Opinion » Bill Cope

What's Left To Like?

An existential question to the remaining Bushites


I confess: I don't get it. What do you see in him? Is it just because he's such a big Jesus guy? Is that what keeps you knotheads hanging in there, telling pollsters you approve of the way he's doing the job? Is that all that matters to you ... that the silly son-of-a-bitch goes to church?

Ah dear, I'm getting off on the wrong foot here. You can believe me or not, but when I conceived of this column, I had every intention of being somewhat respectful of your delicate faithfulness. I wouldn't appreciate being talked down to like a slow country cousin, either, so I can understand how you might be fed up with all the snooty attitude. But I honestly don't get how you can still support him, and I'm just trying to prod you to do some serious soul-searching into whatever it is you like about the clow--er, him. So if you will, please, excuse me about the "knothead" crack. It just slipped out.

And as to calling your precious president a silly son-of-a-bitch, OK ... maybe that was a bit much. Not from my perspective, mind you ... but I guess I can understand how it might be offensive to anyone who believes God, Himself, assigned George Bush the divine mission of being the highest-placed screw-up in American history.

So sorry. What say we start over, eh?

As a gesture of conciliation, let me say that I no longer consider Bush the root cause of everything going wrong. In fact, I can no longer believe he has much to do with it at all: Stealing the election. The vicious smearing of any and all opposition. Ignoring the many warning signs of 9/11. The lies that led the war. The deficit that's going astronomical on us. The billions of reconstruction dollars disappearing down an Iraqi rathole. The daily drip, drip, drip of soldier deaths. The wholesale transfer of wealth to the ultra-wealthy. The utter disregard of jobs flooding out to the East and cheap labor flooding in from the South. The pissing away of American prestige. The shameful Valerie Plame affair. The shameful Terri Schiavo affair. The shameful Jack Abramoff affair. The falling fortunes of our middle class. The "Three Stooges do Katrina" farce. The whole issue of giving leadership positions to political cronies who would have trouble managing a normal lunch hour rush at your average Taco Bell, let alone a vital government service. The insistence that Harriet Miers was of Supreme Court caliber. The failed Social Security grab. The ignorant dismissal of global warming. The billions of reconstruction dollars disappearing down a New Orleans rathole. The pathetic restructuring of health care programs. The no-bid contracts. The torture. The Black Hole of Abu Ghraib. The insistence that spying on Americans needs no checks or balances. The complete unaccountability for the string of messes left in their wake. The lock, stock and barrel delivery of our industrial base to China. Let's see ... what else?

Oh ... and the handing over of American ports to a nation full of people who are but another Danish cartoon away from signing up with al-Qaeda en masse.

Nope, blaming all that on Bush would be like blaming Britney Spears' baby for not belting himself into the kiddie seat. Take the Dubai deal: Bush himself acknowledged he didn't know jack about it until he decided to come out swinging in defense of the indefensible, and that I can believe. All too easily, I can picture Bush sitting in the Oval Office sucking the filling out of Ding-Dongs until Rove or Cheney comes in and tells him what to think next.

So, you see? I give Bush credit for having nowhere near the sense it takes to come up with such a litany of miserable failures. In fact, I have come to see Bush as nothing more than a trademark--which is sort of like a figurehead, only as a general rule, a figurehead has more brains than a trademark. For instance, Queen Elizabeth is a figurehead. Mickey Mouse is a trademark. Get it? And we can no more blame George Bush for bad decisions in his administration than we can blame Mickey for bad decisions out of Disney corporate offices.

Still, it is his administration, and whether or not he has the mental capacity to comprehend what is happening in his name does not excuse the fact that so much corrupt, incompetent and unconstitutional crud oozes from every pore and orifice of his executive branch like sweat from Ken Lay's palms.

So the question remains: What do you see in this boz--er, guy? How many more times will he screw the pooch--the "pooch" in this case being you--before you give up and admit he's awful? How much more of his dust will you have to eat before you break down and acknowledge you put your money on the wrong horse? (I was going to say "the wrong horse's ass," but I stopped myself. See? Aren't I being nice?)

And look, I realize there's a hefty helping of pride to all of this, and pride is a powerful thing. Nobody enjoys admitting they were wrong. Shoot, I don't even like admitting I'm the one who left the toilet seat up, so I can't imagine how difficult it would be to admit your last two presidential decisions have brought our country to the brink of the abyss. And I certainly don't expect that remaining 40 percent who haven't caught on yet to apologize to the rest of us for your dreadful mistake--especially when there's such a fervent religious aspect to your horrendous blunder.

But I have to ask that fervent 40 percent, if it really is just his Jesusy-ness that's keeping you in his fold, aren't you a little worried? About your much-anticipated Rapture and plans for eternity and all that, I mean.

I mean, if this foo--er, uh, guy--can be so extraordinarily off-base about everything else, aren't you even a little bit concerned that he might also have his WWJDs all wrong, too? That he, and you, have committed yourselves to a prophesy-in-a-poke which--like so much else in Bush's record of faith-based policy flops--will likely turn out to be as elusive as Saddam's WMDs and Harriet Miers' qualifications?

And even if all your apocalyptic expectations come true, are you sure you want to be on the same side as him? Seriously, if this fuc--er, guy--can't manage to show up for guard duty in Alabama, can you really trust him with your back during Armageddon?

You just mull it over, OK? And if it turns out you're ready to make the switch but don't know how, I suggest you go to redeembushies.com. Frankly, I don't know if there is such a site, but there should be.