Beating around the bush

Word had finally reached the Free World's Head Cheese that I have the answers to fix not only our country, but the entire world.

I've told everyone who'll listen, and plenty who just kept walking, that my plans would produce world peace, cure herpes and ease porn restrictions.

And finally, Bush Jr. heard me and wants to work hand in hand with Mikey.

"I am looking forward to working with you this year and next to acheive these goals." That's what the e-mail from Georgie states. That's right, me and the Bushmaster are on an e-mail basis nowadays. Heck, pretty soon he'll look me up on Gmail chat just to shoot the shit. Gmail chat in the oval office isn't the worst thing that's happen there, right? He'll type some funny wise crack about Dick Cheney's aim or Karl Rove's egg-shaped head and I'll LOL or if he's in a particularly wise mood (OK, considering who we're talking about, wise is the wrong choice of words) I might LMAO.

So what if the e-mail came addressed "Dear Republican" (I'm not, by the way, proving again The Big Man isn't the most thorough fact checker so it doesn't surprise me that he got that wrong), me and President Frat Boy obviously made a connection. And, just like any deadbeat friend, Bush is asking for money. "Your secure online gift of $100, $50 or $25 is vital..." Running with the Prez ain't cheap, I guess. He needs 100 smackers for something vital? I'll tell ya what, owning all six seasons of The Sopranos on DVD is vital. Being sandwiched by Salma Hayek and Marisa Tomei is vital.

And calling it a gift? What's that all about Georgie? This ain't no gift, bud. I'm not running Home Savings and Loan here, man. Plus, with all due respect, chief, I don't exactly have confidence that you'll pay me back. Especially when you're running a gatrillion dollar deficit. Where I come from, that's enough to get your knees Louisville Sluggered. You want to talk gifts, big guy? How 'bout you and your D.C. bed buddies chip in for some gas cards. I'm not picky. Mobil, Shell, Chevron, whichever oil company you got your fingers in will do just fine. Maybe we can work out a deal, pal, I'll send you your vital cash and you can cut gas prices to a buck-and-a-half (I'll settle for 2-bones per gallon, but I'm not telling the Head Cheese that yet). I mean, if you really meant what you said in your little e-mail, then I'm ready to work with ya, Big Boy.

So, Head Cheese, what do you need that cash for? Seran wrap to seal the ozone layer and halt global warming? Another set of fancy photo prints to show us where the weapons of mass destraction are? More crayons for your Powder Puff Girls coloring book?

The Free World's Top Dog is like Wimpy from Popeye, "I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hundy and a barrel of oil today." I had friends like the Prez in school, and if I had half a brain or even the one Bush claims he uses, I would have set up a tidy little loan sharking business to ensure payment from these nose-wiping friends in grade school. "You don't want to pay me, Andy, fine. How 'bout I crap in your Superman lunch pail and pee in your soup thermos everyday until you pay me my 60 cents? If I don't get it by corn dog day (every day is a good day when you have a corn dog) I'll go atomic wedgie on your He-Man underroos. Got it?"

I'm not a political strategist, and I sure as hell won't pretend to play one here, but sending e-mails with big red pulsating "Donation" buttons (which resembles a throbbing dingaling with a "donation today" tattoo down the shaft) for the Republican National Committee to a non-GOP member doesn't fit. I feel like a spy. I could meet other political party heads on quiet park benches, face forward, pretend to talk to the air, and tell this member the deepest, darkest RNC secrets: "They want to cut taxes and keep us safe by fighting wars in underdeveloped countries."

So, I think I'll e-mail my new friend back, President George Walker Bush, maybe invite him to the football game in the park this weekend and perhaps watch some NASCAR this weekend - he's good ol' Texas boy, he likes those redneck sports, I'm sure. And when he's ready, he'll ask for my help, just as the e-mail suggests. However, the on thing that makes me nervous about my best new pal is the last line his in his little note: "I thank you for your sacrifices and for your continued support." Sacrifices? Dude, if I sacrified anymore, I'd be living in a van down by the river. Maybe you can gift me $100. What do you say Head Cheese?