i should be awarded a degree in fristian long-distance diagnosis because i saw this one coming months ago.

 fact is, i'm feeling a tiny pang of sympathy for the man--maybe even something perhaps approaching the far outer limits of regret. i've yet to meet a single person so competent and capable i could say with any certainty "so-and-so prolly never has and never will find him- or herself slumping back home laden with the weight of having screwed not just the pooch but the pooch's cousins and perhaps a hamster."  i can only imagine how painful it must be for someone like george 43 whose every foolishness had been the focus of global attention for nearly a decade and whose only diversion now is cutting ranch brush.
 
 badly as i wanted him outta office, i have no desire to see him escape his past through an act born of pathetic desperation.

now i know some of you look down on the globe.  i used to do it myself. but i've recently come to realize who really suffers as a consequence of snidely dismissing any and all sources of information outside the mainstream media--by which i mean, everything from small newspapers with titles in which the words "prophet" and "speaks" both appear in that order, for example, radio broadcasts that begin with someone shouting "wake up white people", national publications like "the globe" the cover pages of which are consistently emblazoned with headlines about space aliens, celebrity scandals and improbable visions of the future, their online equivalents, even homecrafted broadsheets as seeming trivial as a "fair play for cuba" flyer handed out to tourists by a harmless looking guy in new orleans. 

(in case you're wondering who suffers, here's a clue: it aint rupert murdoch).

to paraphrase an admonition frequently dispensed here by a certain ju wise "guy" of medicine, always remember: when you look down your nose, there are two nostrils aimed back at you.

my conversion is a result of personal experience related directly to this story.

i couldn't stop staring at that photo and found myself obsessed with a need to hear one of those phone calls so i could determine for myself how badly things were for him.

sounds like an impossible mission, don't it?  thing is, i remembered details of "eyes only" national secrets carelessly bandied about by the likes of pbs and the new york times.  i knew there was an att building in san francisco through which all the world's phone and internet traffic flows to the nsa.  based on information to which i--and the rest of the world--was now privy thanks to those blabbermouths, i was able to pinpoint its location in less than 5 minutes. 

san francisco is a quick, inexpensive flight away from here.  much more importantly, it's san francisco.

so it's easy.

i called up the mayor's office, feigned a throaty foreign accent and told the nice people there i was a tourist from the northwest tribal region of pakistan who would be returning home in two days.  my vacation would be perfect, i told them, if only i could arrange to visit some of the city by the bay's prominent buildings. they made an appointment for me and i was on my way.

to avoid arousing suspicion i coated my face with some of that fake suntan stuff, donned a fake beard and native dress of those who kill to impress--in north waziristan. soon i was being whisked to my target by a mayoral aide who was more than willing to leave me alone once we arrived and i assured him i'd be able to find my own way out if he wanted to check out no-cover day at this bathhouse we'd passed

long story short: only hours later, with the help of disaffected 15-year-old who broke that weak-ass encryption they've been using since obama took office, it was harvest time.

this transcript tells the whole sad, sordid tale:

(Telephone communication, call origin: Crawford, TX.  DATE:  11111111  TIME: 2:48:24 Phone Number: 9990999909

PHONE RINGS 4 TIMES

GWB: 1 dingy dingy

CR: (Picks up receiver)

GWB: condi--you there?  i sure hope this isn't clinton's wife or mccain or one of those other bad americans because this is that 3AM call from your president.

CR: (no response)

GWB: c'mon condi it's me.  you know...george?

CR: dammit, for the 100th time, mr president, you're no longer the president.and  this isn't anything like THAT 3AM phone call.

GWB: you just said i was mr president and it is too 3AM.  so there. i'm rubber and you're glue and whatever i say...

CR: is laura there?  put her on the phone.

GWB: she's sleeping.

CR: so was i.

GWB: i'm in the bathroom office sitting on the oval seat. i had a bad dream and i can't go back to sleep.

CR: if only this was a bad dream, i could wake up and go back to sleep. 

GWB: i'm serious condi.  I was dreaming everything is like it is now only i was still in the whitehouse.

CR: and the bad part was?

GWB: no, that was the good part. didn't have  no dick cheney there tellin me what to do

CR: yeah so far, so good.

GWB: then i woke up and i wasn't there either.  know what i shoulda done?  i shoulda appointed you vice president.

CR: yeah well...too late now.

GWB: i know.  if i had done that tho...next time he took me  hunting, BOOM right in the face.

CR: mr. president...george...you really gotta stop calling me like this or i'm going to have to change my number.  some of us have to get up and go to work in the morning, ya know?

GWB: as i said in those 2004 debates, i work hard doing hard work. who do you think cuts all the brush down here on the ranch? 

CR: oh yeah.  you're a workinator alright

GWB: condi...run away with me.  i'll get some funding from some of daddy's friends in the emirates and start our own country. we'll call it bushricestan or ricebushistan.  look it doesn't matter to me whose name is first.  you can be first lady and...

(FEMALE VOICE CAN BE HEARD IN BACKROUND) george??? who's in there with you?  i can hear you talking so don't you dare mistake me for some congressional commitee and try to ignore me, mister!  now just who are you talking to in there?

GWB: i'm not talking to anyone dear. i'm a promisekeeper, remember?  i'm having a bowel movement. sorry,  didn't realize i was making more noise than usual. (WHISPERING LOUDLY): it's okay condi... i'll make some fart noises and she'll go away.

CR: i'm hanging up now.  don't call me again or i'll tell laura AND your dad.

(PHONE DISCONNECTS)

GWB: awww cmon condi.  i was just foolin.  you can be secretary of state AND first lady...

GWB: condi?

(BACKROUND) george if you don't get back in bed right this second i'm gonna call cheney and have you renditioned within an inch of your life.

GWB: awwwww

CALL TERMINATED.

**********

what can i say? 

one last thing.  if you're one of those privacy nazis, don't waste your time whining at me.  yes, i did have to go through a ton of phone calls and interent communications before i was finally found the one i was searching for.  and yes, again, some of you really should be ashamed of yourselves.  what if your mothers work for the nsa and had to hear you acting like pigs?   more to the point, george bush and condi rice are well aware their calls may be intercepted and analyzed--just as yours are.  if neither you nor they are terrorists or planning terrorist strikes, none yall have anything to worry about and you should be glad someone's keepin an ear open for your protection.