Well, here I am back in Tampa. I'm enjoying the peace and glad to be hanging out with my dad. We went back to the chemo infusion center yesterday to start his new round of chemo - fortunately, they have some great new medicines that make chemo much less debilitating than it used to be, and while it's certainly no picnic, he's doing all right.
So we're sitting in the chemo room watching TV, reading the paper or whatever. The "Tony Danza Show" was about to commence when we were suddenly interrupted by a 'special news event'. Yes, it was the Chimperor himself, in fine form, just gibbering away. With a noticeably petulant whine, he kept insisting that all was well. I sat there, slack-jawed with astonishment as lie after lie squirted from his pie-hole. Since I was among strangers, I couldn't very well scream at the TV, but it took all my social conditioning (which isn't too damn much) to keep silent, limiting myself to eye rolls, heavy sighs and grimaces. There was a glimmer of sunshine when Helen Thomas opened up a can of whoop-ass on him, but he just flat-out could not answer her. Bet that's the last time he calls on her!
He basically told us that, as long as he's Resident, we'll be in Iraq. That's the way he likes it. He's been treating this country like his personal toilet bowl, dumping on us constantly, and forgetting (or refusing) to flush. Then, when he's finished playing G.I. Joes, he'll walk away and leave the backed-up, overflowing toilet for the next guy to clean up.
Bush seems to have another softball pitcher - Carl somebody. Carl Gannon, I think. Whoever he is, he was sounding extremely Guckerty. I had to leave the room once he began sucking up to the Resident. My self-control only goes so far. Normally I don't watch Bush on TV for that very reason, but I was in a semi-public place with no control over the set.
At long last, he quit babbling. I never thought I would say this, but I was actually glad to see "The Price Is Right" come on afterward. The relative dignity and maturity of the show helped my blood pressure ease off a couple of notches. Imagine being happy to see that crusty old letch Bob Barker. A thousand years old, and orange as an orangutan from all that pancake they slather on him (or is it embalming fluid?), but at least he can string a sentence together.
One thing you can say about Bush - he makes daytime television look good.
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