"Don't Let The Oval Office Door Hit You in The Butt On the Way Out...."

Eleven.

Since the day I was born, there have been eleven men who have heard “Hail To The Chief” when they entered a room.

My first awareness of the presidency occurred, if memory serves, in 1960 with the Kennedy-Nixon debates.

It wasn’t so much that I was becoming politically conscious as it was that I was nine years old and most likely pissed that these two politicians were pre-empting the weekly episode of “Zorro”.

It’s been pretty much up and down since then.

And, sad to say, more down than up.

Kennedy was assassinated.

Johnson was Vietnam-ed out of office.

Nixon resigned in disgrace.

Ford was defeated by a peanut farmer.

Carter couldn’t get the Iranian hostages back.

Reagan was spared the assassination, but Iran-Contra tarnished him pretty good.

Bush the senior was defeated by a skirt chasing, sax playing Southern governor.

Clinton was a skirt chasing, sax playing Southern Governor.

Which will bring us back to do-re-mi-fa….

…Dubya.

Talking about politics is like talking about somebody’s mama.
No matter how much respect you try to show, chances are your opinion is gonna piss somebody off.

Nevertheless…

Some years ago, I defined, for someone, the term “cynic” as an idealistic optimist who understands the way life really works.

That makes me, by my own definition, a cynic.

In 2000, I honestly thought that Al Gore was a better choice than George W. Bush.

But, cynicism aside, I also honestly hoped that George W. Bush would prove me dead ass wrong.

He didn’t.

And as the final 100 days of this “administration” begins, I’ll leave it to the objective appraisal of historians to determine what, if anything of any lasting value, he accomplished.

What he managed to do for me was prove me right.

And I wish to God I had been wrong.

Say goodnight, George.