President Asshat,
After seven and a half years of searching in vain for any kind of silver lining to the unrelenting cloud of crapulence you have wrought upon this country, I think I have found one. George, you nitwit, you sociopathic miscreant, when in a few short months the United States of America elects a progressive African-American Democrat--or through your eyes, a liberal black with a Muslim-sounding name--it will be in large part thanks to you.
You see, one thing has become abundantly clear through the primary season. This will be an election about change--change away from you. If you had been the least bit competent, if you had the least bit of concern for the good of the country over the good of your party, if you had utilized the vast resources of the people and government of the United States for anything other than your own warped and sophomoric view of the world, if you hadn't driven the economy into the shitter without even sharing a square or if you had heeded your own call for unity atop the rubble of the World Trade Center, the likelihood that this country would have been ready for a relatively inexperienced and unknown African-American--or even a well-known female--to be President would have been lessened. Not impossible, mind you. Just not as likely.
But as it was, even your own party selected to be their candidate the person who was perceived (incorrectly, as it turns out) to be least like you.
And why not? You have merged the corruption of Nixon, the foreign policy disaster of Johnson, the economics of Hoover and the general ineptitude of--who? Buchanan? Harding? Homer Simpson? In baseball terms (and please for the love of all that is holy do not ruin my beloved sport once you've been put out to pasture by becoming its commissioner) you earned the Golden Sombrero of Presidential Incompetence. Congratulations. You and your party have been demoted to the Low-A Crawford Clusterfucks. Clean out your locker and get your weak-ass shit out of the White House.
Okay, I realize this is sounding too much like a premature victory lap. It's just difficult Dumbya, because this afternoon in a fit of schadenfreude I switched on your buddy Limbaugh--you know the child-prostitute raping, pill-popping douche bag whose mouth is the sphincter through which so much of your political excrement flows, and you know what? He and his gang have given up. They've lost already, and they know it. Rush was giving the Republican Guard the 'ole 'It doesn't matter who is in the White House, we are the real power blah blah blah' speech. Operation Chaos Mark II is shaping up to be Limpbaugh's efforts to clean his shorts after soiling himself upon realizing Republicans, oh, I'm sorry Rush, let's turn your little illiterate joke back on you-Republic Party members-are going to get stomped like a narc at a biker rally come November.
Don't get me wrong. It will be a tough fight to topple Grandpa McSame, the pre-alien cast of Cocoon who make up his senior staff and the rest of the dead-enders and end-timers who run your party and foot its bills.
But it will be done. And while I do not (or perhaps can not) believe you are racist, there are many in your party who are, and I can not help but think that when they coil in revulsion to see a popular, charismatic, intelligent, black progressive taking the oath on January 20th, 2009 and then see your smirking mug behind him, well...let's just say I think your legacy-beside a turd stripe on the American toilet bowl of history-will be to hastening the arrival of country where anyone-male or female, black or white, gay or straight-can be President.
As long as they don't suck as bad as you.
Back to work,
Dizzy