Dear George: Congratulations, my friend. I know those early exit numbers looked worse than a stock ticker on Black Monday, but so much for polls, eh? If you haven't already given Karl Rove a raise and keys to his own country, you should, George, because that man is a miracle worker. Make him emperor of Iraq when you're done with it, or even better, head of Halliburton, because if anyone has earned his meal ticket, it's him.

Who else would have thought to scare the hell out of 11 states by putting gay marriage bills on the ballot? There were so many housewives running to those polling stations with the fear of God and Liberace in their eyes it would have taken a full brigade of Green Berets to keep them from voting.

And not only has he mobilized your right-wing, bible-thumping, God-fearing base to jump up and down and throw bibles at passing liberals, but he's even got liberals throwing things at liberals. Absolutely amazing! They're blaming each other now, George; a giant liberal feeding frenzy, which, if you look very closely you should see Michael Moore right in the middle of.

Bet you like that part, eh George?

You've come out looking better than Gandhi, at least in Middle America, and who the hell needs those coastal states when Floridians have no memory and Ohioans seem to have developed an affection for food stamps? And yes, George, I know you kept telling me to relax, have faith, and stop my incessant carping about numbers and projections, but it never occurred to me that gay marriage would trump unemployment, Iraq, or all that Abu Ghraib fun a while back.

Who knew that wouldn't matter? Well, Karl obviously, which is why he's getting the big bucks. And one thing is for sure, George, he gave you a lot more than just an election.

America is all yours now: lock, stock and barrel. A second term is an unfettered term, a free term. It's time to finally do all those things you've wanted to, hombre, and I don't mean taking in a lap dance in a Nevada strip club. You have both houses, a majority of governors, and enough preachers, pastors, and pulpits to let the good word spread and those dollars flow. You can do what you want, pass what bills you please, and only answer to that handsome guy in the mirror.

And if there's one thing I know you've been itching for, it's to replace those homo-loving, free-wheeling old farts sitting on the Supreme Court with some fresh, clear thinkers, which you can do now, old boy, though I'm not sure Billy Graham has the credentials, no matter how much you like him.

But what the hell, you're a second-term prez now, George. Put Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson up there while you're at it.

The only thing you need to worry about is not letting this go to your head, and I don't mean getting cocky and invading more countries, though you might want to hold off until you sort out that whole draft thingy. No, George, there are two things that really cock up the fun of a second term, and they involve either sex or tape recordings, and in both cases with the wrong people.

I don't need to tell you that your predecessor should have spent more time smoking cigars than finding places to hide them, and while he seemed to have a knack for having people love him for it anyway, I really don't think the folks back home in Crawford are going to take well to that kind of thing, no matter how many free barbecues you hold.

And whatever you do, ERASE THE TAPES. Old Dick was either too dumb or too hopped up on gin to ever figure that basic rule out, but if Karl hasn't already ordered recorders off limits, then make sure the only thing they record is a bunch of knock knock jokes and hunting stories. It caused no end of grief then, and your father will be the first to tell you that it will cause no end now.

So follow those two rules, George, and it'll be smooth sailing. You've got the mandate; you've got the power; you've got America by the balls. So squeeze 'em hard and give 'em hell, hombre.

They asked for it, after all.