Accidents Happen

Dear George: It's been a damn busy week for you. Hasn't it, hombre? Sorry I wasn't able to join you for that little party of yours on the weekend, but let me say that the "Saddam is going to hang, so let's party with a bang!" was a truly priceless invite...though I'm wondering if you were pushing it with that "best Saddam costume wins a length of rope."

You crazy Texan, you.

Nonetheless, I can sure understand why you might want to let loose a little, what with finally dumping off that albatross of a country (Yes, I know, only on paper. But hey, it's a start, huh?), and seeing your old nemesis prattling away like a lunatic on nation-wide television. But what, my friend, did you do to him? I mean, I knew he was nuts before, but good Lord, George, I've seen acid-crazed hippies in need of a serious blood sugar boost make more sense than he did. Boy, is he pissed at you! Well, all I can say is enjoy, you sure earned it. Let's hope his ugly mug brings along some popularity numbers too, because you are in dire need of some, old chum.

But here's the thing, George, and I know you always say I like to crap on your rib-eye just when the dinner bell is ringing, but are you sure it's a good thing this man is talking at all? I grant you that turning him over and making a big show of all this new Iraqi self-empowerment makes for a few good press releases. But assuming you haven't completely scrambled his gray matter, there are some seriously embarrassing skeletons up there in that crazy head of his, George, ones that really shouldn't be dancing about at public trial during election time.

I'm assuming that you handed over the real deal, of course, and not one of his body clowns...you did get the right guy, didn't you?

Now before you go and launch an air strike at my house, just think about this for a minute. There are a lot of nasty things being called war crimes over there, and some of them happened with the support of you know who, George. Hell, you're related to one of the silly bastards, my friend, and that is not something you want anybody commenting on while you're running about drumming up votes and playing the good Christian President.

The phrase is called "undermining the message," George.

And it's not just Saddam, I might add, what with that uppity Supreme Court of yours saying all those Gitmo prisoners you've had squirreled away now have the right to a lawyer and a day in court. George, those Abu Ghraib pictures were bad enough, without a few hundred ticked Arabs ready to tell the world what you've been up to on the sunny coast of Cuba. And, yes, I know you've been quite civil in their treatment, but spending two years with a sack over your head will make just about anyone more than a little cranky.

Cranky people say bad things, George. Remember that.

Lucky for everyone, accidents happen. Alright, it's not lucky for the people they happen to, I'll grant you, but people do fall down stairs everyday, have heart attacks, and on occasion get tangled up in bed sheets that are carelessly draped over ceiling pipes. I don't know how many times I've read about old men who manage to slip and cut their heads off with a straight razor, or inadvertently drown in a toilet inspecting for mold. But these things happen, George, and are a whole lot easier to explain away than a fistful of receipts for anthrax, nerve gas, and a boat load of missiles. Just ask Rumsfeld...he'll know what I'm talking about.

And while we're on the subject of accidents, I think it's time to start getting magnanimous with your little friends in Guantánamo. Ship them back to Afghanistan. Forgive and forget. Lots of nasty accidents happen in Afghanistan too, and if those enemy combatants of yours insist on calling it home, who are we to argue, eh? Send them back, my friend, first flight out, with cream cheese and bagels for everyone.

And see if you can't find an extra seat for Michael Moore. He really is not helping your cause.