Phillipe + Jorge’s invitation to share Christmas with the Bush family and their closest friends in Crawford, Texas, was once again lost in the mail. Such a pity.
We do so miss the company of the Bushies’s best pals, the ruling family of Saudi Arabia, and other swarthy royal sons of Islam. Boy George’s “Home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play” is matched by the Saudis’ “Home on the desert, where Al Qaeda and terrorist bombers play,” and our prez evidently gets quite a kick of hanging out with the madrassa financiers.
We can imagine the lovely sight of Karl Rove and another close pal of Dubya, male impersonator Karen Hughes, digging in as usual, sans utensils, at their monogrammed trough, while Queen Lotsateetha Rice happily dons her maid outfit to serve every need of her imagined “husband” Dubya and his pals. Let’s not forget having Michael “Brownie” Brown on hand to tend to his Arabian horses and react like Chicken Little in case of an emergency.
Rummy and “Big Time” Cheney will be out back, sucking down beers and shooting pheasants tethered to the ground for their amusement. This is also a precaution so that Evil Uncle Dick doesn’t shoot any lawyers in the face after he gets on the outside of a few drinks. Our little prez wanted to bring in some torturers for entertainment, so he was sad to learn that Torquemada is already dead.
Needless to say, old cow Barbara “My Beautiful MMind” Bush and Georgie’s Stepford Wife, Laura, will be in the kitchen, putting together the bologna and mayonnaise sandwiches that pass for haute cuisine in Crawford, while Poppy parks the tiger in the bathroom after mistakenly eating a piece of sashimi that he thought was a jellied offering from a Whitman’s Sampler.
Sure, there’s plenty more fun and marvelous guests that make the whole shebang look like something out of Titicut Follies, Marat/Sade, or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. What do you expect from a bunch of cross-eyed inbreds? They would try caroling, but since there was no way to put the lyrics on a TelePrompTer, or on flash cards, so that Dubya could take part, that came off the menu.
Your superior correspondents are firing an iceball into the ear of every imbecile who we hear say, “Well, so much for global warming, nyuk, nyuk” after the recent minor snowfall that became a full-fledged dog’s dinner.
Unless P+J are badly mistaken, winter in New England has usually involved snow and cold weather. Thinking that these atmospheric events put the lie to global warming is like saying that because you ate dinner tonight, no one is starving in Darfur.
Right after our snow job, reports noted that Arctic summer ice is melting at an unprecedented rate, an alarming canary in the global warming coal mine. Meanwhile, US negotiators at the recent UN climate change conference in Bali, Indonesia, were lustily booed and hissed at for their obstinacy — under orders from the renowned scientific genius Dubya Bush — until a representative from Papua New Guinea told the American party to “get out of the way” if they weren’t interested in making progress.