, it's pretty much the same as Abercrombie & Fitch, but with stupider clothes. Why would I ever shop there, then? Well, I stated very clearly not two sentences ago that I was pathetic. Don't make me say it again.

Anyway, the interview was sort of like a game show in a foreign language that takes bizarre and arbitrary twists, never to be satisfactorily explained. At one point, I was quite convinced that satan arranged this interview for his amusement. This is still my best theory. The conversation would be flowing naturally and then Steve (Hollister District Manager, aka, Guy With A Lot of Holes In His Jeans) would say something like, "We don't sell clothes at Hollister."

In all fairness, I think anyone would've been confused by this declaration. Because when I walked into the store for the interview, I definitely saw clothes in there. Some were neatly folded, and some were suspended by wooden hangers. Then there were the clothes at the register which were actively being sold. So I'm thinking, maybe he means, "We don't sell clothes at Hollister if the store is closed", or, "We don't sell clothes at Hollister, and also I'm insane."

I really have no idea. Wanting to stay on his wavelength, I added gravely, "It's more complicated than that..."

Not being remotely fooled by my bluff, he says, "We sell an image."

Now I knew where he was coming from. "Ah, the young, west coast beach lifestyle?" I said, not remembering I was still trapped deep within the bowels of the game show from hell.

"I wouldn't say that. It's more of an edgy, new-bohemian look we're going for."

Whatever you say, I think. New-bohemian, old-bohemian, relatively-recent-bohemian. I don't care what stupid look you're going for, your clothes are ugly. All I want is a job.

Soon, the main topic shifted to the specifics of the management position.

Steve: Essentially, we let the new managers develop their own style and prioritize tasks as they see fit.

Me: So it's a more relaxed training environment, you let the managers find their own way, see what works?

Steve: Well, no. When I said we let the new managers prioritize tasks as they see fit, I meant that Corporate faxes a detailed list of directives at the beginning of the work day, and every manager must adhere to these or he is eaten alive at the close of the business day by these hell beasts I keep under my chair here.

Me: Okay, that seems reasonable.

Steve: On the contrary, it most certainly doesn't. But that's how it is, and we like it that way.

Me: Well that's great then, unless it's not. I don't know. Would you call me if you have any inside information on whether my soul has already been possessed by evil spirits? That would be great, the best number to use is the one on my resumé...

Steve: Your resumé has already been consumed by the fire of redemption. You have failed us, and as an insignificant fly, your life shall be snuffed out.

Me: Okay Steve, or The Devil, that definitely sounds good. I'll catch you later, then.

So I'm pretty sure I nailed that one. My phone should be ringing any minute now. ANNNNYYY minute. Listen to the sweet sound of my phone ringing off the hook. Listen to it, and weep. Hey, now my head's spinning around and around. Looks like I got the job.

Even People With Dentures Can Be Taught New Things

I'm not going to lie. When you read this story, you may find yourself questioning my decision to push an elderly man into a wicker laundry basket at Target yesterday. As if I need an excuse, am I right you guys?? Old people, I swear! I'm not even attracted to them!! It all started when he was walking in front of me going negative 1 miles per hour. Now, the last time I checked, most modern societies require that you should at least know how to walk before going out in public. One of the most basic rules for walking is that you need to actually LIFT each foot off the ground before you start trying to move it in front of the other one. You don't get to just slide your feet across the floor. If all you're doing is sliding, then you can slide both of those wrinkled things across the floor directly to the nearest nursing home, and walk like a brain-damaged penguin over there. Target is simply not the place for it. If you don't want to use any turn signals on the way to mall, I suppose that's your prerogative. But once you've arrived at your intended shopping destination (if you even remember where that is), it'd be nice if you could walk normally. Not too much to ask.

Another request which I find perfectly reasonable, is for old people not to set up an FBI roadblock with their cart on every single aisle. I've got candle-holders on my right, wicker baskets on my left, and directly in front of me, a nearly inanimate human with an ungodly number of prostate exams under his belt. Willfully flouting all known definitions of "walk". The way I saw it, I could either slide past him carefully and give him a little elbow, or slide past without giving an elbow. Let's just say it was elbow Tuesday.

What, I couldn't help it! Before you get all hot around the collar, perhaps you'll allow me the small courtesy of explaining where I'm coming from, so you can support my actions. What it comes down to is, I don't have any patience or self-control, and I lash out like a manic person when things aren't going my way. Just to give you an idea, I'll ram a cop car if the situation is right, and have done so several times in the past. You might see this as counter-productive to the general goal of not being arrested, but I don't see it that way. What I see are red anger blotches in my brain, which leave me no choice but to react. With swift violence. Now that I've shown what I'm capable of during extreme situations, can you see why I have no qualms about assaulting an elderly person? Oh really...well how can you call the police when you haven't even finished reading my story? C'mon, be serious.

What I hope you've learned from this is that someday you'll be old and ripe-smelling, too. You know that indefinable musty smell? That's the one I'm talking about. Anyway, you'll be absent-mindedly browsing for some stupid picture frame you don't need, and I'll come out of nowhere and just give you a mighty shove. So keep your head on a swivel. Mom, that goes for you, too. As you're aware, I'm quite fond of you and the sacrifices you've made for our family, but you haven't exactly been setting olympic records for walking speed lately. I've seen flashes of potential and some definite improvement since you started Pilates, but you're still coming up a little shy of the mark.

p.s. If it makes anyone feel better, the wrinkled man eventually pulled himself out of the wicker basket, and sprayed me with mace. Then I tasered him. Luckily, security stepped in before things got out of hand. He was a battler, I'll give him that.

p.p.s. For the rest of you: Just because you wasted a few minutes reading something of questionable literary and moral value that's tasteless and is in no way factual, remember this: Some guy for the New York Times fabricated sources, quotes, and sometimes entire stories, and he did it for several months on end. So quell your angry impulses. Without impulse-control, we are the same as the animals. Which is exactly what you're being right now.

Please accept my apologies. I have become so enthralled with my rich, full life, I neglected to consider that many of you also have lives. Drab, gray-hued lives, which are probably not very important, true, but there you are anyway, plugging away. I don't want to belabor the point, but I feel I must be specific as far as the greatness of my daily existence, so that we can break down harmful communication barriers. Let me start with a classic example which demonstrates the great disparity in the quality of our lives, the quality of mine being significantly better.

Here's your life: You made some microwave popcorn Lite Butter style, and it came out just right. That's all you did. Yet this is the kind of thing that gets you really excited. Granted, this is better than if you were a malnourished Nigerian--at the same time, you have to admit it's extremely unimpressive. Still, I guess it explains your desperate, insatiable hunger to learn more about me and my personal experiences.

Speaking of, let's look at a quick snapshot from one of my typical days, so you can see why I encounter success with so much frequency: I'm at the beach, and for the sake of argument, we'll say I'm lying there on the sand. Maybe I'm using SPF 30, or maybe I went with 15 today, because I have a bold and fearless spirit which allows for on-the-fly adjustments. The point is, did I forget to transfer that one song to my iPod before I left home? It's like oh no I'm so worried, I still have about 5,000 other songs to choose from, maybe I'll listen to one of those. Literally, the 20 GB iPod is capable of storing around 5,000 songs. Do you see where I'm coming from? Seriously, tell me if I'm not making sense. I have something less than my full arsenal of music, yet my day is still about 20 times better than yours.

Some have inquired as to my ultimate plan, and I suppose that's a fair question. But they ask this as if there's no such thing as public assistance. It's like they're stuck in 1931, before Franklin Roosevelt signed into law various ways to have the government buy you food. What part of me being sent a welfare check is so complicated? The way I understand it, it's not complicated at all. It's called the U.S. Postal Service. After you get the welfare money, you buy cigarettes and other essentials. Then for your food budget, you ask people if they have 50 cents because you ran out of gas and you just want to make it back to LA. Do this 100 times. The rest of the day, you sort of look for a job, but you can't find one, because the temp agency is located on Clairemont Mesa Blvd, not in the ocean. It's not even on the beach, for that matter. And for this reason alone, there are companies out there who have lost a valuable employee. An extremely valuable employee, one who is not willing to compromise his personal honor code which requires 100% beach attendance at all times. What people need to understand is that this honor code I created just now while sitting at my computer shall not be broken for all eternity. It's that important.

I realize that much of what I've said above may seem a little fantastical. What I mean by that is I was basically telling lies left and right. In fact, this whole post is pretty obviously a transparent, pathetic cry for help. Let me be honest for a moment. I have no idea what's going on. All I've learned so far is that beach volleyball is an activity which is good, and should be engaged in whenever possible. Mortgage payments are bad, as are utility bills and not having a corporation available to pay for your cell phone minutes. Not working for that corporation is good, and not working at all is even better, except then the bank takes your house.

To my left lies the help wanted section of the newspaper. Hmm, apparently Bottle Inspector/Filler is a job that exists. There was a point in time when such a job description was good for a laugh, now it's good because they included an email address. Ok, now I will listen to my iPod some more.

San Diego Native signing out!