I read how you and Laura were evacuated today from your Crawford ranch--along with Barney and Miss Beazley--and driven by armored car to a tornado shelter during a spell of bad weather down there in Texas. Which conjured images of your good self being whirled up by the tempest, to be deposited without ceremony in a strange land called Oz, where you go prancing down the yellow brick road, accompanied by your hand-picked menagerie of advisors and your good witch Condi to that exotic Emerald City to see the great Oz and consult with him about the way back home from that dreadful country in the Middle East. Trouble is, when you arrive there, you realize suddenly that you're not in Texas any more: the whole place is in ruins and Oz turns out to be none other than the Father to whom you listen more than to your own, a foolish old dodderer behind the curtain who washes his hands of the whole mess you made of everything he gave you to take charge of.
Sorry, Bush. No ruby slippers. Wouldn't it be nice to click your heels and find yourself back home in Crawford with peace breaking out all over? Not to be. Just the hard work of being the decider. I saw somewhere that you've just been polled the world's biggest villain of 2006--and that's over both Osama and Saddam--by an overwhelming number of percentage points. Not sure who was voting. Americans? Or the rest of the world? Congratulations, anyway. I guess you'd best get back to that big speech about the new way forward, and come up with some magic of your own. Watch out for those nasty flying monkeys and the Wicked Witch. Meantime, I wish a good New Year's Eve to you and yours, and a better 2007.
