W is allowed to exit his stuffed shirt existence as Leader of Free World this week and venture into the much more comfortable terrain of Frat Boy cheering for American dominance in the world...I mean, Olympics.
Our Pres has a S written on his chest in red and blue and is just waiting to be flanked by Cheney (U) and Rove (A) to rip off their oxford shirts and shake it like good American fans. As our esteemed leader took the gangster lean while chatting with Bob Costas in the NBC Beijing studios it was evident that he desperately wished that he could don a backwards baseball cap, pop his collar and ditch his tie- he is most comfortable being a dude, rather than a debutant. It was, after all, the dude factor that enabled W to connect with so many Americans who seemed desperate 4 and 8 years ago to have a beer with the president rather than electing someone who would be a terrible Friday Night Date but may have a better grip on global politics and grammar. We all know the result of our 8-year national bar crawl; we've been through the belligerent phase of believing we can take out anyone and everyone who challenges our dart-throwing dominance. Unprompted, we've gotten into fights and had to be pulled back by our friends and foes with better judgements who happen to be a bit less hubrisly intoxicated. Our ID has been questioned by some of the finer establishments who doubt our ability to control our actions.
Finally, we are sobering up and wondering what exactly we might have said or done that we don't quite remember but may get us in trouble well into the future. Having learned from our juvenile mistakes, we are repentant and want to moderate- but don't know how to negotiate such a stark behavior change with our drinking buddies or ourselves.
W, is a bit behind in the game- he still surrounds himself with those who support his reckless and privileged frat boy ways. He huddles with men's basketball Team USA, throws up the victory sign for Michael Phelps and talks sports with the American media but won't take care of his own nation's huddled masses, acknowledge that victory in Iraq is not as simple or clear cut as that in the swimming pool or speak candidly with us about the fledgling economy.
Our heads pound in a state of crippling hangover and we hope that the next president will bring the necessary hydration and acetaminophen to get out of the bar and back to our day jobs that aren't as fun but at least they pay the bills.
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